Devil's Bride

by Stephanie Laurens

  With a longing glance at the bookshelves, Honoria conjured an apologetic smile. “I didn’t mean to intrude. Pray excuse me.”

  Gathering her skirts, she half turned—a languid gesture halted her. “If it’s distraction you seek, then by all means, seek it here.”

  Devil’s eyes met hers; while his accompanying wave indicated the volumes and tomes, Honoria was not at all certain they were the distraction to which he referred. Lifting her chin, she inclined her head graciously. “I won’t disturb you.”

  She already had. Devil shifted in his chair, then rearranged his letters. From the corner of his eye, he watched Honoria scan the shelves, pausing artistically here and there to raise a hand to this book or that. He wondered who she thought she was fooling.

  The past two days had been difficult. Resisting the invitation in her eyes had required considerable resolution, but he’d won too many campaigns not to know the value of having her approach him. At last she’d weakened—impatience mounting, he waited for her to get to the point.

  Picking up his pen, he signed a letter, blotted it, and laid it aside. Glancing up, he surprised her watching him—she quickly looked away. A sunbeam lancing through the windows burnished the gleaming chestnut knot atop her head; wispy tendrils wreathed her nape and forehead. In her cream-colored morning gown, she looked good enough to eat; for a ravenous wolf, the temptation was great. Devil watched as she put a hand to a heavy tome, one on agricultural practices; she hesitated, then pulled it out and opened it. She was vacillating.

  Realizing what she was reading, she abruptly shut the book and replaced it, then drifted back to the shelves nearer the door, selecting another book at random. With an inward sigh, Devil put down his pen and stood. He didn’t have all day—his cousins were due later that afternoon. Rounding the desk, he crossed the carpet; sensing his approach, Honoria looked up.

  Devil lifted the book from her hands, shut it, and returned it to the shelf—then met her startled gaze. “What’s it to be—a drive in the park or a stroll in the square?”

  Honoria blinked. She searched his eyes, then stiffened and raised her chin. “A drive.” The park might be crowded but on the box seat of his curricle she could interrogate him without restriction.

  Devil’s eyes didn’t leave hers. “Sligo—get the bays put to.”

  “Aye, Capt’n Y’r Grace.” Sligo darted for the door.

  Intending to follow, Honoria found herself trapped, held, by Devil’s green gaze. Forsaking her eyes, it slid down, lingering briefly but with a weight that sent heat rising to her cheeks.

  He looked up. “Perhaps, my dear, you had better change—we wouldn’t want you to catch cold.”

  Like she’d caught cold trying to fool him? Haughtily, Honoria raised her chin another inch. “Indeed, Your Grace. I shouldn’t keep you above half an hour.”

  With a swish of her skirts, she escaped. Even forcibly dragging her heels, she was back in the hall in under ten minutes; to her relief, the devil forebore to comment, merely meeting her eye with a glance too arrogantly assured for her liking. His gaze swept her, neat and trim in green jaconet, then he gave her his arm; nose still high, she consented to be led down the steps.

  Devil lifted her to the seat. They were bowling through the park gates, the carriages of the ton lining the curved avenue ahead, before she registered that a groom had swung up behind. Glancing back, she beheld Sligo.

  Devil saw her surprise. “You’ll no doubt be relieved that I’ve decided to observe the strictures wherever possible.”

  Honoria gestured behind. “Isn’t that rather excessive?”

  “I wouldn’t let it dampen your enthusiasms, Honoria Prudence.” He slanted her a glance. “Sligo’s half-deaf.”

  A quick glance confirmed it; despite the fact Devil had not lowered his voice, Sligo’s expression remained blank. Satisfied, Honoria drew a deep breath. “In that case—”

  “That’s the countess of Tonbridge to your right. She’s a bosom-bow of Maman’s.”

  Honoria smiled at the grande dame lounging in a brougham drawn up by the verge; a quizzing glass magnifying one protuberant eye, the countess inclined her head graciously. Honoria nodded back. “What—”

  “Lady Havelock ahead. Is that a turban she’s wearing?”

  “A toque,” Honoria replied through her smile. “But—”

  “Mrs. Bingham and Lady Carstairs in the landau.”

