A Riveting Affair

By Candace Havens, Lily Lang and Patricia Eimer

A Riveting Affair by Candace Havens
Beauty and the Clockwork Beast
Rose Verney wants to fulfill her father's dying request: to complete construction of the teleportation device he designed. Knowing just who can help her succeed, she seeks out Sebastian Cavendish, her father's brilliant former student.
Sebastian hasn't left his home since he returned from the Civil War. He's a broken man, his prosthetics a reminder of the terrible destruction his inventions brought to the battlefield. He wants nothing to do with Rose and her father's masterpiece, but when she barges into his abandoned lab and begins construction, it's everything he can do to resist getting involved. Especially when she charms her way into his monstrous heart.

Demon Express
Professor Maisy Clark, professional demon hunter, is on the trail of an evil scientist responsible for the deaths of hundreds. Julian is worse than the monsters he creates, but he's also obsessed with Maisy and willing to kill anyone who gets too close to her.
Just when she thinks she has Julian cornered, the sexy marshall Jake Calloway insists the investigation is his, and everything goes to hell. Maisy came to Texas to corner the scientist whose macabre experiments have taken so many lives, and Calloway is just another distraction she doesn't need. Julian is her responsibility, one she's not about to share. Even if Calloway can help, Julian will know Maisy is falling for the marshall, and she's not willing to risk his life.

The Clockwork Bride
When engineer Aida Mulvaney attends a masquerade ball at the home of a staunch Luddite earl with a personal vendetta against her father's company, she doesn't expect to end the night married to the earl's son Julian Capshaw, a brilliant engineer in his own right. The marriage will allow both of them to pursue their love of science, without interfering parents and ridiculous social stigmas. Though they escape to the Continent to start new lives, Julian's father will have none of his heir's disobedience. Before long, a marriage begun for the sake of convenience becomes a union of passion, but will it survive the machinations of an earl determined to destroy everything they love?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Macmillan Publishers
• Release date: Mar 25, 2013
• ISBN: 9781622660643

Candace Havens

Candace "Candy" Havens is a best selling and award-winning author. She is a two-time RITA, Write Touch Reader and Holt Medallion finalist. She is also the winner of the Barbara Wilson award. Candy is a nationally syndicated entertainment columnist for FYI Television. A veteran journalist she has interviewed just about everyone in Hollywood and you can hear Candy weekly on New Country 96.3 KSCS in the Dallas Fort Worth Area.

Book preview

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A

Riveting

Affair

a Steampunk anthology

Candace Havens

Patricia Eimer

Lily Lang

Table of Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

About the Author

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Acknowledgments

About the Author

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Acknowledgments

About the Author

Beauty and the Clockwork Beast

Lily Lang

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.

Copyright © 2013 by Lily Lang. All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce, distribute, or transmit in any form or by any means. For information regarding subsidiary rights, please contact the Publisher.

Entangled Publishing, LLC

2614 South Timberline Road

Suite 109

Fort Collins, CO 80525

Visit our website at www.entangledpublishing.com.

Edited by Kerri-Leigh Grady and Guillian Helm

Cover design by Jessica Cantor

Ebook ISBN 978-1-62266-064-3

Manufactured in the United States of America

First Edition March 2013

Chapter One

November 1872

Rose Verney stood on the doorstep of the massive Cavendish mansion on the corner of Fifth Avenue and thought, I should never have come here.

She turned, but the brown coupe she had hired at Grand Central Depot had already clattered off in a great puff of smoke.

She was stuck.

Her grip tightened on her borrowed valise, which contained the two dresses her best friend had lent her and her father’s blueprints for his teleportation machine. Though her cloak provided precious little defense against the chill in the night air, she made no move to reach for the brass lion-head knocker that seemed to gaze down at her with contempt.

Her plan had seemed so reasonable when she had formulated it in her sister’s New Haven home.

Now she wondered if she had lost her mind.

Cavendish House resembled a fifteenth century Florentine palazzo, built of some expensive-looking white stone in a graceful Renaissance style that her mother would have appreciated. The size and elegance of it both awed and appalled her.

In some dim, distant corner of her mind, she had always known that Sebastian Cavendish was the scion of an astonishingly wealthy railroad family, but she had always thought of him simply as yet another passionate and disheveled student, immured with her father in the laboratory for days on end.

