Devils Bride

Chapter 25

Devil knew something was desperately wrong the instant he spied Melton, standing beneath the stable yard arch, wildly waving his cap. Cursing, he set his heels to Sulieman's sides; Vane's exclamation died behind him, then hooves thundered as Vane followed in his wake.

"What?" he asked, hauling Sulieman to a sliding halt.

"Master Charles." Melton clutched his cap to his chest. "Your lady went with him-he told her you were shot and a-dying in Keenan's cottage."

Devil swore. "How long since they left?"

"Five minutes, no more. But your lady's a bright one-she insisted on taking the gig."

"The gig?" Devil sat back. "Charles went with her?"

"Aye-he wanted to make sure she didn't lose her way."

Slamming a mental door on the chill fear that howled inside him, Devil flicked a glance at Vane. "Coming?"

"Nothing on earth could stop me."

They made straight for the cottage; there was no one there. Tethering their horses down the bridle path leading south, opposite the one Charles and Honoria would use, they scouted the area. Within the wood facing the cottage, they discovered a ditch, deep enough to hide them. It ringed the clearing on either side of the track from the lane. They were considering how best to use it when hoofbeats approached. Scrambling into the ditch, they watched.

Charles rode up. He dismounted by the stable, checked that Honoria was still following, then led his horse inside.

Halting the gig before the cottage, Honoria made no attempt to leave it. The instant Charles was out of sight, she looked wildly about. Both action and expression spoke of real fear.

In the ditch twenty-five yards away, Devil swore softly. "This time, I am going to beat you!" He didn't dare wave; he would bet his entire fortune Charles had come armed. Both he and Vane had loaded weapons in their hands, but he wanted no shooting with Honoria in the line of fire.

Dusting his hands, Charles came out of the stable. He frowned when he saw Honoria still in the gig, the reins lax in her hands. "I would have thought you'd be eager to see your husband." He waved to the cottage.

Honoria met his cold gaze. "I am keen to see him." She knew in her bones Devil was not in the cottage-for one fleeting instant, she'd thought he was in the wood, close, but she'd seen nothing. But he had to be coming-and she'd gone far enough with Charles. Charles slowed, his frown deepening. Drawing a deep breath, Honoria straightened her shoulders. "But he's not in the cottage."

Charles stilled; for one instant, there was no expression of any sort on his face. Then his brows rose, condescendingly superior. "You're overset." Stepping to the gig's side, he reached for her arm.

"No!" Honoria jerked back. The planes of Charles's face shifted. What she saw in his eyes had her swallowing her panic; this was no time to lose her head. "We know. Did you think we wouldn't realize? We know you've been trying to kill Devil-we know you killed Tolly."

Charles paused; as she watched, the veneer of civilization peeled, layer by layer from his face, revealing an expression of blank calculation, dead to any human emotion. "Knowing," Charles said, his voice unnaturally level, "isn't going to save you."

Honoria believed him-her only hope was to keep him talking until Devil arrived. "We know about your man Holthorpe-and about the sailors you set on Devil, about the poison in the brandy." What else did they know? Her recital wouldn't hold Charles for long. Fired by fear, she tilted her head and frowned. "We know everything you've done, but we don't know why you did it. You killed Tolly so he wouldn't warn Devil that you planned to kill him. But why are you so intent on taking the title?"

Desperate, she called up everything she'd ever felt about Charles, every intuitive hint she'd gleaned. "It isn't for money-you're rich enough as it is. You want the title, but you hold the family in contempt. Why, then, do you want to be their head?" She paused, hoping he would read true interest in her face. "What deep reason drives you?"

Charles regarded her without expression; Honoria felt her heart slow. Then he lifted one brow in typically arrogant Cynster style. "You're very perceptive, my dear." He smiled, a slight curve of his lips. "And, as you'll die shortly, I don't suppose there's any harm telling you." He looked directly into her eyes. "My name may be Cynster, but I've never been one of them-I've always felt closer to my mother's family. They're all dead now."

Bracing one hand on the gig, Charles looked into the wood, his eyes glowing. "I'm the last of the Butterworths-an infinitely superior breed, not that any Cynsters would admit that." His lips curved mockingly. "Soon, they won't have a choice. Once I take over the reins, I plan to change the family entirely-not just in the behavior associated with our name, but I'll change the name, too." He looked at Honoria. "There's nothing to stop me."

