Devils Bride

Chapter 18

The ballroom at Somersham Place was filled to overflowing. Afternoon sunlight poured through the long windows, striking glints from the curls and coifs of damsels and dowagers, rakes and rogues, gentlemen and haughty matrons. Gowns of every hue vied with bright jewels and equally bright eyes. The full flower of the ton was present-to see, to witness, to appreciate.

"She's the last marriageable Anstruther-Wetherby female and as rich as bedamned-isn't it just like Devil to have such a pearl fall into his lap."

"Such a handsome couple-Celestine designed her gown expressly."

Surrounded by such comments, by felicitations and congratulations, Honoria circulated through the throng, smiling, graciously inclining her head, exchanging the required words with all those who'd come to see her wed.

She was now the duchess of St. Ives. The past months of consideration, the last weeks of frenetic activity, had culminated in a simple service in the chapel in the grounds. The church had been packed, the overflow surrounding it like a jeweled sea. Mr. Merryweather had pronounced them man and wife, then Devil had claimed his kiss-a kiss she'd remember all her life. The sun had broken through as the crowd surged forth, forming a long aisle. Bathed in sunshine, they'd run a gauntlet of well-wishers all the way to the ballroom.

The wedding banquet had commenced at noon; it was now close to three o'clock. The musicians were resting-only six waltzes had been scheduled, but she'd already danced more. The first had been with Devil, an affecting experience. She'd been starved of breath by its end, only to be claimed by Vane, then Richard, followed by Harry, Gabriel, and Lucifer in quick succession. Her head had been spinning when the music finally ceased.

Scanning the crowd, Honoria spied Devil talking to Michael and her grandfather, seated near the huge fireplace. She headed toward them.

Amelia bobbed up in her path. "You're to bring Devil to cut the cake. They're setting up the trestles in the middle of the room-Aunt Helena said Devil would toe the line more easily if you ask."

Honoria laughed. "Tell her we're on our way."

Thrilled to be involved, Amelia whisked herself off.

Devil saw her long before she reached him; Honoria felt his gaze, warm, possessively lingering, as she dealt with the continual claims on her attention. Reaching his side, she met his eyes briefly-and felt her tension tighten, felt anticipation streak through her, the spark before the flame. They'd shared a bed for four weeks, yet the thrill was still there, the sudden breathlessness, the empty ache of longing, the need to give and take. She wondered if the feeling would ever fade.

Serenely, she inclined her head, acknowledging her grandfather. At Devil's behest, they'd met briefly before leaving London; focused on her future, she'd found it unexpectedly easy to forgive the past.

"Well, Your Grace!" Leaning back, Magnus looked up at her. "Here's your brother going to stand at the next election. What d'you think about that, heh?"

Honoria looked at Michael; he answered her unvoiced question. "St. Ives suggested it." He looked at Devil.

Who shrugged. "Carlisle was ready to put your name forward, which is good enough for me. With the combined backing of the Anstruther-Wetherbys and the Cynsters, you should be assured of a sound constituency."

Magnus snorted. "He'll get a safe seat, or I'll know the reason why."

Honoria grinned; stretching up, she planted a kiss on Michael's cheek. "Congratulations," she whispered.

Michael returned her affectionate kiss. "And to you." He squeezed her hand, then released it. "You made the right decision."

Honoria raised a brow, but she was smiling. Turning, she met Magnus's eye. "I am come to steal my husband away, sir. It's time to cut the cake."

"That so? Well-lead him away." Magnus waved encouragingly. "I wouldn't want to miss witnessing this phenomenon-a Cynster in tow to an Anstruther-Wetherby."

Honoria raised her brows. "I'm no longer an Anstruther-Wetherby."

"Precisely." Devil met Magnus's gaze, a conqueror's confidence in his eyes as he raised Honoria's hand to his lips. He turned to Honoria. "Come, my dear." He gestured to the room's center. "Your merest wish is my command."

Honoria slanted him a skeptical glance. "Indeed?"

