Devils Bride

Chapter 11

Investigating Tolly's murder proved more difficult than she'd thought. While his cousins had entree to Tolly's largely male world, Honoria did not. Likewise, they knew Tolly, his habits, his interests. On the other hand, she reasoned, she could view his last days impartially, the facts uncolored by preconceived notions. Besides, women were notoriously more observant than men.

Tolly's youngest aunt, Celia, had been elected by the conclave of Cynster wives to give the first "at home," a declaration to the ton that the family had emerged from deepest mourning. Even Louise was present, still in deadest black, her composure a shield against those proffering their condolences.

At St. Ives House, black crepe had wreathed the knocker ever since they had come up to town; on the Dowager's orders, it had been removed this morning. Their first week in the capital had been spent quietly, eschewing all social functions, but it was now three weeks since Tolly's death; his aunts had decreed their time in deep mourning past. They all still wore black and would for another three weeks, then they would go into half-mourning for another six weeks.

Honoria circulated amongst Celia's guests, noting those whose acuity might prove useful. Unfortunately, as it was the first time she'd ventured into society, there were many eager to claim her attention.

"Honoria." Turning, Honoria found Celia beside her, a plate of cakes in her hand, her eye on a chaise on the opposite side of the room. "I hate to ask, but I know you can handle it." With a smile, Celia handed her the plate. "Lady Osbaldestone-she's a veritable tartar. If I go, she'll shackle me to the chaise, and I'll never get free. But if one of the family doesn't appear to appease her curiosity, she'll batten on Louise. Here, let me take your cup."

Relieved of her empty teacup, Honoria was left with the cake plate. She opened her lips to point out she wasn't "family"-but Celia had disappeared into the crowd. Honoria hesitated, then, with a resigned sigh, straightened her shoulders and bore down on Lady Osbaldestone.

Her ladyship greeted her with a basilik stare. "And about time, too." A clawlike hand shot out and snaffled a petit four. "Well, miss?" She stared at Honoria. When she simply stared back, politely vacant, her ladyship snorted. "Sit down, do! You're giving me a crick. Daresay that devil St. Ives chose you for your height-I can just imagine why." This last was said with a definite leer-Honoria swallowed an urge to request clarification. Instead, she perched, precisely correct, on the edge of the chaise, the cake plate held where Lady Osbaldestone could reach it.

Her ladyship's black eyes studied her carefully while the petit four was consumed. "Not just in the usual way and an Anstruther-Wetherby to boot, heh? What's your grandfather say to this match, miss?"

"I have no idea," Honoria answered calmly. "But you're laboring under a misapprehension. I'm not marrying anyone."

Lady Osbaldestone blinked. "Not even St. Ives?"

"Particularly not St. Ives." Deciding she might as well eat, Honoria selected a small tea cake and nibbled delicately.

Her declaration had struck Lady Osbaldestone dumb. For a full minute, her black eyes, narrowed, rested on Honoria's profile, then her ladyship's face cracked in a wide smile; she cackled gleefully. "Oh, you'll do. Keep up that pose, miss, and you'll do for Devil Cynster nicely."

Haughtily, Honoria looked down her nose. "I have no interest in His Grace of St. Ives."

"Oh-ho!" Her ladyship poked her arm with a bony finger. "But has His Grace an interest in you?"

Her eyes trapped in her ladyship's black gaze, Honoria wished she could lie. Lady Osbaldestone's grin grew wider. "Take my advice, girl-make sure he never loses it. Never let him take you for granted. The best way to hold such men is to make them work for their pleasure."

Adopting a martyred expression, Honoria sighed. "I really am not going to marry him."

Lady Osbaldestone, suddenly terrifyingly sober, looked at Honoria through old black eyes. "Girl-you don't have a choice. No-!" She pointed a skeletal finger. "Don't poker up and stick that Anstruther-Wetherby chin in the air. There's no benefit in running from fate. Devil Cynster has all but declared he wants you-which means he'll have you-and if that chin is any guide, it'll be a good thing, too. And as he's too experienced to pursue where there's no reciprocating sentiment, you needn't think to deny it." Her ladyship snorted. "You'd have to be dead to be immune to his temptation-and you don't look too desiccated to me."