Honoria stared in openmouthed amazement. Smiling, Charles nodded. "Oh, yes-it can be done. But that was how it was meant to be-the Butterworths were destined to become the main line; my mother was to be the duchess. That's why she married Arthur."

"But-" Honoria blinked. "What about…"

"Sylvester's father?" Charles's expression turned petulant. "Mama didn't expect him to many. When she married Arthur, it seemed all clear-eventually Arthur would inherit, then his son. Me." His frown grew black. "Then that slut Helena wriggled her hips and Uncle Sebastian fell for it, and Sylvester was born. But even then, my mother knew all would eventually be well-after Devil, Helena couldn't have any more brats, which left father, then me, next in line." Charles trapped Honoria's gaze. "Do you want to know why

I left it so long? Why I waited until now to make away with Sylvester?" Honoria nodded.

Charles sighed. "I was explaining that point to Mama, to her portrait, when Tolly came in that night. I didn't hear him-that cretin Holthorpe let him show himself in. Fitting enough that because of his laziness, Holthorpe had to die." His voice had turned vicious; Charles blinked, then refocused on Honoria. "As I told Mama, I needed a reason-I couldn't simply kill Sylvester and hope no one noticed. When he was young, Vane was always with him-the accidents I engineered never worked. I waited, but they never grew apart. Worse-Richard joined them, then the rest." Charles's lips curled. "The Bar Cynster." His voice strengthened, his features hardened. "They've been a thorn in my side for years. I want Sylvester dead in a way that will wean them, and the rest of the family, from their adulation. I want the title-I want the power." His eyes glowed. "Over them all."

Abruptly, his face changed, his features leaching of all expression. "I promised Mama I'd take the title, even if she wasn't here to see it. The Butterworths were always meant to triumph-I explained to her why I'd held off for so long and why I thought, perhaps, with Devil becoming so restless, the time might, at last, have come."

Again, he was with his past; Honoria sat perfectly still, content to have his attention elsewhere. The next instant, he turned on her viciously. "But then you came-and my time ran out completely!"

Honoria shrank back; the horse shifted, coat flickering. Charles's eyes blazed; for an instant, she thought he might strike her.

Instead, with a visible effort, he drew back, struggling to control his features. When he was again composed, he continued, his tone conversational: "Initially, I thought you too intelligent to fall for Devil's tricks." His gaze flicked her contemptuously. "I was wrong. I warned you marrying Sylvester was a mistake. You'll lose your life because of it, but you were too stupid to listen. I'm not going to risk being moved further from my goal. Arthur's old-he'll be no trouble. But if you and any son you bear survive Devil, I'll have all the rest of them to contend with-they'll never let Devil's son out of their sight!"

Clutching the back of the gig tightly, Honoria kept her eyes locked on Charles's, and prayed that either Devil or Vane had arrived in time to hear at least some of his ranting. He'd taken the rope she'd handed him and run, unreeling enough to hang himself twice over.

Charles drew a deep breath and looked away, into the woods. He straightened; letting go of the gig, he tugged his coat into place.

Honoria grabbed the moment to look around-she still had the feeling someone was watching. But not even a twig shifted in the wood.

She'd achieved her primary objective. Her disappearance and death would give proof enough of Charles's guilt; Melton could testify Charles had lured her away. Devil would be safe-free of Charles and his endless machinations. But she'd much rather be alive to share the celebrations, and to enjoy their child. She definitely didn't want to die.

Charles grabbed her-Honoria shrieked. Dropping the reins, she struggled, but he was far too strong. He hauled her from the gig.

They wrestled, waltzing in the leaves carpeting the clearing. Snorting, the grey backed; Charles bumped the gig. The horse bolted, the gig rattling behind it. Honoria saw it go, caught by a sense of deja vu. Another grey horse bolting with another gig, this time leaving her stranded with the murderer, not his victim. She was to be the next victim.

Locking one arm about her throat, Charles hauled her upright.

"Charles!"

