Devils Bride

Chapter 9

"Yes?" Devil looked up from a ledger as Webster entered the library.

"Chatham just rode in, Your Grace-the gentleman you were expecting is waiting as directed."

"Good." Shutting the ledger, Devil stood. "Where is Miss Anstruther-Wetherby?"

"I believe she's in the rose garden, Your Grace."

"Excellent." Devil headed for the door. "I'm going riding, Webster. I'll be back in an hour with our guest."

"Very good, Your Grace."

Two grooms ran up as Devil strode into the stable yard. "Saddle up the bay and get Melton to saddle Sulieman."

"Ah-we've not sighted Melton since early, Y'r Grace."

Devil raised his eyes to the skies. "Never mind-I'll get Sulieman. You fig out the bay."

When he led Sulieman into the yard, the bay was waiting. Mounting, Devil accepted the bay's reins and rode out. Six days had passed since Honoria had dispatched her summons to her brother.

Cresting a low rise, he saw a carriage halted in the road ahead, one of his grooms chatting to the coachman. Beside the carriage, a gentleman paced impatiently. Devil's eyes narrowed, then he sent Sulieman down the road.

The gentleman glanced up at the sound of hooves. He straightened, head rising, chin tilting to an angle Devil recognized instantly. Drawing rein, he raised a brow. "Michael Anstruther-Wetherby, I presume?"

The answering nod was curt. "St. Ives." Michael Anstruther-Wetherby was in his mid-twenties, of athletic build, with the same steady assurance, the same directness, that characterized his sister. Used to sizing men up in an instant, Devil rapidly readjusted his image of his prospective brother-in-law. Honoria's smugness had painted her brother as weaker than she, perhaps lacking the true Anstruther-Wetherby character. Yet the man eyeing him straitly, challenge and skepticism very clear in his blue eyes, had a decidedly purposeful chin. Devil smiled. "I believe we have matters to discuss. I suggest we take a ride beyond the reach of interruptions."

The blue eyes, arrested, held his, then Michael nodded. "An excellent idea." He reached for the bay's reins, then he was in the saddle. "If you can guarantee no interruptions, you'll have achieved a first."

Devil grinned, and set course for a nearby hillock. He halted on the crest; Michael drew up alongside. Devil glanced his way. "I've no idea what Honoria wrote, so I'll start at the beginning."

Michael nodded. "That might be wise."

Gazing over his fields, Devil outlined the events leading to Honoria's presence at the Place. "So," he concluded, "I've suggested that getting married is appropriate."

"To you?"

Devil's brows flew. "Whom else did you have in mind?"

"Just checking." Michael's grin surfaced briefly, then he sobered. "But if that's the case, why have I been summoned to escort her to Hampshire?"

"Because," Devil replied, "your sister imagines she's so long in the tooth that a reputation is neither here nor there. She plans to be the next Hester Stanhope."

"Oh, lord!" Michael cast his eyes heavenward. "She's not still set on Africa, is she?"

"It's her dearest wish, so I've been informed, to ride in the shadow of the Sphinx, pursued, no doubt, by a horde of Berber chieftains, then to fall victim to Barbary Coast slave traders. I understand she believes she's starved of excitement and the only way she'll get any is to brave the wilds of Africa."

Michael looked disgusted. "I'd hoped she'd grown out of that by now. Or that some gentleman would appear and give her mind a new direction."

"As to the first, I suspect she'll grow more determined with age-she is, after all, an Anstruther-Wetherby, a family renowned for its stubbornness. But as to giving her mind a new direction, I already have that in hand."

Michael looked up. "Has she agreed to marry you?"

"Not yet." Devil's expression hardened. "But she will."

There was an instant's silence, then Michael asked: "Free of any coercion?"

Devil's eyes met his; one brow lifted superciliously. "Naturally."

Michael studied Devil's eyes, then his features relaxed. He looked out over the fields; Devil waited patiently. Eventually, Michael looked his way. "I'll admit I would be glad to see Honoria safely wed, especially to a man of your standing. I won't oppose the match-I'll support it however I can. But I won't agree to pressure her into any decision."

