Devils Bride c-1

by Stephanie Laurens

  He raised his brows resignedly. "Word of a Cynster."

  And in that she could trust. Gathering her silks, Honoria set them aside, then placed her hand in his. He drew her to her feet, then settled her hand on his arm. The Dowager ignored them, apparently absorbed in lilac silks to the exclusion of all else. They strolled to where long windows stood open to the terrace, the night a curtain of black velvet beyond.

  "I wished to speak to you," Honoria began the instant they gained the flags.

  "And I to you." Looking down at her, Devil paused.

  Regally, Honoria inclined her head, inviting his comment.

  "Michael has informed me you've agreed to remain with my mother for the next three months."

  Reaching the balustrade, Honoria lifted her hand from his sleeve and swung to face him. "Until the period of mourning is over."

  "After which time, you'll become my duchess."

  She tilted her chin. "After which time, I'll return to Hampshire."

  He'd halted directly before her, no more than a foot away. With the light behind him, it was all she could do to discern his expression-arrogantly impassive; his eyes, hooded and shadowed, fixed on hers, she couldn't read at all. Honoria kept her head high, her gaze unwavering, determined to impress on him how inflexible she was.

  The moment stretched-and stretched; she started to feel light-headed. Then one of his brows rose.

  "We appear to have a problem, Honoria Prudence."

  "Only in your mind, Your Grace."

  The planes of his face shifted; his expression held a warning. "Perhaps," he said, exasperation clear beneath the polite form, "before we decide what will occur at the end of the three months, we should agree on the three months themselves?"

  Haughtily, Honoria raised her brows. "I've agreed to remain with your mother."

  "And seriously consider my proposal."

  The message in his tone was unmistakable-a bargain, or no deal. Drawing in a quick breath, she nodded. "And seriously consider the prospect of becoming your wife. I should, however, inform you that I am unlikely to change my stance on that matter."

  "In other words, you're bone stubborn-and I have three months to change your mind."

  She did not at all like the way he said that. "I am not a vacillating female-I have no intention of changing my mind."

  His teeth flashed in his pirate's smile. "You've yet to experience my powers of persuasion."

  Honoria shrugged; nose in the air, she shifted her gaze beyond his shoulder. "You may persuade away-I won't be marrying, you or anyone."

  Again, silence was his ally, slowly stretching her nerves taut. She nearly jumped when hard fingertips slid beneath her chin, turning her face back to him.

  Even in the dark she could sense the piercing quality of his gaze, feel its potency. "Women have been known, on occasion, to change their minds." He spoke slowly, softly, his tones deep and purring. "How much of a woman are you, Honoria Prudence?"

  Honoria felt her eyes widen. His fingertips slid across the sensitive skin beneath her chin; sharp slivers of sensation shivered through her. Her lungs had seized; it took considerable effort to lift her chin free of his touch. Haughtily, she stated: "I'm too wise to play with fire, Your Grace."

  "Indeed?" His lips curved. "I thought you wanted excitement in your life?"

  "On my terms."

  "In that case, my dear, we'll have to negotiate."

  "Indeed?" Honoria tried for airy nonchalance. "Why so?"

  "Because you're shortly to become my duchess-that's why."

  The glance she bent on him held every ounce of exasperation she could summon, then, with a swish of her skirts, she turned and stepped out of his shadow, following the balustrade. "I've warned you-don't later say I haven't. I am not going to marry you at the end of three months." She paused, then, head rising; eyes widening, she swung back and waved a finger at him. "And I am not a challenge-don't you dare view me as such."

  His laughter was that of a pirate-a buccaneer, a swash buckling rogue who should have been safely on a deck in the middle of some ocean-nowhere near her. The sound, deep, rolling, and far too sure, held a threat and a promise; it enveloped her, caught her up, and held her-then he was there, before her once more.

  "You are challenge personified, Honoria Prudence."

  "You are riding for a fall, Your Grace."

  "I'll be riding you before Christmas."

  The deliberate reference shocked Honoria, but she wasn't about to let it show. Keeping her chin high, she narrowed her eyes. "You aren't, by any chance, imagining you're going to seduce me into marriage?"