"Indubitably." With polished efficiency, Devil steered her through the throng. "In fact," he mused, his voice deepening to a purr, "I'm anticipating fulfilling a goodly number of your wishes before the night is through."

Smiling serenely, Honoria exchanged nods with the duchess of Leicester. "You're making me blush."

"Brides are supposed to blush-didn't they tell you?" Devil's words feathered her ear. "Besides, you look delightful when you blush. Did you know your blush extends all the way-"

"There you are, my dears!"

To Honoria's relief, the Dowager appeared beside them. "If you'll just stand behind the cake. There's a knife there waiting." She shooed them around the table; family and guests crowded around. Their wedding cake stood in pride of place, seven tiers of heavy fruitcake covered with marzipan and decorated with intricate lace. On the top stood a stag, pirouetting on the Cynster shield.

"Good God!" Devil blinked at the creation.

"It's Mrs. Hull's work," Honoria whispered. "Remember to mention it later."

"Make way! Make way!"

The unexpected commotion had all turning. Honoria saw a long thin package waved aloft. Those at the edge of the crowd laughed; comments flew. A corridor opened, allowing the messenger through. It was Lucifer, his mission to deliver the package to Vane, standing before the table opposite Devil. With exaggerated ceremony, Vane accepted the package-a sword in its scabbard-reversing it and presenting it to Devil. "Your weapon, Your Grace."

The ballroom erupted with laughter.

His smile beyond devilish, Devil reached for the hilt. The blade-his cavalry saber-came singing from its sheath. To cheers and all manner of wild suggestions, he brandished it aloft-a piratical bucanneer in the heart of the elegant ton.

Then his eyes met Honoria's. One swift step and he stood behind her, his arms reaching around her. "Wrap your hands about the hilt."

Bemused, Honoria did so, gripping the thick-ridged rod of the hilt with both hands. Devil wrapped his hands about hers-Honoria suddenly felt faint.

A deep, soft chuckle sounded in her right ear. "Just like last night."

Last night-when he'd spent the final night of his bachelorhood with his cousins. Sighting Webster carrying a cask of brandy to the library, Honoria had resigned herself to spending her last night as a spinster alone. She'd retired to her bed and tried to fall asleep, only to discover that she'd become too used to having a large, warm, very hard body in the bed beside her. That same large, warm, very hard body had slipped quietly into her room in the small hours of the morning-and slid beneath the covers. She'd pretended to be asleep, then decided cutting off her nose to spite her face was no fun. She'd made her wishes known.

Only to be informed in a deep, sleepy chuckle, that he was too inebriated to mount her. Fiend that he was, he'd suggested she mount him-and had proceeded to teach her how. One lesson she would never forget.

Only when, utterly exhausted, sated to her toes, she'd collapsed on top of him, only to have him take control, pushing her on, possessing her so completely she had all but lost her mind, had she realized that, in keeping with the rest of their bodies, Cynster males also had hard heads. Not thick, not dense-just hard.

The memories poured through her, leaving her weak. Turning her head slightly, she met Devil's eyes-and was immensely glad she hadn't seen his smugly triumphant smile last night; she was seeing enough of it now. It took immense effort to stiffen her spine and close her hands, beneath his, about the saber's hilt, without recalling what it reminded her of. Drawing a deep breath, she poured every ounce of warning she could into her eyes, then looked at the cake. With his help, she raised the saber high.

The blade came singing down; guiding the swing, Devil drew her back, ensuring the saber cut a neat slice in each of the seven layers. Cheers and clapping erupted on all sides; ribald comments flew.

Her knees weak, Honoria fervently prayed everyone present thought those comments were the cause of her flaming cheeks. She prayed even harder that none bar the reprobate she'd married had noticed just where the rounded knob at the end of the sabre's hilt had finally come to rest. Hemmed in by the crowd behind them, they hadn't been able to move far enough back; the knobbed end of the hilt had slipped into the hollow between her thighs.

And for once, she couldn't blame him-the stillness that gripped him, the quick indrawn breath that hissed past her ear, exonerated him; he was as shaken as she. Their eyes met-were hers as nakedly wanting as his? Carefully, he drew the sword from her slackened grasp and handed it to Vane-then swiftly bent his head and brushed her lips with his. "Later."