  It was difficult, Honoria discovered, to smile with clenched teeth. Her breeding, however, dictated her behavior, even in such trying circumstances; calmly serene, she smiled and nodded with gracious impartiality—the truth was, she barely focused on those claiming her attention. Not even the sight of Skiffy Skeffington in his customary bilious green had the power to divert her—her attention was firmly fixed on the reprobate beside her.

  She should have chosen the square. After the first three encounters, the interest directed their way registered; the glances of the ladies whose nods she returned were not idle. They were sharp, speculative—keenly acute. Her position beside Devil was clearly making some statement; Honoria had a strong suspicion it was not a statement she’d intended to make. Nodding to a beaming Lady Sefton, she asked: “How long is it since you last drove a lady in the park?”

  “I don’t.”

  “Don’t?” Honoria turned and stared. “Why not? You can hardly claim you’re misogynous.”

  Devil’s lips twitched; briefly he met her eye. “If you think about it, Honoria Prudence, you’ll see that appearing beside me in the park is tantamount to a declaration—a declaration no unmarried lady has previously been invited to make and one which no married lady would care to flaunt.”

  Lady Chetwynd was waiting to be noticed; by the time she was free again, Honoria was simmering. “And what about me?”

  Devil glanced her way; this time, his expression was harder. “You are different. You’re going to marry me.”

  An altercation in the park was unthinkable; Honoria seethed, but couldn’t let it show, other than in her eyes. Those, only he could see, much good did her fury do her; with an infuriatingly arrogant lift to his brows, he turned back to his horses.

  Denied the interrogation she’d planned and the tirade he deserved, Honoria struggled, not simply to contain her wrath but to redirect it. Losing her temper was unlikely to advance her cause.

  She slanted a glance at Devil; his attention was on his horses, his profile clear-cut, hard-edged. Eyes narrowing, she looked ahead, to where a line of carriages had formed, waiting to turn. Devil drew in at the end; Honoria saw her chance and took it. “Have you and your cousins learned anything of the reason behind Tolly’s murder?”

  One black brow quirked upward. “I had heard . . .” Breath bated, Honoria waited.

  “That Aunt Horatia intends giving a ball in a week or so.” Blank green eyes turned her way. “To declare the family once more on the town, so to speak. Until then, I suspect we should curb our excursions—the park and such mild entertainments are, I believe, permissible. Later . . .”

  In utter disbelief, Honoria listened to a catalogue of projected diversions—the usual divertissements favored by the ton. She didn’t bother trying to interrupt. He’d accepted her help in the lane; he’d told her that his people had turned up no clues in the towns about Somersham. She’d thought he’d capitulated—understood and accepted her right to involve herself in the solving of the crime, or, at the very least, accepted her right to know what had been discovered. As the litany of pleasures in store for her continued, Honoria readjusted her thinking.

  Very straight, her expression blank, she held her tongue until, the turn accomplished, he ran out of entertainments. Then, and only then, did she glance sideways and meet his eye. “You are not being fair.”

  His features hardened. “That’s the way our world is.”

  “Perhaps,” Honoria declared, tilting her chin, “it’s time our world changed.”

  He made no answer; flicking the reins, he sent the horses
back along the avenue.

  Honoria’s head was so high she nearly missed seeing the gentleman standing by the verge; he raised his cane in greeting, then waved it.

  Devil checked his team, drawing them to a stamping halt by the lawn’s edge. “Good afternoon, Charles.”

  Charles Cynster inclined his head. “Sylvester.” His gaze traveled to Honoria. “Miss Anstruther-Wetherby.”

  Resisting an instinctive retreat to haughtiness, Honoria returned his nod. “Sir. Might I inquire how your family is faring?” Charles wore the customary black armband, easily seen against his brown coat. Devil likewise wore the badge of mourning, virtually invisible against his black sleeve. Honoria leaned down and gave Charles her hand. “I’ve yet to meet your brother and sisters since coming to town.”

  “They are . . .” Charles hesitated. “Well, I think.” He met Honoria’s eyes. “Recovering from the shock. But how are you? I admit to surprise at seeing you here. I had thought your plans were otherwise?”