Did he even still live here? If he did, was anyone home? The curtains of the house were all drawn, the windows dark and lifeless. Perhaps Sebastian was at one of the many Cavendish estates in Newport or upstate New York. Or he might have gone abroad to Europe.

She had no way of knowing. And even if he was at home and agreed to receive her, would he remember her? Would he help her?

It didn’t matter. She couldn’t back down now, not after she had run away from her own sister and the man who wanted to marry her. Not after she had forced her best friend to hide her and lie for her. Not after she had sold her mother’s pearl brooch for the rail ticket from New Haven to New York. Not when she had gotten this far.

Taking a deep breath and refusing to think about what she was doing, Rose lifted the brass handle and knocked three times.

To her surprise, the door swung open immediately. The most ancient butler she had ever seen stared down at her. He was short and cadaverously thin, with liver spots darkening his wrinkled skin and the bald crown of his head.

He inclined his head toward her, but before he could speak something small and gray and furry streaked past Rose and into the house.

She gave a small shriek of surprise.

Had it been a small cat, or a very, very large rat? It had moved so rapidly that she hadn’t been able to tell. She gazed up at the butler in consternation, but he merely gazed vaguely in the direction in which it had disappeared, then turned back to Rose.

Mr. Cavendish is expecting you, he said, his voice so creaky it sounded as though it needed oiling.

He… he is? asked Rose. She certainly hadn’t written to inform Sebastian that she was coming, though perhaps he had inferred, from the escalating urgency of her tone in the last few letters she had sent him, that she would soon be making an appearance in person.

The butler bowed. He is waiting for you upstairs. May I take your cloak?

The foyer was only marginally warmer than the night air outside. Rose shook her head. No, thank you. I’ll keep it for now.

Very good, miss. If you’ll follow me.

The butler hobbled through the foyer, carrying no lamp or candle of any kind. Rose, her eyes unaccustomed to the pitch darkness after the brightness of the gas-list streets outside, could barely make out his thin, creaky figure. Trepidation made her heart beat faster as she followed him into the thick shadows.

After a few moments, however, her eyes adjusted, and she perceived that she was following the butler down a long, airy hall. Various rooms opened up on either side of her, the furniture within draped in dark cloth, as though for a funeral.

One of her father’s colleagues had once stated that Cavendish House was one of the greatest showplaces in New York, with its twenty-foot mahogany doors, marble and gilt, rich wall-hangings, and carved ceilings, but the mansion’s former grandeur had given way to dust, disorder, and other signs of neglect.

Though the air of such a place ought to be stale, the rich, sweet scent of roses filled her senses. A nearby garden or conservatory? Absurd. A man who neglected his house so badly would hardly devote time to cultivating flowers.

They reached a sweeping grand staircase of shallow steps. The butler made a slow and painful ascent, Rose following close behind. This portion of the house was at least somewhat illuminated by a brilliant stream of moonlight pouring in through a large two-story window.

Where was the butler taking her? Did Sebastian perhaps keep a private parlor upstairs? The rooms on the first floor certainly seemed uninhabited, and as a bachelor, Sebastian might prefer to keep only a small suite available for his use.

On the fourth floor, the butler started down a long, spacious hall. The dust was so thick that it gathered at the hem of Rose’s dress. She was actually leaving footprints.

She shuddered and lifted her skirts.

At the end of the hall, they came at last to a pair of carved mahogany doors. The butler gestured toward it. Mr. Cavendish is just inside.

Then, before she could react, he bowed and departed.

Nonplussed, Rose placed her palms flat against the heavy door and pushed. It groaned and creaked on its hinges. When the gap was sufficiently wide for her to pass through, she hesitated. Was she supposed to announce herself?

Well, there was only one way to find out. Taking a deep breath and clutching Jenny’s valise even tighter, she stepped inside.

Here, at least, the air was warm from a large fire, which cast a faint scarlet glow across the massive four-poster bed that filled the high-ceilinged room.

Rose blinked. Not a parlor, then.

A bedchamber.

She whirled around, seeking guidance or help, but there were only shadows and dust. Then movement on the other side of the room caught her eye.