Devil inclined his head. "Aside from anything else your sister is hardly a biddable female."

"As you say." Michael's gaze turned shrewd. "So what do you want of me?"

Devil grinned. "My brand of persuasion doesn't work well at a distance. I need Honoria to remain within reach." With a gesture, he indicated that they should ride on, and touched his heels to Sulieman's flanks.

Michael cantered alongside. "If Honoria's set on returning home, I'll need some reason to gainsay her."

Devil shot him a glance. "Is she her own mistress?"

"Until she's twenty-five, she's in my care."

"In that case," Devil said, "I have a plan."

By the time they cantered into the stable yard, Michael was entirely comfortable with his brother-in-law to be. It appeared that his sister, usually an irresistible force, had finally met a sufficiently immovable object. He matched his stride to Devil's as they headed for the house.

"Tell me," Devil said, his gaze roving the house, checking for impending interruptions. "Has she always been frightened of storms?"

He glanced at Michael in rime to see him wince.

"They still make her twitch?"

Devil frowned. "Rather more than that."

Michael sighed. "Hardly surprising, I suppose-I still get edgy myself."

"Why?"

Michael met his eyes. "She told you our parents were killed in a carriage accident?"

Devil searched his memory. "That they were killed in an accident."

"There was rather more to it than that." Michael drew a deep breath. "Neither Honoria nor I are frightened of storms-at least, we weren't. On that day, our parents took the other two for a drive."

"Other two?" Devil slowed his pace.

Michael looked up. "Meg and Jemmy. Our brother and sister." Devil halted, his expression blank. Michael stopped and faced him. "She didn't tell you about them?"

Devil shook his head; abruptly, he focused on Michael. "Tell me exactly what happened."

Michael looked away, across the lawns toward the house. "The pater wanted to take Mama for a drive-it started as a lovely day. Mama had been ill-she was going through one of her better patches-Papa wanted her to get some air. The little ones went with them. Honoria and I stayed home-we couldn't fit and we both had studies to attend to. Then the storm blew up-raced in out of nowhere. Honoria and I loved watching the clouds roll in. We ran up to the schoolroom to watch."

He paused, his gaze distant, fixed in the past. "The schoolroom was in the attics, overlooking the drive. We stood at the window and looked out. We never dreamed…" He swallowed. "We were laughing and joking, listening for the thunder, trying to spot the flashes. Then there was a massive crash overhead. In the same instant, we saw the curricle come racing up the drive. The children were frantic, clinging to Mama. The horses had panicked-Papa had his hands full managing them." He paused. "I can see them so clearly, even now. Then the lightning struck."

When he said nothing more, Devil prompted: "The carriage?"

Michael shook his head. "The bolt hit a huge elm beside the drive. It fell." Again he paused, then, drawing a deep breath, went on: "We watched it fall. The others didn't see it at first-then they did." He shuddered. "I closed my eyes, but I don't think Honoria did. She saw it all."

Devil gave him a moment, then asked: "They were killed?"

"Instantly." Michael drew a shaky breath. "I can still hear the horses screaming. We had to put them down."

Very gently, Devil said: "Go back-what happened to Honoria?"

Michael blinked. "Honoria? When I opened my eyes, she was standing, absolutely still, before the window. Then she stretched out her hands and stepped forward. I grabbed her and pulled her away. She clung to me then." He shivered. "That's the one thing I remember most vividly-how she cried. She made no sound-the tears just rolled down her cheeks, as if her sorrow was so deep she couldn't even sob." After a pause, he added: "I don't think I'll ever forget how helpless her crying made me feel."

Devil didn't think he'd ever forget either.

Shoulders lifting on a deep breath, Michael glanced fully at Devil. "That's the sum of it-we sorted things out and got on with our lives. Of course, the loss was worse for Honoria." He fell in beside Devil as they continued toward the house. "As Mama had been so ill, Honoria had become more mother than sister to the younger two. Losing them was like losing her own children, I think."

Devil was silent as they crossed the last of the lawn; he glanced up as they neared the portico, briefly studying the inscription on its facade. Then he glanced at Michael. "You need a drink." He needed one, too. Then he needed to think.