A blush stole into Honoria's cheeks; Lady Osbaldestone nodded. "Your mother's dead-so's your grandmother-so I'll give you the right advice in their stead. Accept fate's decree-marry the devil and make it work. Handsome may be as handsome is, but underneath it all he's a good man. You're a strong woman-that's the way it should be. And despite any thoughts of yours, the devil, in this case, is right. The Cynsters need you; the Anstruther-Wetherbys, strange to tell, need you as a Cynster, too. Fate has landed you precisely where you're supposed to be."

Leaning forward, she held Honoria's gaze mercilously. "And besides, if you don't take him on, who do you imagine will? Some namby-pamby chit with more hair than wit? Do you hate him so much you'd condemn him to that-a marriage with no passion?"

Honoria couldn't breathe. A gust of laughter reached them; the rustle of silk heralded an approaching lady. "There you are, Josephine. Are you grilling poor Miss Anstruther-Wetherby?"

Lady Osbaldestone finally consented to release Honoria; she glanced up at the newcomer. "Good afternoon, Emily. I was merely giving Miss Anstruther-Wetherby the benefit of my experienced counsel." She waved Honoria to her feet. "Off you go-and remember what I said. And take those cakes away-they're fattening."

Shaken, her features stiff, Honoria bobbed a curtsy to Emily, Lady Cowper, then, head high, let the crowd swallow her. Unfortunately, many ladies were waiting to waylay her, to quiz her on her new relationship.

"Has St. Ives taken you to Richmond yet? The trees are quite lovely at present."

"And where are you planning to spend the festive season, my dear?"

Sidestepping such inquiries required tact and skill, difficult with her mind reeling from Lady Osbaldestone's lecture. Spying Amanda and Amelia half-hidden by a palm, Honoria sought refuge with them. Their eyes lit up when they saw the cake plate; she handed it over without comment.

"Mama said we should come and see what 'at homes' are like," Amanda said around a miniature currant bun.

"We're to be brought out next year," Amelia added.

Honoria watched them eat. "How are you?"

Both girls looked up, openly, without any trace of pain. They both screwed up their faces in thought, then Amanda offered: "All right, I think."

"We keep expecting him to come for dinner-just like he always did." Amelia looked down and picked up a last crumb.

Amanda nodded. "Laughing and joking, just like that last night."

Honoria frowned. "Last night?"

"The night before he was shot."

Honoria blinked. "Tolly came to dinner the night before he died?"

Amelia nodded. "He was in great spirits-he usually was. He played spillikins with the young ones, then after dinner, we all played Speculation. It was great fun."

"That's…" Honoria blinked again. "Nice-I mean, that you have such good memories of him."

"Yes." Amanda nodded. "It is nice." She appeared to dwell on the fact, then looked at Honoria. "When are you going to marry Devil?"

The question hit Honoria right in the chest. She looked into the twins' eyes, four orbs of innocent blue, and cleared her throat. "We haven't decided."

"Oh," they chorused, and smiled benignly.

Honoria beat a hasty retreat and headed for an empty alcove. Inwardly, she cursed. First Lady Osbaldestone, now Tolly's sisters. Who else was lining up to shake her resolution? The answer was unexpected.

"How are you coping with being absorbed into the clan?"

The soft question had Honoria turning, to meet Louise Cynster's still-weary eyes. Tolly's mother smiled. "It takes a little getting used to, I know."

Honoria drew a deep breath. "It's not that." She hesitated, then, encouraged by Louise's calm expression, forged on: "I haven't actually agreed to marry Devil-just to consider the idea." With a gesture that encompassed the room, she added: "I feel like a fraud."

To her relief, Louise didn't laugh or turn the comment lightly aside. Instead, after a moment scrutinizing her face, she put a hand on her arm. "You're not certain, are you?"

"No." Her voice was barely a whisper. After a minute, she added: "I thought I was." It was the truth-plain, unvarnished; the realization left her stunned. What had he-they-done to her? What had happened to Africa?

"It's normal to feel hesitant." Louise spoke reassuringly, with no hint of condescension. "Especially in such a case, where the decision is so much your own." She glanced at Honoria. "My own case was similar. Arthur was there, ready to lay his heart and all that came with it at my feet-everything hung on my whim." Her lips curved, her gaze becoming lost in reminiscence. "It's easy to make decisions when no one but yourself is involved, but when there are others to consider, it's natural to question your judgment. Particularly if the gentleman concerned is a Cynster." Her smile deepened; she glanced again at Honoria. "Doubly so if he's Devil Cynster."