The whispered word was a promise; Honoria shivered and felt an answering ripple pass through him. Again their eyes met-they both blinked, both drew breath-and turned aside, putting distance between their overcharged bodies.

In a daze, Honoria did the rounds of her Anstruther-Wetherby relations-the uncles and aunts she'd never known, the cousins who now regarded her with something akin to awe. It was a relief to return to the Cynster circle, to the warm smiles, openly affectionate, to the reassuring nods and the unflagging support. She stopped beside Louise; Arthur stood beside her.

Arthur took Honoria's hand. "You make a fine duchess, my dear." Despite the lines grief had etched in his face, as he raised her hand to his lips, Honoria glimpsed the debonair, devil-may-care gentleman he must once have been. "Sylvester's a lucky man."

"I'm sure your nephew appreciates Honoria as he ought," Louise put in from between them.

Arthur smiled-a typical, slow Cynster smile. "Never heard him described as a slow-top." He looked past Honoria. "Ah-here's Charles."

Honoria turned, regally acknowledging Charles as he joined them.

"And there's Lady Perry!" Louise put her hand on Arthur's arm. "Honoria-please excuse us. We must talk to her ladyship before she leaves."

With a smile for Honoria and a cool "Charles" to his son, Arthur yielded to his wife's directions and steered her into the crowd.

Bowing correctly, Charles watched them go, then turned to Honoria. "I'm glad to have a moment to speak with you, Miss-" His features hardened. "Your Grace."

Honoria didn't trust his smile. Their subsequent meetings had not allayed her first instinctive dislike. He was the only Cynster who affected her so-all the rest she instinctively liked. "I had hoped to have the pleasure of a dance with you, sir, but I believe all the dances are done."

He raised a brow, haughty arrogance one of the few Cynster traits he possessed. "I'm afraid you forget, Your Grace-I'm still in mourning." He smoothed his black armband. "The others, of course, have forgotten Tolly, but his loss still greatly affects me."

Biting her tongue, Honoria inclined her head. Of all the Cynsters present, only Charles and his father still wore black armbands.

"But I believe congratulations are de rigueur."

Charles's odd phrasing had her regarding him in surprise. He nodded superciliously. "I'm sure you recall the substance of our earlier conversation-in light of the reservations I expressed to you then, I most sincerely hope you do not live to regret your new state." Honoria stiffened.

Scanning the crowd, Charles didn't notice. "But however that may be, I do wish you well-if knowing Sylvester all his life makes me hesitant as to his constancy, I ask you to believe that that circumstance in no way lessens the sincerity of my hopes for your happiness."

"Yet, if I understand you correctly, you don't believe such happiness likely." Honoria watched as her words sank in-slowly, Charles brought his gaze back to her face. His eyes were pale, cold, oddly expressionless.

"Your actions have been most unwise. You should not have married Sylvester."

Quite what she would have replied to such an outrageous assertion Honoria never discovered-Amelia and Amanda, both still in alt, came rushing up in a froth of muslin skirts.

"Aunt Helena says you should move to the door-some of the guests are starting to leave."

Honoria nodded. From the corner of her eye, she saw Charles draw back.

"By your leave, Your Grace." With a half-bow to her and a curt nod for his half sisters, he turned on his heel and walked off.

Amanda pulled a face at his back, then linked her arm in Honoria's. "He's such a stuffy old shirt-he never enjoys anything."

"Sententious," Amelia pronounced, taking Honoria's other arm. "Now-where should you stand, do you think?" The short December day drew swiftly to a close; when the clock on the stairs chimed five, it was full dark outside. Standing on the porch by Devil's side, waving the last of the carriages away, Honoria inwardly sighed. Meeting Devil's eyes, she smiled and turned back to the hall. He fell in beside her, capturing her hand, long fingers twining. Most of the family would remain until the next day; they'd retreated to the drawing room, leaving them to do the honors alone. Immediately before the door, Devil halted. Honoria perforce halted, too, and looked up. A slow smile greeted her. Raising her hand, Devil brushed a kiss across her knuckles. "Well, my dear duchess?" With his other hand, he tipped her chin up-and up; automatically she rose on her toes.