Honoria was descending the main staircase, a frown puckering her brows, when the front door opened and her brother walked in.

"Michael!" Face clearing, she hurried down. "I've been expecting you for hours." Hugging him, she returned his affectionate buss. "I saw a carriage arrive and thought it must be you, but no one came in. I was wondering-" She broke off as a large shadow darkened the doorway.

Michael looked over his shoulder. "St. Ives was good enough to meet me. He's explained the situation."

"He has? I mean-" Her gaze trapped in crystal green, Honoria fought the urge to gnash her teeth. "How very helpful." She noted Devil's expression of guileless innocence-it sat very ill on his piratical features.

"You're looking well." Michael scanned her amethyst morning gown. "Not browbeaten at all."

Even with her gaze firmly fixed on her brother's teasing face, Honoria was aware of Devil's raised brow-and of the color that seeped into her cheeks. Tilting her chin, she linked her arm in Michael's. "Come and meet the Dowager." She steered him toward the drawing room. "Then we'll go for a walk in the grounds." So she could set the record straight.

To her chagrin, Devil strolled after them.

The Dowager looked up as they entered. With a brilliant smile, she laid aside her embroidery and held out her hand. "Mr. Anstruther-Wetherby-it is good to meet you at last. I trust your journey was without mishap?"

"Entirely, ma'am." Michael bowed over her hand. "It's indeed a pleasure to make your acquaintance."

"Bon!" The Dowager beamed at him. "And now we can be comfortable and talk, can we not?" Indicating the chaise beside her, she glanced at Devil, "Ring for tea, Sylvester. Now, Mr. Anstruther-Wetherby, you are with Carlisle, is that right? And how is the good Marguerite?"

Subsiding into an armchair, Honoria watched as her brother, who she could have sworn was impervious to all forms of flattery, fell under the Dowager's fire. Even more disturbing, time and again, she saw Michael exchange a glance with Devil; by the time Webster brought in the tea, it was clear that, somehow, Devil had succeeded in securing her brother's approval. Honoria bit into a cucumber sandwich and tried not to glower.

She dragged her brother from mother and son's seductive influence as soon as she possibly could.

"Let's go down by the lake." Tightening her hold on Michael's arm, she steered him along the terrace. "There's a seat, near the shore-it's peaceful and private there."

"It's a truly magnificent house," was Michael's only comment as they strolled down the lawn. They reached the seat, and she settled herself upon it; Michael hesitated, looking down at her, then sat beside her. "You could be very comfortable here, you know."

Honoria met his gaze levelly. "Just what has that devil told you?"

Michael grinned. "Not all that much-just the bare facts."

Honoria drew a relieved breath. "In that case, it should be clear that there's no need for any talk of marriage between myself and St. Ives."

Michael's brows rose. "Actually, that's not the impression I received."

"Oh?" Honoria made the syllable a challenge.

Michael tugged at his earlobe. "Perhaps we'd better retread events."

She was very ready to do so. While she recited her well-rehearsed version of events, Michael listened intently. "And then he left me with the Dowager," she concluded.

Michael met her eye. "That's what he told me."

Honoria had a premonition she'd just taken a wrong step.

Michael straightened, one hand clasping hers. "Honoria, you're an unmarried lady of twenty-four, of impeccable lineage and unblemished reputation. In this instance, I must agree with St. Ives-there's really no course open to you other than to accept his offer. He's behaved precisely as he should-no one could hold either of you to blame, yet the circumstances remain and require the prescribed response."

"No." Honoria made the word a statement. "You can't seriously imagine me happily married to Devil Cynster."

Michael raised his brows. "Actually, I find that easier to imagine than any other outcome."

"Michael! He's a tyrant! An unmitigatingly arrogant despot."

Michael shrugged. "You can't have everything, as Mama was wont to tell you."

Honoria narrowed her eyes; she let a pregnant moment pass before stating, categorically: "Michael, I do not wish to marry Devil Cynster."

Letting go of her hand, Michael leaned back against the seat. "So what do you see as an alternative?"

Honoria knew relief-at least they were discussing alternatives. "I'd thought to return to Hampshire-it's too late to get another post this year."