"He's a tyrant," Honoria declared.

Louise laughed. "You'll get no argument from me on that score. All the Cynsters are dictatorially inclined, but Devil dictates to all the rest."

Honoria humphed. "He's inflexible-and far too used to getting his own way."

"You should ask Helena about that someday-she has stories that will curl your hair. You won't need the tongs for a week."

Honoria frowned. "I thought you were encouraging me."

Louise smiled. "I am-but that doesn't mean I can't see Devil's faults. But for all those-and you won't find a Cynster wife who's not had to cope with the same-there's a great deal to be said for a man who will unfailingly be there to shoulder the burdens, who, regardless of all else, is devoted to his family. Devil may be the leader of the pack-the president of the Bar Cynster-but give him a son or a daughter, and he'll happily sit in Cambridgeshire and play spillikins every night."

Unbidden, the image Louise's words conjured up took shape in Honoria's mind-a large, black-haired, harsh-featured male sprawled on a rug before a blazing fire with a child in petticoats clambering over him. Watching the scene, she felt a warm glow of pride, of satisfaction; she heard the child's shrill giggles over a deeper rumbling laugh-she could almost reach out and touch them. She waited-waited for the fear that had always dogged her to rise up and swallow the image whole, to banish it to the realm of unattainable dreams. She waited-and still the image glowed.

Firelight sheened on both black heads, unruly locks thick and wild. It gilded the child's upturned face-in her mind, Honoria stretched out her hand to the man's familiar shoulder, hard and stable as rock beneath her fingers. Unable to help herself, fascinated beyond recall, she reached, hesitantly, so hesitantly, for the child's face. It shrieked with laughter and ducked its head; her fingers touched hair like silky down, soft as a butterfly's wing. Emotion welled, unlike any she'd known. Dazed, she shook her head.

Then she blinked rapidly and hauled in a quick breath. She focused on Louise, idly scanning the crowd. What had she said? "The Bar Cynster?"

"Ah!" Louise sent her an arch look, then glanced about. No one was close enough to hear. "They think we don't know, but it's a standing joke among the gentlemen about town. Some wit coined the term when Richard and Harry followed Devil and Vane to London, supposedly to denote a…certain rite of passage. With Richard and Harry, of course, there was never any doubt that they would follow Devil and Vane into the customary Cynster pursuits." Her emphasis and the look in her eye left no doubt as to what those pursuits were. "Later, when Rupert and Alasdair went on the town, it was merely a matter of time before they, too, were called to the Bar Cynster."

"Like a barrister being called to Temple Bar?" Honoria kept her mind focused on the point.

"Precisely." Louise's smile faded. "Tolly would have been next."

It was Honoria's turn to lay a hand on Louise's arm and squeeze reassuringly. "I'd imagined the name derived from the heraldic term."

"The bar sinister?" Louise shook off her sorrow and pointedly met Honoria's gaze. "Between you, me, and the other Cynster ladies, I'm quite certain many gentlemen about town refer to our sons as 'noble bastards.' " Honoria's eyes widened; Louise grinned. "That, however, is not something anyone, gentleman or lady, would be willing to admit in our presence."

Honoria's lips twitched. "Naturally not." Then she frowned. "What about Charles?"

"Charles?" Louise waved dismissively. "Oh, he was never part of it."

Two ladies approached to take their leave; when the handclasps were over and they were private once more, Louise turned to Honoria. "If you need any support, we're always here-the others in a similar bed. Don't hesitate to call on us-it's an absolute rule that Cynster wives help each other. We are, after all, the only ones who truly understand what it's like being married to a Cynster."

Honoria glanced over the thinning crowd, noting the other family members, not just the Dowager, Horatia, and Celia, but other cousins and connections. "You really do stick together."

"We're a family, my dear." Louise squeezed Honoria's arm one last time. "And we hope very much that you'll join us."

"There!" Heaving a relieved sigh, Honoria propped the parchment inscribed with her brother's direction against the pigeonholes of the escritoire. Describing her doings to Michael without letting her troubled state show had proved a Herculean task. Almost as difficult as facing the fact that she might be wrong-and that Devil, the Dowager, Michael, and everyone else might be right.

She was in the sitting room adjoining her bedchamber. The windows on either side of the fireplace overlooked the courtyard below. Propping her elbow on the desk, she put her chin in her hand and stared outside.