In a wingback chair close to the fire, a man was sitting, holding a glass of some pale amber liquid in one large hand. His face was cast in deep shadows, but she could sense the intensity of his gaze. She took a hesitant step toward him.

Mr. Cavendish? she inquired, and her voice was far more timid than she had intended.

For a long moment the man made no response. He simply continued to study her without moving. When he finally spoke, his voice was a low, deep rasp.

Come closer.

Rose hesitated yet again. Her instincts were sending some inchoate warning screaming along her nerves. She wasn’t safe here, but it wasn’t just the lateness of the hour, the derelict condition of the house, the strangeness of meeting with a man in his bedchamber.

It was something else entirely, something that her feminine intuition recognized, though she could give it no name.

She took a step backward, prepared to flee even as her logical mind told her that she was being silly, a coward and a fool. She had known Sebastian Cavendish, though it had been many years ago. He had been her father’s favorite student, a constant guest in their New Haven home, bringing books and flowers and candy for her, sitting down to supper at their table, helping her clean up afterward. She’d been very young then, of course, and it was likely that he wouldn’t recognize her, but she had known this man.

She had nothing to fear from him.

Mr. Cavendish, she said, and this time her voice was steadier, though her heart still beat very fast. Your butler tells me that you were expecting me.

Yes, he said.

He rose to his feet, still in shadow, but when he straightened the fire fell full upon him. For the first time in over ten years, Rose found herself looking into Sebastian Cavendish’s face.

For a moment she could only stare. Years before, when she had known him, she had thought him the most beautiful boy she had ever met. With his piercing eyes and chiseled features, he had seemed like a statue of a young Roman god in one of her mother’s books.

That beauty was now gone.

In the last year of the war, the bursar at the university had casually mentioned that Sebastian Cavendish had been injured on a reconnaissance mission.

Only now, however, did she realize the extent of his wounds. A long, curving scar that she could only presume had come from a raygun ran down the left side of his face, sparing his eyebrow and eye, but distorting his mouth and twisting the skin of his cheek.

Still, it was unmistakably Sebastian Cavendish who stood before her. She would have recognized those piercing gray eyes anywhere, even in that ruined face.

Before she could speak, however, he limped across the space that separated them. She had a brief moment to wonder if he had hurt his leg as well during the war. Then he reached for her and drew her to him, resting his large, callused hands on her shoulder. They were now standing so close that his body pressed hard against hers from shoulder to knee. The warm, clean, masculine scents of sandalwood and spice enveloped her, and even through the layers of their clothing, she felt the heat and hardness of him.

He wrapped one arm around her waist, resting his hand lightly on the flare of her hip. With the other, he lifted her chin.

Mr. Cavendish! she exclaimed, ensnared in his gaze, and her voice was reedy and thin with shock.

He made no answer. Instead, he lowered his head and kissed her.

For a moment Rose froze, uncertain of how she ought to react. Though she was twenty-six, she had only been kissed once before, when George Weathersby-Pooley, overcome by her sister’s cherry cordial at tea one afternoon, had snatched her up in his arms and pressed his damp mouth against hers. The sensation had filled her with revulsion and disgust.

She hadn’t needed to push George away, however. As soon as her sister Louisa’s footsteps had sounded in the hall outside, he had become immediately contrite, backing away and apologizing profusely. Rose had wiped her mouth clean, and they had never spoken of the incident again.

But this kiss was nothing like poor George’s had been. Sebastian’s mouth was warm and soft and coaxing, gentle on hers, and she hadn’t known that it was possible to feel so much physical pleasure simply from the pressure of another’s lips on her own. Her brain seemed to shut down entirely as she clung to him. His fingers combed through her scalp, loosening the pins from her braids, and her hair tumbled free.

Then he reached for her cloak, drew it aside, and grasped her breast through the thick material of the traveling gown she had borrowed from Jenny. The touch shocked her.

She jerked away.

Mr. Cavendish! she managed to exclaim.

He was so much taller that she couldn’t see his face until he drew back. He was breathing rather quickly, and in the firelight his eyes glittered, with anger or passion or something else, something that looked peculiarly like pain.

When he spoke, however, his voice was cold.

Come now, madam, he said. Do not be coy. We both know why you are here.

I’m not being coy, she said, as crisply as she could manage. She struggled to gather up her hair, though she couldn’t see where her pins had fallen, and she didn’t think that it would be dignified to crawl about on the carpet searching for them.