He bent his head and kissed her, gently at first, then more deeply. When he lifted his head, they were both heated once more.

Honoria blinked at him. "There's dinner yet."

His smile deepened. "They're not expecting us to show." He drew her across the threshold. "This is where we slip away."

Honoria's lips formed a silent "Oh"; the hall, empty but for Webster, busy closing the door, suggested that her husband, as usual, had the procedure right. When he raised a brow, she acquiesced with a nod; calmly serene, she climbed the stairs by his side. They'd retired together often enough in the past weeks for her to feel no qualms.

A state of affairs that lasted all the way to the top of the stairs. That was when she turned right, toward the corridor that led to her rooms.

Devil's hold on her hand brought her up short. She turned in surprise-only to see him lift one brow, his gaze very green. He shook his head. "Not anymore."

Realization hit. Honoria nodded. Head high, outwardly assured, she allowed him to lead her through the gallery, into the corridor leading to the ducal apartments. Inwardly, her nerves had come alive, fluttering in ever-decreasing spirals until they tensed into knots.

It was ridiculous, she told herself, and struggled to ignore the sensation.

She'd been to the duchess's apartments only once, to approve the new color scheme-all rich creams, soft topaz, and old gold, complementing the warm patina of polished oak. Opening her door, Devil ushered her in; Honoria blinked at the blaze that greeted her.

Lighted candelabra graced the dressing table, the mantelshelf, a chest of drawers, an escritoire against one wall, and a tantalus set before one window. In their glare, the room appeared much as she'd last seen it, with the huge, canopied bed in pride of place between the long windows. The only new items were the urn of flowers, all yellow and white, that sat upon one chest, her brushes, gleaming silver on the polished dressing table, and her nightgown of ivory silk with its matching peignoir, laid out upon the bed.

Cassie must have put it there; Honoria certainly hadn't thought of it. She wondered if the candelabra were Cassie's idea, too-then noticed Devil seemed unsurprised. Strolling into the room, drawing her with him, he stopped before the fireplace, and drew her smoothly into his arms.

Any doubt of his intent fled before his kiss, full of barely restrained hunger and an ardor to set her alight. She sank against him, his instantaneous response driving her to take the pleasure he offered and return it fullfold. Her head was swimming, her limbs turned to water, when he raised his head. "Come. Our children can be born in your bed-we'll beget them in mine."

He swung her into his arms; Honoria twined her arms about his neck. With impatient stride, he carried her to a paneled door, left ajar, shouldering it open, revealing the short corridor that led to his room. "What was that all about?" she asked. "The candelabra?"

Devil glanced down at her; the corridor was dim, but she saw his teeth gleam. "Diversionary tactics."

She would have asked for clarification, but all thoughts of candles went winging from her head as he carried her into his room.

His room in London was large-this room was immense. The bed that stood against the near wall was the biggest she'd ever seen. Long windows marched along both sides and filled the wall opposite the bed; this room was at the end of the wing-with the curtains open, it was flooded with moonlight, turning the pale greens of the furnishings to muted silver.

Devil carried her around the bed, setting her on her feet where the moon cast a shimmering swath across the floor. Her wedding gown, layer upon layer of wide Mechlin lace, sparkled and shivered. He straightened, his gaze drawn to where the lace rose and fell; he cupped one soft mound and felt it firm. His fingers searched, finding the tightening peak and caressing it to pebbled hardness.

Honoria's breath caught; her lids fell as she swayed toward him. Devil supported her against his chest, his hand still at her breast, gently kneading. She shifted restlessly, turning so he could reach her back. "The laces are hidden beneath the lace."