Eight years ago she'd suffered her loss; seven years ago she'd made up her mind never to risk losing again. Until three days past, she hadn't reviewed that decision-she'd never had reason to do so. No man, no circumstance, had been strong enough to force a reevaluation.

Three days ago, everything had changed. Lady Osbaldestone's sermon had shaken her, setting the consequences of refusing Devil firmly in her mind.

Louise and the twins had compounded her uncertainty, showing her how close to the family she'd already become.

But the most startling revelation had been the image evoked by Louise, the image she'd resurrected in every spare moment since-the image of Devil and their child.

Her fear of loss was still there, very real, very deep; to lose again would be devastating-she'd known that for eight years. But never before had she truly wanted a child. Never before had she felt this driving need-a desire, a want, that made her fear seem puny, something she could, if she wished, brush aside.

The strength of that need was unnerving-not something she could readily explain. Was it simple maternal desire gaining strength because Devil would be so protective, that, because he was so wealthy, their child would have every care? Was it because, as Cynsters, both she and their child would be surrounded by a loving, supportive clan? Or was it be cause she knew that being the mother of Devil's child would give her a position no other could ever have?

If she gave Devil a child, he would worship at her feet.

Drawing a deep breath, she stood and walked to the window, gazing unseeing at the weeping cherry, drooping artistically in the courtyard. Was wanting Devil, wanting him in thrall, the reason she wanted his child? Or had she simply grown older, become more of a woman than she had been at seventeen? Or both? She didn't know. Her inner turmoil was all-consuming, all-confusing; she felt like an adolescent finally waking up, but compared to growing up this was worse.

A knock on the door startled her. Straightening, she turned. "Come!"

The door swung inward; Devil stood on the threshold. One black brow rose; inherently graceful, he strolled into the room. "Would you care for a drive, Honoria Prudence?"

Honoria kept her eyes on his, refusing all other distractions. "In the park?"

His eyes opened wide. "Where else?"

Honoria glanced at her letter, in which she'd carefully skirted the truth. It was too early to make any admission-she wasn't yet sure where she stood. She looked at Devil. "Perhaps you could frank my letter while I change?"

He nodded. Honoria moved past him; without a backward glance, she retreated to her bedchamber.

Ten minutes later, clad in topaz twill, she returned to find him standing before one window, hands behind his back, her letter held between his long fingers. He turned as she approached. As always, whenever he saw her anew, his gaze swept her, possessively, from head to toe.

"Your letter." He presented the folded parchment with a flourish.

Honoria took it, noting the bold black script decorating one corner. It was, she would swear, the same script that had adorned the note Celestine had, so opportunely, received.

"Come. Webster will put it in the post."

As they traveled the long corridors, Honoria inwardly frowned. Celestine had not sent in her bill. It was over a week since the last gowns had arrived.

With her letter entrusted into Webster's care, they headed for the park, Sligo, as usual, up behind. Their progress down the fashionable avenue was uneventful beyond the usual smiles and nods; her appearance in Devil's curricle no longer created any great stir.

As they left the main knot of carriages, Honoria shifted-and glanced frowningly at Devil. "What are they going to say when I don't marry you?" The question had been bothering her for the past three days.

The look he shot her matched her own. "You are going to marry me."

"But what if I don't?" Honoria stubbornly fixed her gaze on his equally stubborn profile. "You ought to start considering that." The ton could be quite vicious; until Lady Osbaldestone's sermon, she'd viewed him as an adversary comfortably impervious to the slings and arrows of society. Her ladyship had changed her perspective; she was no longer comfortable at all. "I've warned you repeatedly that I'm unlikely to change my mind."

His sigh was full of teeth-gritted impatience. "Honoria Prudence, I don't give a damn what anyone says except you. And all I want to hear from you is 'Yes.' And as for our wedding, its occurrence is far more likely than you getting within sight of Cairo, let alone the Great Sphinx!"

His accents left no doubt that the subject was closed. Honoria stuck her nose in the air and stared haughtily down at a group of innocent passersby.

Grim silence reined until, the turn accomplished, they headed back toward the fashionable throng. Slanting a glance at Devil's set face, Honoria heard Lady Osbaldestone's words: make it work. Was it possible? Fixing her gaze in the distance, she airily inquired: "Was Tolly particularly good at hiding his feelings?"