  Honoria smiled—feelingly. “They are. This”—she gestured airily—“is merely a temporary arrangement. I’ve agreed to remain with the Dowager for three months. After that, I plan to begin my preparations for Africa. I’m considering a prolonged sojourn—there’s so much to see.” Her smile grew brittle. “And do.”

  “Indeed?” Charles frowned vaguely. “I believe there’s a very good exhibition at the museum. If Sylvester’s too busy to escort you, pray call on me. As I assured you before, I’ll always hold myself ready to assist you in any way I can.”

  Regally, Honoria inclined her head.

  After promising to convey their regards to his family, Charles stepped back. With a flick of his wrist, Devil set his horses trotting. “Honoria Prudence, you would try the patience of a saint.”

  Irritation ran beneath his smooth tones. “You,” Honoria declared, “are no saint.”

  “A point you would do well to bear in mind.”

  Quelling a most peculiar shiver, Honoria stared straight ahead.

  They ran the gauntlet—the long line of stationary carriages holding the grandes dames of the ton—once more, then Devil turned his horses for home. By the time they reached Grosvenor Square, Honoria had refocused on her day’s objective. The objective she had yet to attain.

  Devil drew up before his door. Throwing the reins to Sligo, he alighted and lifted Honoria down. By the time she caught her breath, she was on the porch; his front stoop, she decided, was no place for an argument.

  The door opened; Devil followed her inside. The hall seemed crowded; as well as Webster, Lucifer was there.

  “You’re early.”

  Honoria glanced at Devil, surprised by the disapproval she detected in his tone. Lucifer’s brows had quirked in surprise, but he smiled charmingly as he bowed over her hand. Straightening, he looked at Devil. “In recompense, if you will, for my previous absence.”

  Previous absence? Honoria looked at Devil.

  His expression gave nothing away. “You’ll have to excuse us, my dear. Business demands our attention.”

  Business her left foot. Honoria raced through her options, searching for some acceptable way to remain with them. There wasn’t one. Swallowing a curse, she inclined her head regally, first to her nemesis, then to his cousin, then turned and glided up the stairs.

  “I hesitate to state the obvious, but we’re getting nowhere. I, for one, am finding failure a mite tedious.” A general growl of agreement greeted Gabriel’s pronouncement. All six cousins were present, long limbs disposed in various poses about Devil’s library.

  “Speaking personally,” Vane drawled, “I’d prefer to have failure to report. As it is, Old Mick, longtime servitor to the second family, has departed these fair shores.”

  Harry frowned. “He’s left England?”

  “So Charles informs me.” Vane flicked a speck of lint from his knee. “I went to Tolly’s lodgings and found them relet. According to the landlord, who lives downstairs, Charles turned up the day after Tolly’s funeral. No one had told Mick about Tolly—he was, needless to say, cut up.”

  Richard whistled soundlessly. “He’d been with the family forever—he was devoted to Tolly.”

  Vane inclined his head. “I assumed Charles would have ensured Mick was told in time to come up for the funeral—he must have been more distraught than we realized. As it transpired, there was something of a scene. According to the landlord, Mick stormed out. According to Charles, Mick was so cut up over Tolly’s death that he decided to quit London and return to his family in Ireland.”

  Harry looked wary. “Do we know Mick’s surname?”

  “O’Shannessy,” Richard supplied.

  Devil frowned. “Do we know where his family live?”

  Vane shook his head.

  Harry sighed. “I’m due in Ireland within the week to look over some brood mares. I could see if I can ferret out our Mick O’Shannessy.”

  Devil nodded. “Do.” His features hardened. “And when you find him, aside from our questions, make sure Charles took proper care of him. If not, make the usual arrangements and have the accounts sent to me.”

  Harry nodded.

  “Incidentally,” Vane said, “Charles’s man, Holthorpe, has also left for greener fields—in his case, to America.”

  “America?” Lucifer exclaimed.

  “Apparently Holthorpe had saved enough to visit his sister there. When Charles returned from Somersham, Holthorpe was gone. Charles’s new man has rather less presence than Sligo and goes by the name of Smiggs.”