Is it the scar? asked Sebastian. Did Mrs. Morrison not warn you that I’m grotesquely disfigured? I assure you, I will compensate you amply for your time. Don’t let the state of the house deceive you. My funds are certainly sufficient for your services.

It has nothing to do with your face! exclaimed Rose in utter bewilderment. And I have no idea who Mrs. Morrison is.

There was a long moment of silence, during which Rose tried to set herself to rights.

I beg your pardon, Sebastian said at last. Who the devil did you say you are? Rose made a concerted effort to gather her dignity around her. It was very difficult, with her hair falling about her shoulders and her body still warm where Sebastian had held her against him, but she straightened her spine and lifted her chin.

I thought you knew who I am, sir, Rose said. Your butler said that you were expecting me.

For a long, silent moment, he appraised her, raking her from head to foot with that cool gray gaze. At last he said, I was expecting—a lady.

For a moment Rose didn’t comprehend. A lady? At this hour? Surely that wasn’t considered proper even here in the city?

Then the truth dawned on her. The lateness of the hour, the bedchamber, his state of dishabille; Sebastian had been waiting for a—a lady of ill repute.

And he had mistaken her, Rose Verney, for the lady.

The thought made her warm with embarrassment, and something else. Something which made her stomach lurch a little. She was afraid that the sensation wasn’t outrage or anger, as it ought to be, but excitement. No man, besides poor George, had ever looked at her with anything resembling desire or passion before.

She had always been so relentlessly respectable; Professor Verney’s quiet, polite daughter, with her apron starched and her hair pinned up, her sensible dresses and sturdy shoes. Though hundreds of her father’s younger students and unmarried colleagues had sat in her parlor, none of them, besides poor George, had ever tried to kiss her.

But Sebastian Cavendish had kissed her tonight. Sebastian Cavendish had desired her.

As soon as the thought occurred to her, she banished it. She most certainly ought not consider the idea enticing, because that would be unladylike and improper.

She tried to think of what Louisa would do in a similar situation but had to abandon the attempt. Her imagination failed at the thought of her uptight, sour-faced sister in such a predicament. Louisa would never be so foolish—or lacking in propriety—as to call upon a gentleman at midnight.

I’m sorry, Rose said at last. To her horror, her voice quavered. I hadn’t intended to—disturb or interrupt you. I know the hour is very late.

Indeed, Sebastian said.

He said nothing else, watching her. The impassiveness of his scarred face was distinctly discouraging, and she groped about for a way to frame her request.

You will no doubt consider my coming here the height of impertinence, she said at last. Only you never answered any of my letters and I didn’t know how else to speak with you.

I never received any of your letters, he said.

Her eyes widened in surprise. She had sent at least a dozen letters. Surely not all of them could have been lost in the post or misplaced?

You never received my letters?

No, Sebastian said.

Rose glanced around the unkempt room, and thought of the darkness and dust downstairs. Perhaps you, ah, misplaced them?

Sebastian shrugged, looking supremely indifferent. Greaves has express orders to burn all personal letters and invitations that come here, he said.

I see, Rose said. That would explain it.

Before she could think of what to say next, however, the clatter of horse hooves and carriage wheels sounded on the cobblestoned streets outside, and Sebastian rose to his feet and went to the window.

Ah yes, he said. This is Mrs. Morrison’s girl.

She followed his gaze out the window. A dark, stylish carriage drew up in front of the house, and then a fashionable woman emerged.

I don’t suppose I can have her wait until we have concluded our business and you’re on your way? Sebastian asked, glancing back at her.

Rose’s mouth fell open with shock at the idea, even as her stomach contracted unpleasantly at the thought of Sebastian having—having Biblical relations with the woman outside.

She wasn’t sure why the thought disturbed her so much.

No, I suppose not, Sebastian said regretfully. That would be rude. Ah, well. I had better have Greaves pay her and send her on her way.

He rang for the butler and gave the old man instructions to dismiss the woman with a sum that made Rose stare. Did all ladies of ill-repute make so much money?

When the butler had gone, Sebastian returned to his seat by the fire and regarded her once again with that cool, unreadable gaze.

Rose forced herself not to squirm with discomfort, though his regard warmed her skin.