Devil's roar filled the clearing; Honoria nearly fainted. She looked wildly about; holding her before him, Charles swung her this way, then that, but couldn't locate Devil's position. Charles cursed; the next instant, Honoria felt the hard muzzle of a pistol pressing beneath her left breast.

"Come out, Sylvester-or do you want to see your wife shot before your eyes?"

Pushing her head back, Honoria glimpsed Charles's face, full of gloating, his eyes glittering wildly. Frantic, she tried struggling; Charles squeezed her throat. Raising his elbow, he forced her chin up; she had to stretch on her toes, losing all purchase on the ground.

"Devil?" Honoria spoke to the sky. "Don't you dare come out-do you hear? I'll never forgive you if you do-so don't." Panic gripped her, sinking its talons deep; black shadows danced across her eyes. "I don't want you to save me. You'll have other children, there's no need to save me." Her voice broke; tears choked her. A dull roaring filled her ears. She didn't want to be saved if the price was his life.

In the ditch, Devil checked his pistol. Vane, brows nearly reaching his hairline, stared at him. "Other children?"

Devil swore through his teeth. "Fine time she picks to announce her condition."

"You knew?"

"One of the prime requirements of being a duke-you have to be able to count." His face grimly set, Devil stuck his pistol into the back of his waistband and resettled his coat. "Make for the other end of the ditch, beyond the track."

Honoria was babbling hysterically; he couldn't afford to listen. He pulled Tolly's hip flask from his pocket; he'd carried it since Louise had given it back to him, a reminder of his unavenged cousin. Working feverishly, he wriggled the flask into the inside left breast pocket of his coat; swearing softly, he carefully ripped the lining-finally, the flask slid in. Resettling his coat, he checked the position of the flask. Vane stared. "I don't believe this."

"Believe it," Devil advised. He looked up; Honoria was still in full spate. Charles, his pistol at her breast, scanned the wood.

"I don't suppose there's any point trying to talk you out of it?" On his back, Vane checked his pistol. When Devil made no reply, he sighed. "I didn't think so."

"Sylvester?"

"Here, Charles."

The answer allowed Charles to face in their general direction. "Stand up. And don't bring any pistol with you."

"You do realize," Vane hissed, wriggling onto his stomach, "that this wild idea of yours has the potential to severely dint the family's vaunted invincibility?"

"How so?" Devil unbuttoned his coat, making sure the buttons hung well clear of his left side.

"When Charles kills you, I'll kill Charles, then your mother will kill me for allowing Charles to kill you. This madness of yours looks set to account for three of us in one fell swoop."

Devil snorted. "You're starting to sound like Honoria."

"A woman of sound sense."

Getting ready to stand, Devil shot a last glance at Vane. "Cover my back?"

Vane met his gaze. "Don't I always?" Then he swung about; crouched low, he started for the far end of the ditch.

Devil watched him go, drew in a long breath, then stood.

Charles saw him-he tightened his hold on Honoria.

"Let her go, Charles." Devil kept his voice even; the last thing he wanted was to panic Charles-the one he was counting on to shoot straight. "It's me you want, not her." He started forward, stepping over the scrubby undergrowth, sidestepping new canes and saplings. He didn't look at Honoria.

"Go back!" she screamed. "Go away!" Her voice broke on a sob. "Please… no." She was crying in earnest. "No…No!" Shaking her head, she gulped back sobs, her eyes pleading, her voice trailing away.

Devil walked steadily forward. He neared the edge of the clearing and Charles smiled-a smugly victorious smile. Abruptly, he flung Honoria away.

She screamed as she fell; Devil heard the scuffling of leaves as she frantically tried to free her feet from her skirts. Calmly, he stepped into the clearing. Charles raised his arm, took careful aim-and shot him through the heart.

The impact was greater than he'd expected; it rocked him back on his heels. He staggered back, hung motionless for a split second-the second in which he realized he was still alive, that Charles had clung to habit and aimed for his heart, not his head, that Tolly's hip-flask had been up to the task-then he let himself fall, slipping his right hand under the back of his coat as he went down. He landed on his left hip and shoulder; beneath him, his right hand held his pistol, already free of his waistband. Artistically, he groaned and rolled onto his back, his boots closest to Charles. All that remained was for Honoria-for once in her life-to behave as he expected.