"You'll never get another post, not once this gets out. And it will. St. Ives is right about that-if you marry him, the only whispers will be jealous ones; without his ring on your finger, they'll be malicious. Destructively so."

Honoria shrugged. "That's hardly a disaster. As you know, I care little for society."

"True." Michael hesitated, then added: "You might, however, have a care for our name, and our parents' memory."

Slowly, Honoria turned to face him, her eyes very narrow. "That was uncalled for."

His expression stern, Michael shook his head. "No-it had to be said. You cannot simply walk away from who you are and the fact that you have family connections together with the responsibility that entails."

Honoria felt chilled inside, like a general informed he'd just lost his last ally. "So," she said, haughtily tilting her chin, "you would have me marry for the sake of the family-for the sake of a name I've never claimed?"

"I would see you wed first and foremost for your own sake. There's no future for you in Hampshire, or anywhere else for that matter. Look about you." He gestured to the sprawling bulk of the Place, displayed like a jewel in the grounds before them. "Here you could be what you were supposed to be. You could be what Papa and Mama always intended you to be."

Honoria pressed her lips tightly together. "I cannot live my life according to the precepts of ghosts."

"No-but you should consider the reasons behind their precepts. They may be dead, but the reasons remain."

When she said no more but sat mulishly looking down at her clasped hands, Michael continued, his tone more gentle: "I daresay this may sound pompous, but I've seen more of our world than you-that's why I'm so sure the course I urge you to is right."

Honoria shot him an irate glance. "I am not a child-"

"No." Michael grinned. "If you were, this situation wouldn't exist. But-!" he insisted, as she opened her mouth to retort, "just hold on to your temper and listen to what I have to say before you set your mind in stone." Honoria met his eyes. "I only have to listen?" Michael nodded. "To the proposition St. Ives put to me-and the reasons why I think you should agree to it." Honoria's jaw fell. "You discussed me with him?" Michael closed his eyes for an instant, then fixed her with a distinctly male look. "Honoria, it was necessary he and I talked. We've both lived in society much longer than you-you've never done more than stick a toe in society's sea. That's a point St. Ives, thank heavens, is aware of-it's that that's behind his proposition."

Honoria glared. "Proposition? I thought it was a proposal."

Michael closed his eyes tight. "His proposal's on the table and will remain there until you make your decision!" He opened his eyes. "His proposition concerns how we should go on until you do."

"Oh." Faced with his exasperation, Honoria shifted, then looked across the lake. "So what is this proposition?"

Michael drew a deep breath. "Because of his cousin's death, a wedding could not be held inside three months-the Dowager will be in full mourning for six weeks, then half-mourning for another six. As you have no suitable family with whom to reside, what would normally occur is that you would remain with the Dowager and she would introduce you to the ton as her son's fiancee."

"But I haven't agreed to marry him."

"No-so in this case, you'll simply remain under the Dowager's wing. She intends going to London in a few weeks-you'll go with her and she'll introduce you to the ton. That will give you a chance to see society from a perspective you've never had-if, after that, you still wish to refuse St. Ives's offer, he and I will accept your decision and try to come up with some acceptable alternative."

His emphasis made it clear he did not expect to find one. Honoria frowned. "What explanation will be given for my presence with the Dowager?"

"None-Cynsters don't need to tender explanations any more than Anstruther-Wetherbys."

Honoria looked skeptical. "Surely people will wonder?"

"People will know, of that you may be sure. However, given the Dowager's involvement, they'll imagine an announcement is in the offing and comport themselves appropriately." Michael grimaced. "I should warn you, the Dowager is something of a force to be reckoned with."

Honoria raised a questioning brow.

Michael waved at the house. "You saw her just now. She's a consummate manipulator."

Honoria's lips twitched. "I had wondered whether you'd noticed."

"I noticed, but there's precious little point trying to resist. You called St. Ives a tyrant-I don't doubt he is, but that's probably just as well. Within the ton, his mother's considered a holy terror-of inestimable help if her sympathies lie with you, an enemy to be feared if they don't. No one's going to invite her ire by circulating possibly groundless rumors concerning her son and the lady who might be his duchess. There's no safer place for you than under the Dowager's wing."