Devil stared at her-she could feel his green gaze, sharp and penetrating; stubbornly, she kept her face averted. The next instant, they were drawing in to the verge. The carriage rocked to a halt; Sligo rushed to the horses' heads.

"Hold 'em-wait here." With that terse command, Devil tied off the reins, stood, stepped past her, and jumped to the ground. Fluidly, he turned and plucked her from the seat. Ignoring her gasp, he set her on her feet, hauled her hand through his arm, and strode off across the lawn.

Honoria hung on to her hat. "Where are we going?"

Devil shot her a black glance. "Somewhere we can talk freely."

"I thought you said Sligo was half-deaf?"

"He is-others aren't." Devil scowled discouragingly at a party of young people. The fashionable throng was rapidly thinning, left behind in their wake. "Anyway, Sligo knows all about Tolly and our search."

Honoria's eyes narrowed-then flew wide. The rhododendron walk loomed ahead. "I thought you said we were to observe the strictures?"

"Wherever possible," Devil growled, and whisked her into the deserted walk. Screened by the thick bushes, he halted and swung to face her. "Now!" Eyes narrowed, he captured her gaze. "Why the devil do you want to know if Tolly was a dab hand at hiding his feelings?"

Chin up, Honoria met his gaze-and tried not to notice how very big he was. He was tall enough and broad enough to screen her completely-even if someone strolled up on them, all they would see of her was a wisp of skirt. She tipped her chin higher. "Was he-or wasn't he?"

The eyes boring into hers were crystal-clear, his gaze sharp as a surgeon's knife. She saw his jaw clench; when he spoke, his voice was a deep feral growl. "Tolly couldn't dissemble to save himself. He never learned the knack."

"Hmm." Honoria shifted her gaze to the bushes.

"Why did you want to know?"

She shrugged. "I just…" She glanced up-her glib reply died on her lips, slain by the look in his eye. Her heart leapt to her throat; determinedly, she swallowed it. "I just thought it was of interest that he spent the evening before he was shot playing with his brother and sisters, apparently in excellent spirits." Elevating her nose, she let her gaze drift over the glossy green leaves.

Devil stared at her. "He did?"

Honoria nodded. Silence stretched; eyes on the bushes, she waited, barely breathing. She could feel his gaze, still intense, on her face; she knew when he looked away. Then, with a deep resigned sigh that seemed to come from his boots, he set her hand back on his sleeve, and turned her along the walk. "So-tell me-what have you learned?"

It wasn't the most gracious invitation to collusion, but Honoria decided it would do. "The twins mentioned their last dinner with Tolly when I saw them on Wednesday." Strolling beside him down the secluded walk, she related the twins' description. "I had the impression Tolly and the twins were close. If he was agitated, even if he was trying to hide it, I would have thought they'd have noticed."

Devil nodded. "They would have-they're as sharp as tacks." He grimaced. "Uncle Arthur told me Tolly went there for dinner. He gave me the impression Tolly was somewhat reserved. I'd forgotten how young men react to their fathers-it was probably no more than that."

He fell silent, pacing slowly down the serpentine path; Honoria held her tongue, content to let him ponder her findings. Although he walked by her side, she felt surrounded by his strength. What had Louise said? Unfailingly protective? That was, she had to admit, a comforting trait.

Eventually the rhododendrons ended; the walk debouched onto a wide sweep of lawn. "Your information," Devil said, as they stepped clear of the walk, "narrows the field rather drastically."

"Whatever Tolly learned, whatever sent him to find you, he must have stumbled on it after he left the family that evening." She looked up and saw Devil grimace. "What is it?"

He glanced at her, lips thin, his gaze considering. Then he answered. "Tolly's man went home to Ireland before we could talk to him. He'll know if Tolly was in the boughs when he came in that night." Honoria opened her mouth. "And yes-we're tracking him down. Demon's over there now."

Honoria glanced around, noting the many nursemaids and governesses, charges in tow, dotted across the lawn. "Where are we?"

Devil stopped. "In the nursery section. The rhododendrons keep the darlings out of sight and sound of their fond mamas." He half turned to retrace their steps-an earsplitting cry rent the peace.

"Deyyyyyyyy-vil!"

All heads turned their way, most displaying disapproving expressions. Devil turned back in time to catch Simon as he flung himself against his cousin.

"Hello! Didn't'spect to see you here!"

"I didn't expect to see you either," Devil returned. "Make your bow to Honoria Prudence."