She did; her scream all but drowned out the shot-the next instant, she flung herself full length upon him. Tears streaming down her cheeks, she framed his face; when he didn't respond, she sobbed and frantically searched-for the wound he didn't have.

Beyond thought, beyond all rational function, Honoria pushed aside Devil's coat-and found nothing but unmarked white shirt covering warm hard flesh. Gasping, her throat raw from her scream, her head pounding, she couldn't take it in. Devil was dead-she'd just seen him shot. She pulled his coat back-a wet stain was starting to spread. Her fingers touched metal.

She stilled. Then her eyes flicked up to Devil's; she saw green gleam beneath his long lashes. Beneath her hand, his chest lifted fractionally.

"Such a touching scene."

Honoria turned her head. Charles strolled closer, stopping ten paces away. He'd dropped the pistol he'd used to shoot Devil; in his hand was a smaller one. "A pity to put an end to it." Still smiling, Charles raised the pistol, pointing it at her breast.

"Charles!"

Vane's shout had Charles spinning around. Devil half rolled, coming up on his left elbow, freeing his right arm, simultaneously flinging Honoria to the ground, shielding her with his body.

Charles's head snapped back; his lips curled in a feral snarl. He raised his pistol. And paused for an infinitesimal second to correct his aim.

Neither Devil nor Vane hesitated. Two shots rang out; Charles jerked once. The look on his face was one of stunned surprise. He staggered back; his arm slowly fell. The pistol slid from his fingers; his eyes closed-slowly, he crumpled to the ground.

Devil swung around-a stinging blow landed on his ear.

"How dare you?" Honoria's eyes spat fire. "How dare you walk out to be killed like that!" Grabbing his shirt, she tried to shake him. "If you ever do that again, I'll-"

"Me? What about you? Happily going off with a murderer. I should tan your hide-lock you in your room-"

"It was you he shot-I nearly died!" Honoria hit his chest hard. "How the hell do you think I could live without you, you impossible man!"

Devil glared. "A damned sight better than I could without you!"

His voice had risen to a roar. Their gazes locked, sizzling with possessive fury. Honoria searched his eyes; he searched hers. Simultaneously, they blinked.

Honoria dragged in a breath, then flung her arms about him. Devil tried to cling to righteous fury, then sighed and wrapped his arms about her. She was hugging him so tightly he could barely breathe. He lifted her into his lap. "I'm still here." He stroked her hair. "I told you I'll never leave you." After a moment, he asked: "Are you all right? Both of you?"

Honoria looked up, blue-grey eyes swimming; she searched his face, then hiccupped. "We're all right."

"You didn't get hurt when you fell?"

She shook her head. "I don't think so. Nothing feels amiss."

Devil frowned. "I'll take you home." To Mrs. Hull, who knew about such things. "But first…" He glanced at Charles, sprawled on the leaves.

Honoria looked, then, sniffing, flicked her skirts straight and struggled up. Devil helped her up, then stood. Drawing a deep breath, he stepped forward-Honoria pressed close. Devil hesitated, then put his arm around her and felt hers slide about his waist. Together, they walked to where Vane stood, looking down on Charles.

Two bullets ripping into it from different angles had made a mess of Charles's chest. It was instantly apparent he couldn't survive. But he hadn't yet died. When Devil halted at his right hip and looked down, Charles's lids flickered.

"How?" he whispered, his voice hoarse.

Devil pulled Tolly's flask from his pocket. It would never hold liquid again; the ball had pierced one side and lodged in the other. He held it out.

Charles stared. Recognition dawned; his features twisted. "So," he gasped, each word a fight. "My little half brother won through in the end. He was so set on saving you-" A cough cut him off.

Devil quietly said: "Tolly was a far better man than you."

Charles tried to sneer.

"If I was you," Vane said, "I'd use what time you have left to make your peace with God. Heaven knows, you'll never make it with the Cynsters." So saying, he walked away.

His expression supercilious, Charles opened his mouth to comment-his features contorted, his eyes opened wide. He stiffened. Then his lids fell; his head lolled to one side.

Honoria tightened her hold on Devil, but did not take her eyes from Charles's face. "Is he dead?"

Devil nodded. "It's finished."