Forgive me, madam, he said. I have no idea what this is about. Perhaps you had best begin with your identity.

Yes, of course. She licked her dry lips. That seems very sensible. I suppose that you don’t remember me, but I’m Rose Verney. My father was Richard Verney. He taught you when you were at Yale. We have —her voice faltered briefly— we have met before.

Sebastian was silent for a very long moment. Then he said, You said ‘was.’ Am I to understand that your father is now deceased?

Yes, sir, Rose said. He died a year ago.

He was silent for a moment, staring at her. A muscle ticked in his jaw. The news grieved him, she realized.

My condolences, he said at last, and his tone was quiet. Your father is—was—one of the greatest scientific minds of our generation, as well as a good friend and generous mentor. He will be sorely missed.

Thank you, said Rose. That is very good of you to say. My father always spoke very highly of you as well. That’s why I came here today.

He leaned back in his chair once again and regarded her without comment. She swallowed carefully, wishing that he had received her letters. It would make everything so much easier if she didn’t have to explain to him why she was here while he stared at her like that.

When my father died, Rose said, he was working on a teleportation device—something that can transmit objects and people across a distance.

An expression that might have been interest or excitement crossed Sebastian’s face, and sudden hope flared within her. Did the idea of the device still enthrall him as it had so many years ago? Would he agree to help her, then? But before she could continue, his gray eyes once again became shuttered and remote.

I’m acquainted with the concept of teleportation, thank you, Sebastian said.

Rose’s heart sank, and her brief flare of hope died.

Yes, of course, she said, flushing with embarrassment. I know that when you were at Yale you worked with him to demonstrate the possibility of transmitting an invertebrate or an inanimate object instantly across the Long Island Sound.

Sebastian gave a brief, stiff nod.

It was my father’s greatest wish that this teleportation box be fully developed to transport people across great distances, she continued. In his will, he left you all his blueprints and notes from the project, and requested that you continue his work.

For a moment, an expression she couldn’t read flashed in his rain-gray eyes. Then it was gone, so rapidly that she thought she must have imagined it.

I see, he said. How did your father die?

Cancer of the brain. He was ill for a very long time.

So you are here because he wished me to complete his work on his teleportation device?

Yes. She took a quick, eager step toward him and held out her hands. My father always said that you were the most brilliant student he ever had. For some time, I attempted to continue his work alone, but my sister disapproved of the project, and—and anyway, the mechanical and electrical intricacies, as well as some of the more advanced mathematical equations, are beyond my skill.

He was silent for a long moment.

I’m sorry, Miss Verney, he said at last. You’ve come to the wrong place. I don’t build machines anymore.

Rose froze, utterly bewildered. You—you don’t build machines anymore?

No.

But— Rose’s voice trailed off.

Of all the excuses she had been prepared for him to make, of all the refusals he might have presented to her, she had never considered that Sebastian Cavendish had become a Luddite. It seemed incredible. This man’s inventions had dazzled his Yale professors and classmates alike: steam-powered coaches, clockwork automatons, electric mules. How could he have stopped building?

In all the speeches she had rehearsed since she had first made up her mind to defy Louisa and seek Sebastian’s help, Rose had intended to appeal to his scientific curiosity, his desire to build. The many impressions she had received of him in her girlhood left her with the belief that he was a man essentially like her father, obsessed with science and technology. Richard Verney had never been able to resist a clever machine, and she had thought that Sebastian would be the same.

Had she been wrong?

Mr. Cavendish, she said at last, clasping her hands together, when my father was dying, he asked me to bring you these blueprints. He said that you would understand.

I’m sorry, he said again. You have made your journey in vain. I cannot help you.

Please, Rose said. You’re the only one I know who can finish my father’s work.

He rose. When he spoke, his voice, like the expression on his scarred face, was unreadable, but he emitted palpable waves of hostility that confused and frightened her. As it’s late and you may have difficulty procuring a room at a respectable establishment, you may stay here tonight. But I want you gone first thing in the morning.

He bowed briefly and limped out of the room without a backward glance.

Sebastian’s hands trembled as he limped down the long corridor. In the darkness, he made his way unerringly to the library, one of the very few rooms in the house he still used.