Devil grinned and set to work, one hand caressing first one breast then the other, lips trailing kisses along the side of her throat. When the last knotted lace fell free and the gown, with his help, slithered to the floor, Honoria was soft and supple in his arms, arching back against him. He loved her like this, soft and womanly, abandoned but knowingly so-later, she'd be even more abandoned, but by then she would be beyond knowing anything other than the fever singing in her veins. Reaching around her, he filled both hands with her breasts, covered by a single layer of filmy silk-a low murmur of appreciation escaped her. When he rubbed the niched peaks between thumb and forefinger, she shifted her hips suggestively against him.

"Not yet," he murmured. "Tonight should be an experience you'll never forget."

"Oh?" The single syllable was breathless. She turned and, twining her arms about his neck, pressed herself against him. "What are you intending to do?"

He smiled, slowly. "Extend your horizons."

She tried to look haughty, but only succeeded in looking fascinated. Devil stepped back, shrugging out of his coat and waistcoat. He let them fall and reached for her. She came into his arms like the siren she was-the siren he'd spent the past weeks releasing from the shackles of convention. She was still wildly innocent in so many ways, yet whatever he taught her she mastered with a wholehearted enthusiasm that sometimes left him weak. From where he now stood, his view colored by experience, the years ahead looked rosy indeed.

He was looking forward to every one of them. Right now, he was looking forward to tonight.

Her lips were open under his, her tongue twining, inciting, enticing. She stretched against him, on her toes, her body shielded only by her fine chemise. Letting desire have its way, he molded her to him, allowing his hands to know her curves again. When he slipped his palms under the back of her chemise, her skin was dewed.

Two heated minutes later, the chemise floated to the ground to puddle, ignored, in the moonlight.

Devil deepened their kiss-Honoria met him, urging and urgent. Her hands slipped from his nape and started to roam, splaying across his chest, then searching through the folds of his shirt to knead the muscles of his back, then firming about his waist, his hips, dropping lower.

Abruptly, Devil shifted, capturing her hands, forcing them to her back, locking them there in one of his. Their kiss unbroken, he drew her hard against him, letting her feel his strength, letting her know the seductive quality of her own vulnerability. He bent her back slightly, over the arm at her waist, her hips pressed hard to his. She moaned, the sound trapped in their kiss, and wriggled-not to win free but to get closer.

The restless shifting of her hips against him was more than he could stand. Breaking their kiss, he scooped her up and deposited her on the silk sheets. She stretched, her eyes on him, her hands questing.

Quickly he drew back, out of her reach. "If you love me, keep your hands to yourself." He'd fantasized about tonight for the past week; if he let her enthusiasm get the better of him-as it had on more than one occasion-he would have no chance of converting fantasy to reality.

Stretching luxuriously, draping her arms above her head, Honoria fixed him with a sultry gaze. "I only want to touch you." She watched as he stripped off his cravat. "You liked it last night."

"Tonight is going to be different."

His eyes left her only momentarily as he pulled off his shirt. Honoria smiled, shifting seductively under the heat of his gaze, relishing the sense of power his fascination with her naked form gave her. He'd made it very plain that he liked seeing her naked, totally nude, without any hint of modesty. Being that naked had been difficult at first, but familiarity and his abiding obsession had built her confidence so that now, being wantonly, wickedly naked with him seemed natural-how it should be-at least between them.

"How?" she inquired, as he sat on the bed to remove his boots.

He flicked her a glance, his gaze sliding over her breasts, then down over her stomach and thighs. "Tonight it's going to be my pleasure to lavish pleasure upon you."

Honoria eyed him consideringly. He could make her scream-scream and moan and sob with pleasure. She was the novice-he the master. "Just what are you planning?"

He grinned and stood, unbuttoning his trousers. "You'll see-or rather," he amended, his voice deepening, "you'll feel."

The anticipation simmering in her veins abruptly heightened; Honoria's nerves flickered. That familar tension had hold of her again, a sweet vise locking tight. A second later, as naked as she, he came onto the bed in a prowling crawl. Elementally male, fully aroused, on hands and knees he straddled her, then lowered his body to hers.

Honoria's breath fled. Eyes wide, she studied his, glittering in the weak light. Then his lids fell and he lowered his head; his lips found hers.