Hoofbeats approached, coming from the south. Vane came out of the cottage and looked at Devil. Devil shrugged. They moved to intercept the newcomers. Honoria moved with Devil; she wasn't yet ready to let him go.

Horsemen appeared on the bridle path, riding briskly. The next instant, the clearing was overflowing with Cynsters.

"What are you doing here?" Devil asked.

"We came to help," Richard replied, in the tone of one offended to be asked. Looking at the body sprawled on the ground, he humphed. "Looks like you've managed without us. He was so damned sure he had you dancing to his tune, he left London before you did."

"What next?" Gabriel, his horse tied to a tree, came to join them.

"You can't seriously consider passing this off as an accident." Lucifer followed on his heels. "Aside from anything else, I, for one, will refuse point-blank to attend Charles's funeral."

"Quite." Harry ranged himself beside Vane. "And if you can stomach burying Charles next to Tolly, I can't."

"So what do we do with the body, brother mine?" Richard raised his brows at Devil.

They all looked at Devil.

Honoria glanced up, but he had his mask on. He glanced down at her, then looked at the cottage. "We can't risk burying him-someone might stumble across the grave." His gaze lingered on the cottage, then swept the wood around them. "There hasn't been much rain. The wood's fairly dry."

Vane studied the cottage. "It's yours after all-no one would know except Keenan."

"I'll take care of Keenan-there's a widow in the village who's quite keen to have him as a boarder."

"Right." Richard shrugged out of his coat. "We'll have to bring the roof down and push the walls in to make sure it burns well enough."

"We'd better get started." Gabriel glanced at the sky. "We'll need to make sure the fire's out before we leave." Honoria watched as they stripped off coats, waistcoats, and shirts, Devil and Vane included. Richard and Gabriel unearthed axes from the stable; Harry and Lucifer led the horses away, taking Charles's hired chestnut with them.

"Turn him loose in the fields closest to the Cambridge Road," Devil called after them. Harry nodded. "I'll do it this evening." Moments later, the sound of axes biting into seasoned timber filled the clearing. Devil and Vane each took one of Charles's hands; they dragged his body into the cottage. Honoria followed. From the threshold, she watched as they manhandled Charles onto the bare pallet on which Tolly had died.

"Most appropriate." Vane dusted his hands. Honoria stepped back-a woodchip went flying past her face.

"What The-!" Richard, axe in hand, glared at her, then raised his head. "Devil!"

He didn't need to explain what the problem was. Devil materialized and frowned at Honoria. "What the devil are you doing here? Sit down." He pointed to the log across the clearing-the same log he'd made her sit on six months before. "Over there-safe out of the way."

Six months had seen a lot of changes. Honoria stood her ground. She looked past his bare chest and saw Vane, with one blow, smash a rickety stool to pieces. "What are you doing with the furniture?"

Devil sighed. "We're going to bring this place down about Charles's body-we need lots of fuel so the fire burns hot enough to act as his pyre."

"But-" Honoria stepped back and looked at the cottage, at the wide half logs of the walls, the thick beams beneath the eaves. "You've got plenty of wood-you don't need to use Keenan's furniture."

"Honoria, the furniture's mine."

"How do you know he isn't attached to it by now?" Stubbornly, she held his gaze.

Devil pressed his lips together.

Honoria's chin firmed. "It'll take two minutes to carry it out. We can use the blankets to cover it, then Keenan can take it away later."

Devil threw up his hands and turned back into the cottage. "All right, all right-but we'll have to hurry."

Vane simply stared when Devil explained. He shook his head, but didn't argue. He and Devil shifted the heavier pieces; Honoria gathered the smaller items into baskets and pails. Harry and Lucifer returned-and couldn't believe their eyes. Honoria promptly conscripted Lucifer; Harry escaped on the pretext of fetching Devil's and Vane's horses and taking them upwind of the cottage.

While Richard and Gabriel weakened the joints, the pile of Keenan's possessions grew. Finally, Harry, whom Honoria had collared and sent to clear out the stable, came back with an old oilcloth and dusty lamp. He put the lamp on the pile, then flicked the oilcloth over the whole.

"There! Done." He looked at Honoria, not in challenge, not in irritation, but in hope. "Now you can sit down. Out of the way."