  One arrogant black brow rose. "The thought had crossed my mind."

  "Well it won't work." When his second brow joined the first, Honoria smiled, supremely confident. "I cut my eye-teeth long ago-I know perfectly well you won't press me while I'm residing under your roof, in your mother's care."

  For a long moment, he held her gaze. Then he asked: "How much do you know of seduction?"

  It was Honoria's turn to raise her brows. Taking another step along the terrace, she shrugged lightly. "You won't be the first to try it."

  "Possibly not, but I'll be the first to succeed."

  Honoria sighed. "You won't, you know." Glancing up, she saw him frown. She narrowed her eyes. "Succeed, I mean." The frown disappeared. He paced slowly beside her as she strolled the flags. "I know you won't force me-I'll simply call your bluff."

  She felt his glance; oddly, it was less intense, less disturbing than before. When he spoke, she detected faint amusement in his tone. "No force, no bluff." He met her gaze as she glanced up. "There's a lot you have to learn about seduction, Honoria Prudence, and this time, you'll be dealing with a master."

  Honoria shook her head despairingly. Well, she'd warned him. He was so arrogantly confident it would do him good to be taken down a peg or two-to learn that not all things on this earth would meekly bow to his rule.

  The evening reached chill fingers through her gown; she shivered.

  Devil's hand on her arm halted her. "We should go in."

  Honoria half turned-and found herself facing him. As she watched, his expression hardened; abruptly, he leaned closer. With a stifled shriek, she backed-into the balustrade. He set his hands on the stone parapet, one on either side of her, caging her between his arms.

  Breathless, her heart racing, she blinked into his eyes, now level with hers. "You promised not to bite."

  His expression was graven. "I haven't-yet." His eyes searched hers. "As you've been so ingenuously frank, the least I can do is return the favor-so that we understand each other fully." He held her gaze steadily; Honoria felt the full weight of his will. "I will not permit you to turn your back on who you are, on the destiny that was always intended to be yours. I will not let you turn yourself into a governessing drudge, nor an eccentric to titillate the ton.

  Honoria's expression blanked.

  Devil held her gaze ruthlessly. "You were born and bred to take a position at the head of the ton-that position now lies at your feet. You have three months to reconcile yourself to the reality. Don't imagine you can run from it."

  Pale, inwardly quivering, Honoria wrenched her gaze from his. Turning, she yanked at his sleeve.

  Letting go of the balustrade, Devil straightened, leaving her escape route clear. Honoria hesitated, then, her expression as stony as his, she turned and looked him straight in the eye. "You have no right to decree what my life is to be."

  "I have every right." Devil's expression softened not at all; his gaze was mercilous. "You will be what you were meant to be-mine."

  The emphasis he placed on that single word shook Honoria to her toes. Barely able to breathe, she walked quickly back to the drawing room, head high, skirts shushing furiously.

  Chapter 10

  Three days later, Devil stood at the library windows, his gaze, abstracted, fixed on the summerhouse. Behind him, open ledgers littered his desk; a pile of letters begged for attention. He had a l
ot of unfinished business on his plate.

  No trace had been found of Tolly's killer, and the simple task of securing his bride was proving remarkably complicated. The latter was more bothersome than the former-he was sure they'd eventually track Tolly's murderer down. He was also unshakably convinced Honoria would be his bride-he was simply no longer so sanguine about what state he'd be in by the wedding.

  She was driving him demented. What power had goaded him into declaring his hand so forcefully, there, on the terrace in the moonlight? It had been sheer madness to act the tyrant as he had-yet he could feel the same emotion, the urge to conquer, to seize, to hold, flaring even now, simply at the thought of her.

  Luckily, her stubbornness, her defiance, her unquenchable pride had forbidden her to flee before his heavy-handed declaration. She'd let Michael depart alone. Now, with her nose in the air, wrapped in a cloak of chill civility, she held him at a distance.

  After learning of her past, common sense suggested he at least reconsider. Common sense stood not a chance against the deep-seated conviction that she was his. Where she was concerned he felt like one of his conquering ancestors preparing to lay siege to a much-desired prize. Given what he now suspected, her surrender, when it came, would need to be proclaimed from the battlements.