Simon promptly complied. Smiling in return, Honoria noted the boy's ruddy cheeks and bright eyes, and marveled at the resilience of youth. She looked up as two women, the twins, Henrietta, and little Mary came bustling up in Simon's wake. Devil made her known to Mrs. Hawlings, the younger girls' nurse, and Miss Pritchard, the twins' governess.

"We'd thought to take advantage of the weather while we may," Mrs. Hawlings explained. "The fogs and rains will be here soon enough."

"Indeed." Honoria saw Devil draw Simon aside. She could guess the subject under discussion. Left to deal with-or was that distract?-the governess and nurse, she exchanged polite nothings with a facility born of long practice. The expectant look in the twins' bright eyes as they glanced from her to Devil and back again did not escape her. She could only be thankful they did not voice the question clearly exercising their minds.

The sun found a chink in the clouds and beamed down; the twins and Henrietta fell to weaving daisy chains. Little Mary, her fingers too plump to manage the slim stems, sat beside her sisters on the grass, big blue eyes studying first the three women chatting nearby, then Devil, still talking to Simon. After a long, wide-eyed scrutiny, she picked up her doll and, on sturdy legs, stumped up to Honoria's side.

Honoria didn't know she was there until she felt a small hand slip into hers. Startled, she glanced down. Mary looked up and smiled-confidently, openly trusting-then tightened her pudgy-fingered grip and, looking back at her sisters, leaned against Honoria's legs.

It took all Honoria's years of practice to preserve her composure, to look back at Mrs. Hawlings and Miss Pritchard and continue to converse as if nothing had happened. As if there wasn't a hot, soft hand snuggled into hers, as if there wasn't a soft weight propped against her legs, a soft cheek pressed against her thigh. Luckily, neither woman knew her well enough to know that her expression was not normally so blank.

Then Devil strolled up, one hand on Simon's shoulder. He saw Mary and glanced at Honoria. She kept her expression bland, determinedly uninformative under his sharp-eyed scrutiny; he looked down and held out a hand. Mary dropped Honoria's hand and went to him. Devil swung her up in his arms; Mary clung and snuggled her head down on his shoulder.

Honoria breathed deeply, her gaze locked on little Mary clinging close; the emotions rolling through her, sharp need, poignant desire swamping all fear, left her giddy.

Devil declared it was time for them to go. They made their farewells; as Mrs. Hawlings turned away, Mary in her arms, the little girl wriggled about to wave a pudgy hand. Honoria smiled softly and waved back.

"Come-Sligo's probably organizing a search by now."

Honoria turned; Devil took her hand and tucked it into his elbow, leaving his fingers, warm and strong, over hers. She found his touch both comforting and disturbing as, frowning slightly, she tried to settle her emotions. They walked briskly back to the main carriageway.

The curricle was in sight when Devil spoke. "As a governess, did you ever have younger children in your care?"

Honoria shook her head. "As a finishing governess, my role was specifically restricted to girls a year from their come-out. If the families I worked with had younger children, they always had another, ordinary governess to take charge of them."

Devil nodded, then looked ahead.

The drive back to Grosvenor Square gave Honoria time to marshal her thoughts. Their outing had been unexpectedly productive.

She'd verified Lady Osbaldestone's theory that she was strong enough to influence Devil, even over something he had a deep antipathy to-like her involvement in the search for Tolly's murderer. She'd had it confirmed that she did, very definitely, want to have his child. Of all men, he had to be the best-qualified mate for a woman with her particular fear-and she most assuredly wanted him, arrogant tyrant that he was, worshiping at her feet.

There remained one piece of Lady Osbaldestone's vision she had yet to verify, although he had, from the first, stated that he was marrying her to get her into his bed. Did that qualify as passion? Was that what lay between them?

Ever since their interlude on the terrace at the Place, she'd given him no chance to draw her close; his "mine" had effectively quashed her pursuit of his "pleasure." Over the last three days, however, her interest in the subject had returned. Even grown.

Webster opened the door; Honoria swept over the threshold. "If you have a moment, Your Grace, there's a matter I wish to discuss." Head high, she headed straight for the library door. A footman sprang to open it for her; she glided through-into the devil's lair.

Devil watched her go, his expression unreadable. Then he handed his driving gloves to Webster. "I suspect I won't want to be disturbed."

"Indeed, Your Grace."

