I enjoy adding the occasional baddy to my stories, someone determined to throw a spanner in the works and make my heroine and heroes life just that little bit more difficult. But just because they’re a baddy doesn’t mean they have to fall into the typical stereotype. Baddies are entitled to smile without needing to throw back their heads and cackle in a downright evil manner. They can be clean shaven and well groomed without looking as they’ve spent several hours in front of the mirror choosing just the right outfit to do their evil-doings. They don’t have to stand out. They can sidle amongst the rest of the crowd, waiting for just the right moment.
A man in his late thirties stepped over the threshold, smartly dressed in pale pantaloons and a charcoal grey coat with two neat lines of horn buttons. There was nothing offensive about his looks or manner of dress.
Somehow Edward had expected beetle-like black eyebrows and a scowling countenance. Hell, his mental image of Lord Curzon had featured pasty skin and oily hair. The evil-blackguard brought to life and nothing like the innocuous gentleman, with neatly combed silver hair, currently coming forward to greet him.