Anne Mallory
Some people have always known they wanted to write. Others fall into it and discover its inherent joy. I’m somewhere in between. As an avid reader, writing a novel had always tickled the back of my mind. There seem to be a lot of people who say, “Someday I’ll write a book.” For me, the feeling tickled, moved into an incessant knocking and finally became a dull roar. All I needed was to make that “someday” into “today.”
I’ve always considered myself a creator, so transitioning to writer was not as grueling as it might have been. From creating two minute stories for people on the street, to creating jewelry, crafts, stained glass, pottery, music, crazy art projects… the list of things I like to create (and buy all the necessary materials for) keeps getting longer amidst my family’s exasperated groans. I love to start something from scratch, and then mold and shape it into a finished project. Writing books provides a challenge I accept with relish (and a bit of hair pulling). Building a world, populating it with characters and giving them a script and satisfying ending - what more could a creative type ask for?
I’ve always loved romance novels, ever since I started sneaking them from my Mom in elementary school. I mean, what’s not to love? Rakish men and smart, feisty women, adventure and mystery, the love and loyalty between two people. Give me a roomful of romances, some Agatha Christie, some Edgar Allan Poe, the Harry Potter series and an armful of other fantasy novels, (and steady meals with chocolate) and I’m in heaven.
And heaven is what I consider a particular cottage on an inland lake in northern Michigan during the summertime. If you are headed “up north” this summer, maybe I’ll see you on the way…
Anne Bytes (or pseudo trivia)
Started writing on September 11th, 2001 as an escape from the day (needed an escape with a happy ending).
Thinks that 11pm is a perfectly normal time to begin reading a 400 page book.
Escaped from Alcatraz (story here).
Got a hole-in-one on a Par 3 and was just happy to have beaten her Dad on a hole for once. After a quick rotating hip dance, she was surprised to see her Dad still looking from the tee to the hole where the ball had bounced once and dropped in. His mouth was hanging open. Anne’s response? “What?” (In coding terms, Anne != golfer. That’s “Anne is obviously not a golfer” for you normal people).
Loves tubing (behind a boat) and roller coasters (Cedar Point, here we come!).
Loves paddleball, especially “extreme” paddleball. In the normal variety of paddleball, she helped score 432 hits with Cousins J and Mg one summer day.
Played at Carnegie Hall and was so excited she launched her violin bow across the stage when she got to the picking section of the piece. Thankfully said bow was recovered in time to start bowing once more.
Saw a Great White Shark in real life (at Monterey Bay Aquarium, thankfully).
Wrote her first (and only until Masquerading) book in sixth grade. It was a thriller/mystery centering around two sixth grade detectives. Her Mom assures her it is still well loved (read: stashed in the attic).
Began Masquerading the Marquess on Good Friday 2002, sold it on Good Friday 2003.
Considers herself a hobby collector. Friends and Family like to call her hobby “pack ratting.”
Can relate to the line in Office Space, “Um, I’m gonna need you to go ahead and come in tomorrow. So if you could be here around nine, that would be great. Oh, oh, yea… I forgot. I’m gonna also need you to come in Sunday too.”
“That if he were killed in the next few weeks, it would assuredly be near her. At her feet, in her bed. Inside of her.Unfortunately, that last thought just made him think that if he had to choose his final moments, beinginside Charlotte would really be the way to go.”
“Good morning.” His lips quirked. “I nearly expired from old age, waiting to see if you would actuallyknock on the damn thing. My heart couldn’t take it any longer.”She lifted her chin and stepped inside, brushing past him as she did so. “So you are saying that if only Ihad had a few beats more, I would finally have been rid of you?”She caught his lazy grin as she passed. “I plan to haunt you even in the afterlife,” he whispered, the air ofhis words brushing her ear, the door engaging behind her.”
“His quick eyes seemed to miss nothing, and she couldn’t hide themotion of her fingers squeezing the fabric of her skirts. His gaze rose back to her face, lingering on herlips, then meeting her eyes. Even giving away her nerves with the telltale sign of her pinched fingers, sherefused to look away.“Andreas, I think I’ve fallen in love.”“Roman.” There was a wealth of unspoken meaning in that one word, so darkly uttered. But Roman’stoo-beautiful mouth crooked, head cocked, eyes watching.”
