Midnightblack07
asked
Bec McMaster:
Hi Bec! I just finished your "London Steampunk" series and the first two books of the "London Steampunk: The Blue Blood Conspiracy" spin-off series (literally binge-read both in a matter of a couple of weeks), and I am in absolute LOVE and AWE of the characters and world you've built. Can you give us any non-spoilery hints on Malloryn's upcoming story? He is probably my fave right now, and I just can't wait!
Bec McMaster
Thank you! Malloryn was actually supposed to be the fourth book in the original London Steampunk series, but my editor suggested we go with Perry and Garrett, and TBH, I'm so glad she did, as this works out much better for the plotline in Blue Blood Conspiracy.
He's very much one of my favourite characters, and I have nearly a third of his book written (need to go finish Gemma and Charlie's books first!)
I'm feeling generous today, so I thought I'd send you a snippet. Completely unedited, subject to change, so please don't share anywhere:
"We've finally found the operative we suspected has been placed within the Echelon." Byrnes slid a folder toward him, and then his cold blue eyes unexpectantly flitted over Auvry, a hint of smothered humor within them. "He's been masquerading as the long-lost Earl of Macklemore."
Macklemore? Malloryn had vague memories of the man from somewhere, though the acquaintance was fleeting at best. As part of the ruling Council that served the Queen, he was far too busy to attend every ball and function. Besides, his wife was always in attendance and Malloryn wasn't that good an actor, to pretend theirs was any sort of marriage. "And this amuses you?"
Byrnes laughed. "Oh no, it's not Macklemore that amuses me. Keep reading."
It could be anything. Byrnes had the worst sense of humor Malloryn had ever encountered.
Sliding the file open, he examined the grainy black-and-white photograph of the man. Handsome, dressed somewhat foppishly, with the kind of smile ladies would swoon over... Malloryn let the photograph rest. "What's his purpose?"
"We don't know."
Again that sensation Byrnes hesitated.
"If you wish to say something to me, I'd advise you to simply throw it on the table."
"Look at the rest of the photographs, your grace. Gemma took them. It was... an unexpected lead."
"I thought she was keeping an eye on my wife after that incident last month?" Someone had tried to ****** Adele. It was one thing to despise her, but quite another to allow someone to try to ***************.
"She was."
An old feeling, an ancient sense of foreboding, curled through Malloryn's innards.
Malloryn flipped the tumble of photos into his hands and sorted through them swiftly. Macklemore at his club. At a garden party, at the park... Kissing Malloryn's wife. Malloryn stilled, his senses locking down. Thumbnail tracing the shadowy image of Adele, he simply couldn't believe his eyes.
A dozen emotions swirled. But most importantly, he couldn't help noticing the way Adele wilted against Macklemore's hard body, a look of longing on her expressive face as she stared up at the earl. It softened her features–those devilish eyes with their wicked tilt looked almost innocent, and that indecent mouth was parted with longing. It made her look younger. Desirable. A woman destined for a tumble into bed.
In the next photograph, she slapped Macklemore. But the look on her face... Not entirely one of chagrin. Malloryn had never seen that look cross her devious expression. Almost as if she longed for something.
Byrnes was waiting, his arms crossed over his chest and the usual lack of expression on his hard face. His recent marriage had done little to soften the man, though Malloryn suspected Ingrid might actually be the more dangerous of the two.
"I'll deal with it," he said quietly and closed the file.
"Gemma's not certain what, precisely, she witnessed. It's evident this is not the first time they've met."
A muscle ticked in his jaw. "A conclusion I'd reached myself, thank you." He looked up. "You're dismissed."
Byrnes took his leave. Malloryn leaned back in his chair and scratched his jaw. He didn't throw the file or burn it. Which he was shockingly tempted to do. Instead, he steepled his fingers together and stared into the distance.
Was Adele merely a means to get one of the Sons of Gilead access to him?
Or had they already succeeded?
His blood ran cold. He'd never thought anything more of Adele's obviously desperate attempt to force him into marriage and he'd never asked her why. They rarely spoke, if at all, and of frivolities only. If she was indeed a spy, then he had given her poor value indeed.
But the idea rankled. She could be dangerous to him if her allegiances were indeed suspect. How the devil could he know precisely what her game was, or if she were achieving it?
He could hardly question her about it, regardless of what methods he chose to use—and there were many available to him. Malloryn had long since given up on any squeamishness.
Flipping the file open again he took a long, slow drink of his blooded scotch. None of the photographs interested him, particularly the one of her kissing Macklemore. But the other... that look on her face. He stared at that for a long time.
He'd told her to make her own arrangements.
He'd given a callous shrug at the time and assured her he intended to make his own, though he'd been too busy perhaps, to make good on his threat.
But the sight of her in another man's arms had the same effect of someone dumping a bucket of iced water over his head.
Why the hell did he care?
Because there might be an enemy in your house.
That had to be it.
"So you want to play games, my dear?" He threw the rest of the scotch back, the blood igniting his darker, well-checked urges. Igniting something inside him that he hadn't felt for a long time; a dangerous kind of fury, of need. "Then let us play."