Before she could reply, Lucifer pulled the big carved chair out from under the oilcloth, picked up the tasseled cushion, and plumped it. Coughing furiously, he dropped it back down and made her a weak but extravagant bow. "Your chair, madam. Please be seated."

What could she say?

Her slight hesitation was too much for Gabriel, strolling up to hand his axe to his brother. "For God's sake, Honoria, sit down-before you drive us all demented."

Honoria favored him with a haughty stare, then, sweeping regally about, she sat. She could almost hear their sighs.

They ignored her thereafter, as long as she stayed in the chair. When she stood and strolled a few paces, just to stretch her legs, she was immediately assailed by frowning glances-until she sat down again.

Swiftly, efficiently, they pulled the cottage down. Honoria watched from her regal perch-the acreage of tanned male chests, all gleaming with honest sweat, muscles bunching and rippling as they strove with beams and rafters, was eye-opening, to say the least. She was intrigued to discover that her susceptibility to the sight was severely restricted.

Only her husband's bare chest affected her-that particular sight still held the power to transfix her, to make her mouth go suddenly dry. One thing that hadn't changed in six months.

Between them, little else was the same. The child growing within her would take the changes one stage further-the start of their branch of the family. The first of the next generation.

Devil came over once they'd got the fire started. Honoria looked up, smiling through her tears. "Just the smoke," she said, in reply to his look.

With a sudden "swhoosh," the flames broke through the collapsed roof. Honoria stood; Devil put the carved chair back under the oilcloth, then took her hand. "Time to go home."

Honoria let him lead her away. Richard and Lucifer remained to ensure the fire burned out. Harry rode off, Charles's hired horse in charge. The rest of them made their way back through the wood, riding through the lengthening shadows. In front of Devil, Honoria leaned back against his chest, and closed her eyes. They were safe-and they were heading home.

Hours later, chin-deep in the ducal bath, soothed by scented steam, Honoria heard sudden mouselike rustlings.

Cracking open her eyes, she saw Cassie scurry out, closing the door behind her.

She would have frowned, but it was too much effort. Minutes later, the mystery was solved. Devil climbed into the bath. It was more than big enough for both of them-he'd had it specially designed.

"Aarrghhh." Sinking into the water, Devil closed his eyes and leaned back against the bath's edge.

Honoria studied him-and saw the tiredness, the deep world-weariness, the last days had etched in his face. "It had to be," she murmured.

He sighed. "I know. But he was family. I'd rather the script had been otherwise."

"You did what had to be done. If Charles's deeds ever became known, Arthur's life, and Louise's, would be ruined, let alone Simon, the twins and the rest-the whispers would follow them all their lives. Society's never fair." She spoke quietly, letting the truth carry its own weight, its inherent reassurance. "This way, I presume Charles will simply disappear?"

"Inexplicably." After a moment, Devil added: "Vane will wait a few days, then sort out Smiggs-the family as a whole will be mystified. Charles's disappearance will become an unsolved mystery. His soul can find what peace it can, buried in the woods where Tolly died."

Honoria frowned. "We'll have to tell Arthur and Louise the truth."

"Hmm." Devil's eyes gleamed from beneath his lashes. "Later." Lifting his arm, he reached for the soap, then held it out to Honoria.

Opening her eyes, she blinked, then took it. Softly smiling, she came up onto her knees between his bent legs. This ranked as one of her favorite pastimes-soaping his chest, washing his magnificent body. Quickly raising a lather in the crisp mat of hair on his chest, she splayed her hands, caressing each heavy muscle band, lovingly sculpting each shoulder, each arm.

I love you, I love you. The refrain sang in her head; she let her hands say the words, give voice to the music, infusing every touch, every caress, with her love. His hands rose in answer, roaming her curves, unhurriedly possessing every one, orchestrating an accompaniment to her song.

She'd only let him use the soap on her once; the room had ended up completely flooded. To her abiding delight, his control was stronger than hers.

One large palm splayed over her gently rounded belly. Looking up, Honoria caught the gleam of green eyes beneath his lashes; she frowned. "You knew."

One brow lifted in his usual arrogant way; his lips slowly curved. "I was waiting for you to tell me."

She raised her brows haughtily. "Tomorrow's St. Valentine's Day-I'll tell you then."