“She gifted him with that soft smile. And it did thatstrange thing to his insides. He would probably leada revolt against the king if she asked him to do itwhile wearing that smile.”
“What do you have?”“Wine. Weak cider. Water. Whiskey.”“A veritable plethora of ‘W’ drinks.”“If I ever have walrus piss, I will offer it as well.”
“But it had always been that smile. Not her positionas Henry Wilcox’s possible wife nor the possibilitythat he could take his enemies down by manipulatingher family. Those hadn’t been the things that haddriven him when it came to his feelings for her.It had been that smile. Through the shadows of thetheater that first night. When their eyes had met. Shehad smiled. Simply. Warmly. Looking directly at him,unaware that she should be afraid.”
“You are the least sane person I’ve had themisfortune to meet.”The corners of her eyes pinched a little, just for thebarest second, then cleared. “Well, there are plentymore people for you to meet, Mr. Merrick, so do notgive up hope yet.” But the tone of her voice was fartoo cheerful.He watched her for a moment. Watched as herface cleared of anything remotely hurt or upset. “Doyou object to being called insane or my saying that Ihad the misfortune of meeting you?”“Neither, of course.”He drummed his finger on the desk, irritated and,God, how did people live feeling guilty about things?“You are just fine as you are,” he said gruffly.Her expression froze for a moment, then bloomedinto a smile that would slay demons.”
“She smiled, a warm smile that held no trace ofaberrant humor.It bothered him on a level he couldn’t comprehend.It bothered him on a level he couldn’t comprehend.He experienced an overwhelming urge to grab thatsmile and hide it solely for himself to gaze upon. ADa Vinci masterpiece he intended to jealouslyguard.”
“She leaned down, a fraction closer, and for somereason unknown to man, he lifted his head the tiniestbit. Enough so she could brush his cheek with herlips. “Good night, Mr. Merrick.”
“Mr. Wiggles seemstaken with you.”“It tried to urinate on me the other day. I prefer notto be ‘taken’ by something like that.”
“How do you define difficult?”“By your presence.”She grinned fully, delighted to feel the tensiondissipate. “Now you are just flattering me for noreason.”He grunted.“On the contrary,” she said, as if his grunt hadbeen a worded response. “It was most flattering.”He stared at her.“What? Did you think I wouldn’t figure out how tointerpret your grunts?”
“I want to know who she is particularly close toamong the staff here.” Who is besotted with her. Hell,they probably all were. Except Donald, who rarelybroke his stoic façade. And Andreas. “And whatquestions she asks.”Donald inclined his head, hair slipping a fractionmore. “It will be done.” He watched Andreas for amoment. “And she and her family will be safe here,”he said, gaze steady, eyes just an extra bit bright.Andreas nodded sharply back, dismissed himquickly, all while trying to hold back the curseslayering his tongue at the words that were both saidand unsaid. Donald was infected too.Goddamn biscuits.”
“He was well aware of what an ass he was. OnlyRoman could tolerate him, really. Stupid, charmingbastard.”
“There was a small woven basket waiting on his deskthe next day, still smelling like warmed-from-the-ovensin. A note was attached written with the words“Have a good day!” A drawing of a tiny dog chasinga butterfly completed the absurdity.He stood in front of his desk, just staring at it andthe basket for a full minute. Asps didn’t smell likebaked items, but the latter were no less dangerous.He tented the edge of the cloth cover with hissmallest finger. Three fruit tarts lay inside.Poisoned most likely.”
“No one knocked on his door the next day. Nor theday after. Nor the one after that. But that didn’t meanhe was unaware of what was happening. Someonehad carried a plate of those fucking biscuits past hisroom, and even the oak door had provided nobarrier for the smell. Not for anything of hers.”
“Shetouched his hand, and he went stock-still. Sheleaned over to examine it, the top of her headbrushing beneath his nose. Only his suddenimmobility stopped him from violently pulling away.“From the candles?” Had she bathed in bloodyhoney?”