Honoria could see it; slowly, she nodded, then looked frowningly at Michael. "I still think it would be much simpler for me to retire to Hampshire until all this blows over, Even if I don't get another post, as you pointed out, I am twenty-four. It's time I started on my travel plans."

Michael sighed, and looked away. "You can't stay in Hampshire alone-we'll have to get Aunt Hattie down."

"Aunt Hattie?" Honoria wrinkled her nose. "She'll drive me distracted inside of a week."

Michael pursed his lips. "Can't think of anyone else, and you can't live alone, especially once your sojourn in the woods with Devil Cynster becomes public. You'll find your self dealing with all manner of unwanted visitors."

Honoria shot him a darkling glance, then frowned, very hard, at the lake. Michael preserved a stoic silence.

Minutes ticked past; eyes narrowed, Honoria reviewed her options. She had, indeed, regretted sending for Michael so precipitously; it was clearly going to take time to track Tolly's murderer down. Devil, initially a large hurdle to her plans, had been overcome; he now behaved as a reluctant but resigned coconspirator. The idea of them, together, unmasking Tolly's killer was attractive-quite aside from the compulsion she felt to see justice done, the situation looked set to provide the excitement she'd craved all her life. Leaving now would see all that lost.

There was also the small matter of her burgeoning desire to experience-just once-the pleasure Devil had alluded to. His words, his caresses, like Tolly's face, now haunted her. He'd made it clear physical possession and pleasure were independent events-although the thought was guaranteed to bring a blush to her cheek, she was aware of an increasing compulsion to learn what he could teach her. Of pleasure. Possession, in this case, was out of the question, beyond all possibility. Cynsters never let go anything that became theirs-she was far too wise to become his on any level.

Given she'd determined never to wed, her virtue would never be in question. It seemed wise to gain some experience of the pleasure possible between a man and a woman before she set off on her travels. And there was no denying the pleasure she'd thus far experienced at Devil Cynster's hands had held an excitement all its own.

With all that on offer, currently on her plate, but for Devil's matrimonial fixation, her present situation suited her admirably. She didn't want to go to Hampshire but with him so set on marriage, it hadn't seemed possible to stay.

Now, however, with his devilish proposition, the devil himself had cleared her path. She could remain in his household, in his mother's care, safe from him and any other gentleman, for three full months-surely, by that time, they would have laid Tolly's murderer by the heels? And she would have learned all she'd need to know of pleasure.

Which left only one quibble-was she strong enough, clever enough, to avoid any traps Devil might set for her?

Honoria straightened, and summoned a resigned grimace. "Very well." She turned and met Michael's eye. "I'll agree to remain under the Dowager's wing for three months." Michael grinned-Honoria narrowed her eyes. "After that, I'll go to Hampshire."

With a long-suffering groan, Michael rose and drew her to her feet. Arm in arm, they strolled back to the house.

Later that evening, Honoria was seated in an armchair in the drawing room, her lap full of embroidery silks, when a shadow fell across her. The Dowager was on the chaise, similarly occupied in sorting brilliant hanks. Michael, pleading tiredness, had retired early; Devil had retreated to the library. The tea trolley had come and gone; the evening had slipped silently into night.

Stymied in her attempt to discriminate between azure and turquoise, Honoria looked up-all the way up to Devil's face. He stood directly before her, his expression inscrutable. For a long moment, he simply held her gaze, his own shadowed, impossible to read. Then he held out his hand. "Come for a walk, Honoria Prudence."

From the corner of her eye, Honoria noted that the Dowager had been struck deaf.

Devil's lips softened fleetingly; his gaze remained intense, focused on her face. "I promise not to bite."

Honoria considered the pros and cons-she needed to talk to him, to make sure, while Michael was still here, that their bargain-his proposition-was precisely as she thought. She searched his face. "Not to the summerhouse." She might wish to learn more of pleasure, but she wanted the lessons under her control.

This time, his pirate's smile materialized fully if briefly. "Only on the terrace-I wouldn't want to distract you."

Honoria quelled an incipient shiver, elicited by the deep purring tones of his voice, and shot him a disbelieving glance.

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.