His searching kiss reached deep-deep to where her wanton self dwelled. He called her forth and she came, eagerly seeking his pleasure. She opened to him, enticing him in, her body softening beneath his; she murmured his name and shifted beneath him, but he made no move to claim her. His hands locked about hers, one on either side of her head; as the kiss went on, her skin burned for his touch. Driven, she arched beneath him but his weight held her trapped; his legs outside hers, he held her immobile, granting her no relief from the heat building between them.

Then his lips left hers, trailing hot kisses down the column of her throat. Panting, Honoria pressed her head back into the pillows, eager for much more. He shifted and his lips traced her collarbone, then returned by way of her shoulder and upper breast. He repeated the maneuver, this time following the curve of her arm to her elbow, then on to her wrist, eventually ending with her fingertips.

Tickled by his lips, by the abrasion of his chest and chin against her smooth skin, Honoria giggled; she saw his brow quirk, but he said nothing, merely lifting her hand and draping her arm over his shoulder. He repeated the entire exercise on her other arm, until it, too, went to join its fellow. Locking her fingers at his nape, she settled back expectantly, and waited to see what came next.

His lips on her breasts was a familar sensation, sweet and full of promise. When his mouth fastened over one nipple and he suckled, she gasped; the caress continued, hot and wet, pulsing wildfire down her veins. She moaned, hips restlessly lifting, seeking. But he'd shifted lower; she could make no contact with that part of his anatomy most susceptible to persuasion. Premonition bloomed-his "tonight" would be a long-drawn affair.

He'd told her more than once that she rushed ahead too fast, that, if she let him spin out their time, the sensations would be better-more heightened, more intense. As she could barely cope with what she felt as it was, she wasn't at all sure "slower" was such a good idea. He was used to it-she was not. She wasn't even sure the exercise affected him in the same, mind-dazzling, soul-shattering, heart-twisting way in which it affected her.

His lips left her breasts; panting she waited, then felt him nuzzling beneath their fullness. His lips swept across her sensitive midriff and down to the hollow of her waist.

She was so caught by the novel sensations, by the heated tingling of her skin, that he'd flipped her onto her stomach before she had a chance to protest. He shifted, rising over her then lowering his body along the length of hers. His lips found her nape-he proceeded to cover her back with kisses, soft and warm across her shoulders, changing to soft nips as he worked his way down. Her fires had died to smouldering embers, but when he reached the full swell of her bottom, anticipation exploded into flame again. She squirmed, her breath coming in soft gasps. One heavy arm across her waist kept her still; when he pushed her knees wide apart and held them so, Honoria dragged in a shuddering breath-and waited. He was lying beside her, his weight no longer upon her. Cool air caressed her heated skin; she longed for him to cover her. Expectation welled; she willed him to shift and come between her thighs.

Instead, she felt the soft brush of his hair and the light graze of his stubble as he laid a line of warm kisses down the back of one thigh. He paid homage to the sensitive spot at the back of her knee, first one, then the other, then worked his way back up her other thigh. Honoria slowly exhaled, and waited to be allowed to roll over.

The next instant, her breath hissed in-and in. Her hands clenched on the pillow. In stunned disbelief, she felt tiny tender kisses dot their inexorable way up the inside of one thigh. Her skin shivered and flickered; as the kisses steadily neared the place where she burned, she let out a small shriek, stifled in the pillow.

She felt, rather than heard his deep chuckle. He swung over her and repeated the exercise on the inside of her other thigh. Honoria gritted her teeth, determined not to repeat her shriek; her whole body quivered with mounting need. When he reached the limit of his trail, pressing one last lingering kiss to skin that had never before felt a man's lips, she sighed-then shrieked, as his tongue swept tender, pulsing flesh-just once, but it was more than enough.

He seemed to think so, too; he drew back, rolling her onto her back, his weight pinning her again as his lips returned to hers, his kiss searing, conflagrationary-exactly as she wished it. Wrapping her arms about his neck, Honoria gave him back fire for flame, passion for desire, in a frenzy of escalating need. This time, her thighs were spread and he lay between; she could feel his throbbing staff nudging her thigh.