He grinned-his pirate's grin. "We'll have to devise a suitable ceremony."

Honoria caught his eye-and struggled not to grin back. She humphed and clambered over one rock-hard thigh. "Turn around."

She soaped his back, then lathered his hair and made him duck to rinse it. She'd returned to sit before him, between his thighs, her back to him, soaping one long leg, when Devil leaned forward, his arms closing around her. He nuzzled her ear. "Are you sure you're all right?"

"I'm perfectly well, and so's your son. Stop worrying." "Me stop worrying?" He snorted. "That's a fine thing coming from you."

Dropping his leg, Honoria smiled and leaned back, luxuriating in the feel of the warm, hard, wet wall of his chest against her shoulders and back. "Oh, I've given up worrying about you."

Devil gave vent to an excessively skeptical sound. "Well-just consider." Honoria gestured with the soap. "In recent times alone, you've been thrown from a disintegrating phaeton, poisoned, attacked with swords, and now shot through the heart. And you're still here." Dramatically, she spread her arms wide. "In the face of such trenchant invincibility, it's obviously wasted effort to worry about you. Fate, as I've been told often enough, quite clearly takes care of the Cynsters."

Behind her, Devil grinned. She would stop worrying about him on the same day he stopped worrying about her. Closing his hands about her waist, he rifted her, drawing her hips back against him. "I told you you were fated to be a Cynster wife-an invincible husband was obviously required." He underscored his emphasis by nudging the softness between her thighs, his erection sinking a tantalizing inch into that familiar haven.

Dropping the soap over the edge of the tub, Honoria arched-and drew him deeper. "I warn you, the staff are going to start wondering if we have to paint the downstairs ceiling again."

"Is that a challenge?"

She grinned. "Yes."

He chuckled, the sound so deep she felt it in her bones.

"Not a single splash," she warned him.

"Your desire is my command."

It was; he rose to her challenge-in every way-rocking her in the cradle of his hips until she thought she'd go mad. His hands roamed, fondling her swollen breasts, teasing her aching nipples. The slight ripples caused by their movement lapped at the sensitive peaks, a subtle, thoroughly excruciating sensation. Sweet fever blossomed, heating her skin, making the cooling water seem colder, impressing her with her own nakedness, sensitizing her skin to the crisp abrasion of his hair-dusted body rubbing so intimately against her.

Steadily, the fever built; Honoria shifted her knees to the outside of his. She tried to rise higher-he held her down, his hands firming about her hips. "No splashing-remember?"

She could only gasp as he pulled her lower, his hot hardness pressing deeper. Three restricted yet forceful thrusts later her fever exploded. She gasped his name as her senses soared; eyes shut, she savored the flight, hung briefly in the selfless void at the peak, then drifted gently back to earth.

He hadn't joined her; his arms came around her, holding her safe as her senses returned. Blissfully content, Honoria smiled and inwardly embraced him as possessively as he embraced her. He hadn't said he loved her, but after all that had happened, she didn't need to hear the words. He'd said enough, and, like any Cynster, his actions spoke loudest.

She was his; he was hers-she needed nothing more. What had grown between them, what was growing within her, was theirs-their life from now on. As her mental feet touched earth, she concentrated and caressed him, expertly, intimately-encouragingly.

And felt his muscles lock. Abruptly, he lifted her from him; the next instant, he stood and scooped her into his arms. As he stepped from the bath and headed for their bedroom, Honoria's eyes flew wide. "We're still wet!"

"We'll dry fast enough," replied her thoroughly aroused spouse.

They did, rolling, twisting, tangling amidst their silken sheets in a glorious affirmation of life, and the love they shared. Later, as he lay flat on his back, Honoria slumped fast asleep on his chest, Devil's lips quirked. True Cynsters-all the male ones-died in their beds. Stifling a chuckle, he peered down at his wife. He couldn't see her face. Gently, he shifted her to the side, settling her against him; she snuggled closer, her hand sliding across his chest. He touched his lips to her temple, and closed his arms about her.

"To have and to hold" was the family motto-it was also in the wedding vows. One of his ancestors had paid a horrific sum to put it there. Having married Honoria Prudence, Devil could understand why.

The having was very nice; the holding-the loving, the never letting go-was even better.