  He'd wondered how she'd reached a succulently ripe twenty-four still unwed. Even hidden away as a governess, not all men were blind. Some must have seen her and appreciated her worth. A determination on her part to remain a spinster, childless, could, in this case, explain the inexplicable. Her stubbornness was a tangible thing.

  In this case, her stubbornness would need to surrender.

  He wasn't going to let her go. Ever.

  At least she couldn't later say that he hadn't warned her.

  His gaze, still on the summerhouse, sharpened; Devil straightened and reached for the handle of the French doors.

  Honoria saw him coming; her hand froze in midair, then she looked down and resumed her stitching. Devil climbed the steps two at a time; she looked up and met his gaze squarely. Slowly, she raised her brows.

  He held her gaze, then glanced at the seat beside her.

  She hesitated, then carefully gathered up her strewn silks. "Did your man learn anything in Chatteris?"

  Devil stared at her.

  Honoria laid the silks in her basket. "I saw him ride in."

  Swallowing his irritation, Devil sat beside her, angling his shoulders so he faced her. "Nothing-no horseman came by way of Chatteris." Perhaps he should grow screening hedges about the summerhouse? She'd adopted it as her lair; he could see a number of pertinent advantages.

  Honoria frowned. "So that's all the towns 'round about-and no gentleman hired a horse anywhere."

  "Except for Charles, who came by way of Cambridge."

  "Is there any other place-a tavern, or some such-where horses might be hired?"

  "My people checked all the hedge-taverns within reach. Short of borrowing a horse, something we can't rule out, it seems likely the murderer rode away on his own horse."

  "I thought you said that was unlikely?"

  "Unlikely but not impossible."

  "The storm came up shortly after. Wouldn't he have had to take shelter?"

  "The others checked all the inns and taverns on their way back to London. No likely gentleman took refuge anywhere. Whoever shot Tolly was either exceedingly lucky or he covered his tracks exceptionally well."

  "Riding his own horse, he could have come from anywhere, not just London. He might have been a hired assassin."

  Devil looked at her, silently, for a full minute. "Don't complicate things."

  "Well, it's true. But I had meant to ask you…" She paused to snip a thread; in the silence that followed, Devil got her message. She'd meant to ask him before he'd acted the despot. Setting aside her shears, she continued: "Was it common knowledge that Tolly habitually took the lane through the wood?"

  Devil grimaced. "Not common knowledge, but widespread enough to be easily learned."

  Honoria set another stitch. "Have your cousins discovered anything in London?"

  "No. But there must be something-some clue-somewhere. Young gentlemen don't get murdered on country lanes for no reason." He looked out across the lawns-and saw his mother approaching. With a sigh, he uncrossed his legs and stood.

  "Is this where you are hiding, Sylvester?" The Dowager came up the steps in a froth of black lace. She held up her face for a kiss.

  Devil dutifully obliged. "Hardly hiding, Maman."

  "Indeed-you are a great deal too large for this place." The Dowager prodded him. "Sit-don't tower."

  As she promptly took his place beside Honoria, Devil was reduced to perching on a windowsill. The Dowager glanced at Honoria's work-and pointed to one stitch. Honoria stared, then muttered unintelligibly, set down her needle, and reached for her shears.

  Devil grabbed the opportunity. "I wanted to speak to you, Maman. I'll be leaving for London tomorrow."

  "London?" The exclamation came from two throats; two heads jerked up, two pairs of eyes fixed on his face.

  Devil shrugged. "Purely business."

  Honoria looked at the Dowager; the Dowager looked at her.

  When she turned back to her son, the Dowager was frowning. "I have been thinking, cheri, that I should also go up to London. Now that I have dear 'Onoria to keep me company, I think it would be quite convenable."

  Devil blinked. "You're in mourning. Full mourning."

  "So?" The Dowager opened her eyes wide. "I'll be in full mourning in London-so appropriate-it is always so grey there at this time of year."

  "I had thought," Devil said, "that you would want to remain here, at least for another week or so."