Abruptly, he drew back, onto his knees. Dazed, she saw him seize a fat pillow. Lifting her, he wedged it under her hips, then, leaning over her, he found her lips again. When he lifted his head she was panting in earnest, every nerve in her body alive, every vein afire. One hand was on her breast; swiftly, he lowered his head and suckled until she moaned.

"Please-now." Honoria reached for him but he shifted back.

"Soon."

He lowered his body to hers again, but too low-his head was at her breasts. He laved each burning peak until she could take no more, then trailed kisses to her navel. He circled the dimple with his tongue, then probed; the slow, repetitive thrusting brought tears of frustration to her eyes. She twisted and arched, her hips lifted high by the pillow.

"Soon." He whispered the word across the sensitive skin of her stomach, and followed it with a kiss. And another and another, slowly descending; when the first kiss fell amongst her soft curls, Honoria's eyes flew wide.

"Devil?"

The sensations streaking through her were unlike any she'd yet experienced, sharper, stronger, fiercer. More kisses followed the first and she gasped, hands reaching, fingers locking in his hair.

"Oh God!" The exclamation was wrung from her as his lips touched her softness. The sudden bolt of sensation was enough to melt her mind. "No." She shook her head.

"Soon," came the answer.

His lips left her swollen flesh to trail kisses along the inside of her thighs, lifting them as he slid still lower, draping a knee over each shoulder.

Well-nigh mindless, Honoria felt his breath caress her throbbing flesh. Speech was beyond her; she was going to die. From excitement-from pleasure so intense it was frightening. Gripping the sheets convulsively, she hauled in a huge breath, and shook her head violently.

Devil took no notice. Deliberately, he set his lips to her soft flesh, hot and swollen, intimately caressing each soft fold; a strangled sound, neither shriek nor scream, was his reward. He found her throbbing nubbin, already swollen and tight; he laved it gently, swirling his tongue, first this way then that, about the sensitive spot. He wasn't surprised by the subsequent silence; he could hear her ragged breathing, could feel the tension that gripped her. As usual, she was rushing-he set himself to slow her down, bringing her to that plane where she could appreciate his expertise, savor all he could give her, rather than fly headlong to her fate.

He repeated his caresses, again and again, until she grew familiar with each new sensation. Her breathing slowed, deepened; her body softened beneath his hands. She moaned softly and twisted in his hold, but she no longer fought him; she floated, senses alive to each explicit caress, receptive to the pleasures he wished her to know.

Only then, deploying every ounce of his considerable expertise, did he open the door and introduce her to all that might be. With lips and tongue, he pressed on her caresses that sent her soaring, anchoring her with an intimacy that could not be denied. Again and again, she rose to the heavens; again and again, he drew her back. Only when she could take no more, when her breathing grew frantic and every muscle in her body quivered, begging for release, did he let her fly free, filling her with his tongue, feeling her hands clench tight in his hair-then relax as ecstasy washed through her. He savored her, taking pleasure in the warm piquancy that was her, letting her essence sink to his bones. When the last of her rippling shudders had died, he slowly rose over her.

Pressing her thighs wide, he settled between-with one slow, powerful thrust he filled her, feeling her softness, slick and hot, stretch to take him, feeling her body adjust to his invasion, to being his.

She was fully relaxed, fully open; he moved within her, powerfully plundering, unsurprised when, scant moments later, she stirred and, eyes glinting beneath weighted lids, joined him in the dance. He watched her until he was sure she was with him, then, closing his eyes, letting his head fall back, he lost himself in her.

The explosion that took them from the mortal plane was stronger than any he'd felt before-just as he had known it would be.

Hours later, he awoke. Honoria lay soft and warm by his side, her hair a tangled mass on his pillow. Devil allowed himself a smile-a conqueror's smile-then carefully edged from the bed.