The fire had nearly died in the hearth, but he ignored the chill of the air and went directly to the sideboard. It sat next to a gilt-framed mirror that hung above the elaborate marble mantelpiece, a fixture on his wall he’d avoided for the four long years since Appomattox. Not because he feared his own ugliness, though he was certainly ugly, with that huge burn scar seared across his left cheekbone. In truth, his physical beauty had never mattered much to him.

What he feared was that someday, he would look into the mirror and see nothing at all because he, too, had become a ghost. Like all the young men who had died in the war because of the killing machines he had built.

He retrieved a decanter of brandy and tried to pour himself a glass, but he missed, splashing his fingers. For a moment he stared at the amber drops on the polished wood. Then, with a deliberate motion, he picked up the glass and hurled it into the fireplace.

Brandy splashed onto the dying embers, and the flames burst to life once again.

He let out a slow breath and sank into his chair, dropping his head into his hands. The only sound he could hear in the room was the slow ticking of his clockwork heart, reminding him that he was no longer whole. Reminding him that, despite his human needs, he was no longer human.

For a long while he sat without moving, unable to form a coherent thought. He had plunged suddenly into a private hell from which he couldn’t escape. His engineered heart beat a violent tattoo.

He remembered well the teleportation device he and Professor Verney had worked so hard to construct. For a brief moment, as Rose Verney had pleaded with him to finish her father’s work, it had all come back to him: the excitement of discovery, of creation, of invention. For one brief moment, his mind had filled with ideas and plans and visions.

And then he had remembered. Remembered that everything he had ever built had ended in death, and war, and destruction. Remembered that he had sworn to never build another machine again.

To distract himself from the teleportation device he wouldn’t—couldn’t—build, he focused instead on the thought of Rose Verney.

Earlier that evening, finally succumbing to the weakness and need that had gnawed at him for months, he had instructed Greaves to send a note to Mrs. Morrison’s establishment, requesting her to send one of her girls to Cavendish House.

It was a move to which he seldom resorted. But it had been a long time since he had been with a woman, and he had wanted, no matter how false, for however short a period of time, the illusion of companionship.

For the first twenty-six years of his life, Sebastian had never lacked for female attention. He had been seven years old when a tiny, besotted Margaret Astor Ward had assaulted him behind a settee in the drawing room of Cavendish House, and informed him he was to marry her as soon as she was old enough. He had been just thirteen when Daisy, a dimpled maid at his boarding school, had drawn him into an alcove of the library and seduced him in the hour between dinner and tea.

They were a blur to him now, the

Reviews for A Riveting Affair

[thehistorychic · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

Read in April, 2013Read for Review (NetGalley)Overall Anthology Rating: 3.75NOTE: What you should know about the Candace Haven's entry--it is more of a teaser for a new series than a true novella. Knowing that totally changed my rating since I really liked the characters but felt the story was incomplete.NOTE: On a whole I am not a fan of steampunk but I am glad I gave this one a whirl!Beauty and the Clockwork Beast by Lily LangOverall Rating: 4.50Story Rating: 4.25Character Rating: 4.75This was my favorite of the 3 stories! I am a sucker for Beauty and The Beast type of stories in the first place. This one was really well done and while I still could have used more character development, I did really enjoy the timeline. I could imagine what happened in the inbetween so it didn't feel like instalove. The steampunk elements were not overpowering and the story was solid!The Clockwork BrideOverall Rating: 3.00Story Rating: 2.75Character Rating: 3.25This was my least favorite of the stories BUT that is because it had a lot of steampunk elements in it. I want to point that out because fans of steampunk will probably love it. This is just a case of the story not working for this particular reader. I did enjoy the characters and wanted to know more about them. The story line was quick to launch but she did refrain from rushing their love story. I do think this story will work better for steampunk readers.Demon ExpressOverall Rating: 3.75Character Rating: 4.25Story Rating: 3.25First, it is important to note that I don't think this works as a stand alone novella. It does however work quite well as a teaser for things to come. I really enjoyed the characters and the glimpse into their world. This read a little different than a typical steampunk and I will give the full-length novel a whirl. I do love me some Cowboys and there is a smexy one in here!Final Thought: Overall I was really impressed with this anthology even though I am not a huge fan of novellas. A Riveting Affair had some great characters and fans of steampunk will love the gadgetry!