Waving aside the hovering footman, Devil entered the library and shut the door.

Honoria stood before the desk, tapping her fingers on its edge. She heard the latch click; turning, she watched Devil slowly approach. "I want to discuss the ton's likely reaction when it learns I'm not marrying you." That seemed a sufficiently goading topic.

Devil's brows rose. "Is that what this is about?"

"Yes." Honoria remembered to frown when he did not halt but continued his prowling advance. "It's pointless to close your eyes to the fact that such an outcome will cause a considerable stir." She turned to stroll, as slowly as he, around the edge of his desk. "You know perfectly well it will affect not just yourself but the family as well." Glancing over her shoulder, she saw him some steps behind her, following in her wake. She kept walking. "It's simply not sensible to allow the expectation to build."

"So what do you suggest?"

Rounding the desk, Honoria continued toward the fire place. "You could hint that matters were not settled between us."

"On what grounds?"

"How should I know?" She flung a glance over her shoulder. "I'm sure you're imaginative enough to invent something."

From six feet behind, Devil's gaze remained steady. "Why?"

"Why?"

"Why should I invent something?"

"Because…" Gesturing vaguely, Honoria walked into the corner of the room. She stopped and stared at the volumes level with her nose. "Because it's necessary." She drew a deep breath, mentally crossed her fingers, and swung around. "Because I don't want anyone held up to ridicule because of my decision."

As she'd hoped, Devil was no longer six feet away. His eyes held hers, mere inches distant. "I'm the only one risking the ton's ridicule. And I'm not about to run shy."

Honoria narrowed her eyes at him, and tried not to notice she was trapped. "You are without doubt the most impossibly arrogant, conceited-" His eyes dropped from hers-Honoria caught her breath.

"Have you finished?"

The question was uttered in a conversational tone. His lids lifted and he met her gaze; Honoria managed a nod.

"Good." Again his gaze lowered; one hand rose to frame her face, then he bent his head.

Honoria's lids fell; in the instant his lips closed over hers, she gripped the bookshelves behind her tightly, fighting down her triumph. She'd got her wolf to pounce, and he hadn't even realized he'd been baited.

The thrill of success met the thrill of delight his kiss sent racing through her; she parted her lips, eager to learn of his passion, eager to experience again the pleasure she'd found in his arms. He shifted; she thought he groaned. For one instant, his weight pressed against her as his lips forced hers wider, his tongue tasting her voraciously. The sudden surge of desire surprised her; immediately, he shackled it, drawing back to a slow, steady plundering designed to reduce any resistance to dust.

That instant of raw, primitive emotion spurred Honoria on-she wanted to know it, taste it again; she needed to learn more. Her hands left the bookshelves and slid beneath his coat. His waistcoat effectively shielded his chest; the buttons, thankfully, were large. Her fingers busy, she angled her head against the pressure of his kiss. Their lips shifted, then locked; tentatively, then with greater confidence, she kissed him back.

It had been far too long since he'd kissed her.

Devil knew that was true; he was so famished, so caught up in drinking in the heady taste of her, that long minutes passed before he realized she was responding. Not passively allowing him to kiss her, not even merely offering her lips, her soft mouth. She was kissing him back. With untutored skill maybe, but also with the same determined forthrightness that characterized all she did.

The realization mentally halted him. She pressed closer, deepening the kiss of her own volition-shaking off his distraction, he took all she offered and greedily angled for more. Then he felt her hands on his chest. Palms gliding, fingers spread, she traced the heavy muscles, the fine linen of his shirt no real barrier to her touch.

She was setting him alight! Abruptly, Devil straightened, breaking off their kiss. It didn't work-Honoria's hands slid over his shoulders as she stretched upward against him; who initiated the next kiss was moot. With a groan, Devil took all she gave, his arms closing possessively about her. Did she know what she was doing?

Her eagerness, the alacrity with which she pressed herself against him, suggested she'd forgotten every maidenly precept she'd ever learned. It also suggested it was time to draw her deeper. Setting aside restraint, Devil kissed her deeply, hungrily, as ravenously as he wished, deliberately leaving her breathless. Raising his head, he drew her to the large armchair before the hearth; her hand in his, he freed the last two buttons on his waistcoat, then sat. Looking up at her, he raised one brow.