In her room, the candles were still burning. Warmed by recent memory, he padded, naked, to the tantalus before the window. Watered wine had been left waiting, along with suitable sustenance. He poured a glass of wine and swallowed half, then lifted the lid of the serving dish, grimaced and replaced it. He was hungry, but not for food.

On the thought, he heard a sound behind him-turning, he watched Honoria emerge, blinking, from his room.

Wrapped in one of his robes, her hand shading her eyes, she squinted at him. "What are you doing?"

He held up the glass.

Lowering her hand, she came forward, holding the robe closed with one hand. "I'll have some, too."

In the garden below all was silent and still. From the distant wilderness, six pairs of startled eyes fastened on the lit window of the duchess's bedchamber, screened by lacy gauze. Six men saw Devil turn and raise his glass in salute; all six lost their breaths when Honoria joined him. The idea of what was happening in that brilliantly lit chamber exercised all six minds.

They watched, breath bated, as Honoria, cloaked in a flowing robe, her hair an aureole about her head, took the glass from Devil and sipped. She handed the glass back; Devil drained it. Setting the glass down, he lowered his head as Honoria went into his arms.

Eyes on stalks, six watched their cousin and his wife share a lengthy, amazingly thorough kiss; five shifted uncomfortably when it ended, then were struck to stillness, paralyzed anew, when Honoria raised her hands and let her robe fall. Her shadow merged again with Devil's, her arms about his neck, his head bent to hers as they resumed their kiss.

Silence filled the wilderness-not even an owl hooted. Then Devil's head rose. His arm about Honoria, their shadows still one, they moved away from the window.

"God!" Harry's stunned exclamation said it all.

Richard's eyes were alight. "You didn't seriously imagine Devil married purely to ensure the succession?"

"By the looks of it," Gabriel dryly observed, "the succession's in no danger. If they've got that far in five hours, then St. Valentine's Day's odds-on for our wager."

Vane's deep chuckle came out of the dark. "I hesitate to mention it, but I don't believe Devil started from scratch five hours ago."

Four heads turned his way.

"Ah-hah!" Lucifer turned to his brother. "In that case, I'll sport my blunt on St. Valentine's Day definitely. If he's got a head start, then he'll have more than three months to accomplish the deed-more than enough."

"True." Gabriel fell into step beside Lucifer as the party turned toward the house. Their impromptu stroll had been unexpectedly revealing. "Given Devil's reputation, it's fair to assume anyone could guess as much, so we don't need to be overly concerned about taking bets against St. Valentine's Day as the limit for conception."

"I think," Richard said, following in Gabriel's wake, "that we should be rather careful about letting any of the ladies learn about our book-they're unlikely to appreciate our interest."

"Too true," Harry replied, joining the straggling line back through the bushes. "The female half of the species has a distinctly skewed view of what's important in life."

Vane watched them go, then raised his eyes to the blazing windows in the east wing. After a moment, he shifted his gaze to the unlit windows of the large bedroom at the end of the wing. Silent and still in the dark, he considered the sight, his grin deepening to a smile. Hands in his pockets, he turned-and froze. His eyes, adjusted to the dark, picked out the square figure of a man moving slowly through the wilderness, heading toward the house.

Then the tension left his shoulders. Hands still in his pockets, he strolled forward. "What ho, Charles? Getting a breath of fresh air?"

The heavy figure came to a sudden halt, swinging to face him. Then Charles inclined his head. "As you say."

It was on the tip of Vane's tongue to ask whether Charles had caught the ducal exhibition; Charles's propensity to lecture kept the words from his lips. Falling into step as Charles gained the path back to the house, he asked instead; "You planning to stay for a few days?"

"No." Charles walked a few steps before adding: "I'll be returning to town tomorrow. Do you have any idea when Sylvester plans to return?"

Vane shook his head. "I haven't heard it mentioned, but I'd be surprised to see them up before Christmas. It's to be held here as usual."

"Really?" There was genuine surprise in Charles's voice.

"So Sylvester intends to take on the role of 'head of the family' at all levels?"

Vane sent him a cool glance. "When has he not?"

Charles nodded vaguely. "True-very true."