  Harry snorted. “Sounds like he’ll suit Charles.”

  Lucifer sighed. “So where do we search next?”

  Devil frowned. “We must be overlooking something.”

  Vane grinned wryly. “But not even the devil knows what it is.”

  Devil humphed. “Unfortunately not. But if Tolly stumbled on someone’s illegal or scandalous secret, then, presumably, if we try hard enough, we can learn that same secret.”

  “And whose secret it is,” Gabriel, somewhat grimly, added.

  “It could be anything,” Lucifer said. “Tolly could have heard it from a man on a corner or from some silly chit in a ballroom.”

  “Which is why we’ll need to cast our net wide. Whatever it is must be out there somewhere—we’ll have to trawl.” Devil scanned their dissatisfied but still-determined faces. “I can’t see that we have any choice other than to keep searching until we have some facts to work on.”

  Gabriel nodded. “You’re right.” He stood and met Devil’s eye, a lilting smile curving his lips. “None of us are about to desert.”

  The others nodded; unhurriedly, they left, restrained impatience in their eyes. Devil saw them out. He turned back to the library, then hesitated. Frowning, he glanced over his shoulder. “Webster—”

  “I believe Miss Anstruther-Wetherby is in the upstairs parlor, Your Grace.”

  Devil nodded and started up the stairs. Their lack of progress hung heavily on his mind; Honoria’s wish to involve herself in the hunt was an added irritant—seducing her to his side was proving difficult enough without that complication. Gaining the top of the stairs, he smiled, grimly. There was more than one way of spiking a gun—presumably the same held true for loose cannon.

  The parlor door opened noiselessly; Honoria was pacing before the hearth. She didn’t hear him enter. She was muttering in distinctly forceful fashion; as Devil neared, he caught the words “fair” and “stubborn beast.”

  Honoria glanced up—and jumped back. Devil caught her by the elbows and yanked her to him, away from the fire.

  Breathless, her heart in her mouth, Honoria pushed him away. He released her instantly; her inner shaking didn’t stop. Furious, on any number of points, she put her hands on her hips and glared. “Don’t do that!” She batted aside a distracting curl. “Hasn’t anyone ever told you it’s unacceptable to sneak up on people?”

  “I wasn’t sneaking.” Devil’s expression remained mild. “You didn’t
hear me—you were too busy rehearsing your lecture.”

  Honoria blinked; caution belatedly seeped into her mind.

  “Now I’m here,” Devil continued, “why don’t you deliver it?” The invitation was the opposite of encouraging. “On the other hand,” his brows quirked, “you might care to hear what my cousins had to report.”

  Honoria was bottling up so much spleen, she felt she might explode. There was, she understood, an “either or” buried in his words. If she poured out the tirade she’d spent the last hour preparing, she wouldn’t hear what had been learned of Tolly’s killer. Her head hurt. “Very well—tell me what you and your cousins have found out.”

  Devil gestured to the chaise; he waited until she sat, then settled his long frame in the opposite corner. “Unfortunately, thus far, despite considerable effort, we’ve turned up precisely nothing. No hint whatever of what it was that set Tolly on the road to Somersham.”

  “Nothing?” Honoria searched his face; there was no hint of evasion in his eyes. “Where did you look and what were you searching for?”

  Devil told her; she drank in his description of the others’ particular strengths and the gamut of their investigations. She was confident he wasn’t lying; she did wonder if he was telling her the whole truth. She quizzed him, but his answers remained consistent. “So what now?”

  In the distance, they heard the dinner gong boom. “Now,” he said, rising gracefully and holding out his hand, “we keep searching.” He’d explained they were looking for someone else’s secret. “Until we have a scent to follow, we can do nothing more.”

  Honoria wasn’t so certain of that. She allowed him to draw her to her feet. “Perhaps—”

  One long finger slid beneath her chin; Devil tipped her face up to his. “I’ll keep you informed of developments, Honoria Prudence.”

  His voice deepened on her name. Mesmerized, Honoria saw the color of his eyes change, a gleam silvering their depths. His gaze shifted, dropping to her lips; she felt them soften, part, felt her lids grow heavy.