  The Dowager lifted her hands, palms upward. "For what? It is a little early for the balls, I grant you, but I am not suggesting we go to London for dissipation. No. It is appropriate, I think, that I introduce 'Onoria, even though the family is in black. She is not affected; I discussed it with your aunt 'Oratia-like me, she thinks the sooner the ton meets 'Onoria, the better."

  Devil glanced, swiftly, at Honoria; the consternation in her eyes was a delight to behold. "An excellent idea, Maman" Silver glinted in Honoria's eyes; he hurriedly looked away. "But you'll have to be careful not to step on the tabbies' tails."

  The Dowager waved dismissively. "Do not teach your mother to suck eggs. Your aunt and I will know just how to manage. Nothing too elaborate or such as will… how do you say it?-raise the wind?"

  Devil hid his grin. "Raise a dust-the wind is money."

  The Dowager frowned. "Such strange sayings you English have."

  Devil forebore to remind her that she'd lived in England for most of her life-and that her grasp of the language always deteriorated when she was hatching some scheme. In this case, it was a scheme of which he approved.

  "Everything will be tout comme il faut," the Dowager insisted. "You need not concern yourself-I know how conservative you are growing-we will do nothing to offend your sensibilities."

  The comment left Devil speechless.

  "Indeed, just this morning I was thinking that I should be in London, with your aunt Louise. I am the matriarch, no? And a matriarch's duty is to be with her family." The Dowager fixed her undeniably matriarchal gaze on her silent son. "Your father would have wished it so."

  That, of course, signaled the end to all argument-not that Devil intended arguing. Manufacturing an aggravated sigh, he held up his hands. "If that's what you truly wish, Maman, I'll give orders immediately. We can leave tomorrow at midday and be in town before nightfall."

  "Bon!" The Dowager looked at Honoria. "We had best start our packing."

  "Indeed." Honoria put her needlework in her basket, then glanced briefly, triumphantly, at Devil.

  He kept his expression impassive, standing back as she and his mother exited the summerhouse. Only when they were well ahead did he descend the steps, strolling languorously in their wake, his gaze on Honoria's shap
ely curves, smug satisfaction in his eyes.

  St. Ives House in Grosvenor Square was a great deal smaller than Somersham Place. It was still large enough to lose a battalion in, a fact emphasized by the odd individual of military mien who presided over it.

  Honoria nodded at Sligo as she crossed the hall, and wondered at Devil Cynster's idiosyncracies. On arriving at dusk two days before, she'd been taken aback to find the stoop-shouldered, thin, and wiry Sligo acting as majordomo. He had a careworn face, moon-shaped and mournful; his attire was severe but did not quite fit. His speech was abrupt, as if he was still on a parade ground.

  Later, she'd questioned the Dowager; Sligo, it transpired, had been Devil's batman at Waterloo. He was fanatically devoted to his erstwhile captain; on disbanding, he'd simply continued to follow him. Devil had made him his general factotum. Sligo remained at St. Ives House, acting as its caretaker when the family was not in residence. When his master was in residence, Honoria surmised, he reverted to his previous role.

  Which, she suspected, meant that Sligo would bear watching. A footman opened the breakfast-parlor door.

  "There you are, my dear." The Dowager beamed gloriously from one end of the elegant table.

  Honoria bobbed a curtsy, then inclined her head toward the head of the table. "Your Grace."

  The devil nodded back, his gaze roving over her. "I trust you slept well?" With a wave, he summoned Webster to hold a chair for her-the one beside his.

  "Tolerably well, thank you." Perforce ignoring the nine other empty chairs about the immaculately laid table, Honoria settled her skirts, then thanked Webster as he poured her tea. The previous day had gone in unpacking and settling in. A rain squall had cut short the afternoon; she'd got no closer to the park in the Square than the drawing-room windows.

  "I have been telling Sylvester that we plan to visit the modistes this morning." The Dowager waved a knife at her. "He tells me that these days the ton selects modistes by age."

  "Age?" Honoria frowned.

  Busy with toast and marmalade, the Dowager nodded. "Apparently, it is quite convenable that I continue with my old Franchot, but for you it must be…" She glanced at her son. "Qu'est-ce que?"