Her senses whirling, her hand clasped in his, Honoria read the question in his eyes. He'd asked it of her once before: How much of a woman are you? Her breasts, already heated, swelled as she drew breath. Deliberately, she stepped about his knees and sat, turning to him, sliding her hands over his chest, pushing his waistcoat wide.

Under her hands, his chest expanded; his lips found hers as he lifted her, settling her in his lap. A fleeting thought impinged on Honoria's mind-that she'd been here, like this, before. She dismissed it as nonsense-she could never have forgotten the sensation of being surrounded by him, his thighs hard beneath her, his arms a cage about her, his chest a fascinating wall of hard, shifting muscle bands over even harder bone. She pressed her hands against it, then slid them around, reaching as far as she could. His hands at her back urged her closer; her breasts brushed his chest. Then he changed the angle of their kiss and shifted her, laying her back against one arm.

Immediately, the tenor of their kiss changed; his tongue glided sensuously over hers, then alongside-she sensed his invitation. Responding, she was drawn deep into an intimate game, of thrust and parry, of artlessly evocative caresses, of steadily escalating desire. When his hand closed over her breast, she arched; his long fingers found her nipple, tantalizingly circling it before closing in a firm caress, which only left her aching for more.

Instead, his hand left her; her lips trapped beneath his, Honoria was considering pulling away to protest, when she felt her bodice give. An instant later, his hand slid beneath the twill, cupping her breast fully.

Heat seared her; as his fingers closed, then stroked, her breast grew heavy. Honoria tried to break their kiss to catch her breath; he refused to let her go, deepening the kiss instead as she felt his fingers tangle with the silk ribbons of her chemise. Giddy, her senses reeling, she felt the ribbons give, felt the silk shift and slide-then his hand, his fingers, stroked her bare skin, intimately, unhurriedly.

Sweet fever rose and spread through her; her senses sang. Every particle of awareness she possessed was fixed on where he caressed her. With each questing sweep of his fingers, he knew her more.

Devil broke their heady kiss so that he could move her back slightly and shift his attentions to her other breast. She dragged in a shuddering breath, but kept her eyes shut and didn't protest; lips curving, he gave her what she wanted. Her skin was smooth as satin, rich to the touch; his fingertips tingled as he stroked her, his palm burned when he cupped the soft weight. Her height belied her curvaceousness; each breast filled his palm, a satisfyingly sensual sensation. His only complaint was that he couldn't see what his fingers traced; her carriage dress was too stiff, the style too well cut, to brush her bodice aside.

He returned to the first breast; his fingers tightened. Honoria's eyes glinted from beneath her lashes. He caught her gaze. "I want you, sweet Honoria." Gravelly with leashed desire, his voice was very deep. "I want to watch you, naked, writhing in my arms. I want to see you, naked, spread beneath me."

Honoria couldn't stop the shiver that raced through her. Eyes trapped in his, she struggled to draw breath, struggled to steady her giddy head. The planes of his face were hard-edged; desire glowed in his eyes. His fingers shifted; a shaft of pure delight streaked through her. She shivered again.

"There's much more that I can teach you. Marry me, and I'll show you all the pleasure I can give you-and all that you can give me."

If she'd needed any warning of how dangerous he was, how intent he was, it was there in that last phrase; Honoria heard his possessiveness ring. Any pleasure he gave her she would pay for-but would possessing her truly be such pleasure to him? And, given all she now knew, was being possessed, by him, any longer a destiny to be feared? Breathing shallowly, she raised her hand and sent it skating over his chest. Muscles shifted, then locked. Other than a hardening of his features, his face showed no reaction.

Honoria smiled knowingly; raising her hand, she boldly traced his jaw, traced the sensual line of his lips.

"No-I will go upstairs, I think."

They both froze, eyes locked on the other's. The Dowager's voice carried clearly from the hall as she issued instructions to Webster, then heels clicked as she swept past the library door.

Eyes wide, excruciatingly aware that his hand lay firm about her naked breast, Honoria swallowed. "I think I'd better go up." How long had they been here, scandalously dallying?

Devil's smile turned devilish. "In a minute." It wasn't one, but ten. When she finally climbed the stairs, Honoria felt like she was floating. Reaching the gallery, she frowned. Devil's pleasure, she suspected, could be seriously addictive; of his possessiveness she had not a doubt. But passion?-that should be intense, uncontrollable, explosively powerful; Devil had been in control throughout. Her frown deepening, she shook her head and headed for the morning room.