“No.” She smiled. “I am exactly where I need to be.I have no desire to enter negotiations with LordGarrett and his heir.”He couldn’t keep down his dark pleasure at that.”
“I suppose I will just have to make sure that I marry someone I look forward to curling around every morning. Whom I can't be without before breakfast. Or in the noon. Whom I need to race home to see after each appointment. Determined to lock her in my rooms, not because I need to hide anything but because I'd just as soon have her all to myself. To look upon her beloved face and hear her lips whisper in my ear.”
“Sometimes one appears to have more freedom than one actually possesses. It is easy to see what one wishes to see.”
“Sometimes the world is better off if one always defaults to option number two.”
“Sometimes the measure of a person can only be gleaned through his interactions with others.”
“Better to leave dreams behind and go forward with purpose.”
“Beauty is something that is hard to debate. Every man thinks his ideal the best. But the wittiest woman rise to the top of this structure, conventional beauty often taking a back seat to a woman possessed of a clever tongue.”
“Lies from the closest to you are often the most numerous and paralyzing.”
“No one is fine on his own. People just say they are.”
“I would destroy the city if something happened to you. I can't even bear the thought of it.”
“Gabriel didn't need to look back. To see. He trusted his friend. He smiled grimly. And wasn't that the crux?”
“Marietta is good for you, Gabriel. I quite like her. Don't be a fool and let her go.""I can do nothing but let her go, John. Sometimes love can only be given by setting someone free.”
“Her jaw dropped. "You - you -"He chuckled and winked at her. Her ire evaporated like the steam from the pot--coiling and disappearing into the air. When he used his wiles on her, he was tantalizing. With that purely happy look on his face he was devastating."You do realize that I will have my revenge?" she said calmly, though her heart was racing. "I could hope for no less." He flashed her a grin, and she gripped the side of the table to keep from moving closer."I dislike you.""Always a comfort to know." He looked at the kitchen clock, a small mantel piece positioned precariously on a shelf. "Right on time for the night."She blinked. She supposed it was something of a nightly ritual. "Wouldn't want to disappoint you, your highness.""Your majesty, if you will.”
“She waited until Jeremy's footsteps receded. "I didn't know you had a brother.""Now you do." He continued writing."Do you have any other siblings?""No.""Parents?""I didn't crawl out of Hell, if that's what you are asking.”
“He had little respect for anyone who was not willing to put in the effort required to survive and thrive. Not everyone needed the same driving ambition that had fueled him. That had led him to being possibly the richest man in London without a title in his lineage -- all earned in under a decade. That had given him the power to change lives. But a person needed to have the drive to change his own life.”
“Her pride had once been a mile wide. So fierce and strong that she'd thought she could survive on the trait alone. The constant ache in her belly, the desperation, Kenny's fate...all had shown her otherwise.”
“Yes. She got into a right state when she realized no one could read them, though. She's setting up some sort of literacy curse. Some of the boys want to know--is that like gypsy magic? Can you curse someone to read?”
“Some people get dealt all the aces in life.”
“ Change was Fate' the Romans said. well, Andreas loathed Fate, That Bitch.”
“...Go somewhere else. Somewhere safer.”Anywhere else. God, please. Or he was likely to do something horribly awful, like surrender his sanity and kiss her.”
“Oh!” This was said brightly, as if she was happy he had noticed. “I decided I needed my own workspace, instead of constantly infringing upon yours. So I had a few of the boys move a desk in here.”He stared at the petite, feminine, desk that was pushed against his. And wondered how the bloody hell she had managed to convince men who were terrified of him to move the desk inside his domain.“Absolutely not.” ***Two hours later, he was still scowling as she happily worked on . . . whatever the hell it was she was working on. Across from him. At her desk. How the hell . . .He remembered saying no. He remembered cursing. Threatening her unborn children. Then there was a sort of hazy period of smiles and calm words. Then she had touched the back of his hand with her naked fingers.And now, here he was with . . . her desk . . . pressed to his—surreptitiously watching her scratch her paper, the tip of her tongue poking from the side of her mouth as she worked.”