There were, after all, other means to find out precisely what his wife was up to.
He's very much one of my favourite characters, and I have nearly a third of his book written (need to go finish Gemma and Charlie's books first!)
I'm feeling generous today, so I thought I'd send you a snippet. Completely unedited, subject to change, so please don't share anywhere:
"We've finally found the operative we suspected has been placed within the Echelon." Byrnes slid a folder toward him, and then his cold blue eyes unexpectantly flitted over Auvry, a hint of smothered humor within them. "He's been masquerading as the long-lost Earl of Macklemore."
Macklemore? Malloryn had vague memories of the man from somewhere, though the acquaintance was fleeting at best. As part of the ruling Council that served the Queen, he was far too busy to attend every ball and function. Besides, his wife was always in attendance and Malloryn wasn't that good an actor, to pretend theirs was any sort of marriage. "And this amuses you?"
Byrnes laughed. "Oh no, it's not Macklemore that amuses me. Keep reading."
It could be anything. Byrnes had the worst sense of humor Malloryn had ever encountered.
Sliding the file open, he examined the grainy black-and-white photograph of the man. Handsome, dressed somewhat foppishly, with the kind of smile ladies would swoon over... Malloryn let the photograph rest. "What's his purpose?"
"We don't know."
Again that sensation Byrnes hesitated.
"If you wish to say something to me, I'd advise you to simply throw it on the table."
"Look at the rest of the photographs, your grace. Gemma took them. It was... an unexpected lead."
"I thought she was keeping an eye on my wife after that incident last month?" Someone had tried to ****** Adele. It was one thing to despise her, but quite another to allow someone to try to ***************.
"She was."
An old feeling, an ancient sense of foreboding, curled through Malloryn's innards.
Malloryn flipped the tumble of photos into his hands and sorted through them swiftly. Macklemore at his club. At a garden party, at the park... Kissing Malloryn's wife. Malloryn stilled, his senses locking down. Thumbnail tracing the shadowy image of Adele, he simply couldn't believe his eyes.
A dozen emotions swirled. But most importantly, he couldn't help noticing the way Adele wilted against Macklemore's hard body, a look of longing on her expressive face as she stared up at the earl. It softened her features–those devilish eyes with their wicked tilt looked almost innocent, and that indecent mouth was parted with longing. It made her look younger. Desirable. A woman destined for a tumble into bed.
In the next photograph, she slapped Macklemore. But the look on her face... Not entirely one of chagrin. Malloryn had never seen that look cross her devious expression. Almost as if she longed for something.
Byrnes was waiting, his arms crossed over his chest and the usual lack of expression on his hard face. His recent marriage had done little to soften the man, though Malloryn suspected Ingrid might actually be the more dangerous of the two.
"I'll deal with it," he said quietly and closed the file.
"Gemma's not certain what, precisely, she witnessed. It's evident this is not the first time they've met."
A muscle ticked in his jaw. "A conclusion I'd reached myself, thank you." He looked up. "You're dismissed."
Byrnes took his leave. Malloryn leaned back in his chair and scratched his jaw. He didn't throw the file or burn it. Which he was shockingly tempted to do. Instead, he steepled his fingers together and stared into the distance.
Was Adele merely a means to get one of the Sons of Gilead access to him?
Or had they already succeeded?
His blood ran cold. He'd never thought anything more of Adele's obviously desperate attempt to force him into marriage and he'd never asked her why. They rarely spoke, if at all, and of frivolities only. If she was indeed a spy, then he had given her poor value indeed.
But the idea rankled. She could be dangerous to him if her allegiances were indeed suspect. How the devil could he know precisely what her game was, or if she were achieving it?
He could hardly question her about it, regardless of what methods he chose to use—and there were many available to him. Malloryn had long since given up on any squeamishness.
Flipping the file open again he took a long, slow drink of his blooded scotch. None of the photographs interested him, particularly the one of her kissing Macklemore. But the other... that look on her face. He stared at that for a long time.
He'd told her to make her own arrangements.
He'd given a callous shrug at the time and assured her he intended to make his own, though he'd been too busy perhaps, to make good on his threat.
But the sight of her in another man's arms had the same effect of someone dumping a bucket of iced water over his head.
Why the hell did he care?
Because there might be an enemy in your house.
That had to be it.
"So you want to play games, my dear?" He threw the rest of the scotch back, the blood igniting his darker, well-checked urges. Igniting something inside him that he hadn't felt for a long time; a dangerous kind of fury, of need. "Then let us play."
There were, after all, other means to find out precisely what his wife was up to.
More Answered Questions
Bint
asked
Bec McMaster:
Thank you so much, I can not express my gratitude to you. Just finished From London With Love (which I had recieved in my mail so thank you for that also) and it was the perfect end to keep my hopes up.When I had last asked you about writing about blood court it was a maybe ?NOW I have so excited . Only one wish that you do write it soon , my chemo scares me and would love to read these beloved books soon.
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