“Come. Webster will put it in the post.”
As they traveled the long corridors, Honoria inwardly frowned. Celestine had not sent in her bill. It was over a week since the last gowns had arrived.
With her letter entrusted into Webster’s care, they headed for the park, Sligo, as usual, up behind. Their progress down the fashionable avenue was uneventful beyond the usual smiles and nods; her appearance in Devil’s curricle no longer created any great stir.
As they left the main knot of carriages, Honoria shifted—and glanced frowningly at Devil. “What are they going to say when I don’t marry you?” The question had been bothering her for the past three days.
The look he shot her matched her own. “You are going to marry me.”
“But what if I don’t?” Honoria stubbornly fixed her gaze on his equally stubborn profile. “You ought to start considering that.” The ton could be quite vicious; until Lady Osbaldestone’s sermon, she’d viewed him as an adversary comfortably impervious to the slings and arrows of society. Her ladyship had changed her perspective; she was no longer comfortable at all. “I’ve warned you repeatedly that I’m unlikely to change my mind.”
His sigh was full of teeth-gritted impatience. “Honoria Prudence, I don’t give a damn what anyone says except you. And all I want to hear from you is ‘Yes.’ And as for our wedding, its occurrence is far more likely than you getting within sight of Cairo, let alone the Great Sphinx!”
His accents left no doubt that the subject was closed. Honoria stuck her nose in the air and stared haughtily down at a group of innocent passersby.
Grim silence reined until, the turn accomplished, they headed back toward the fashionable throng. Slanting a glance at Devil’s set face, Honoria heard Lady Osbaldestone’s words: make it work. Was it possible? Fixing her gaze in the distance, she airily inquired: “Was Tolly particularly good at hiding his feelings?”
Devil stared at her—she could feel his green gaze, sharp and penetrating; stubbornly, she kept her face averted. The next instant, they were drawing in to the verge. The carriage rocked to a halt; Sligo rushed to the horses’ heads.
“Hold ’em—wait here.” With that terse command, Devil tied off the reins, stood, stepped past her, and jumped to the ground. Fluidly, he turned and plucked her from the seat. Ignoring her gasp, he set her on her feet, hauled her hand through his arm, and strode off across the lawn.
Honoria hung on to her hat. “Where are we going?”
Devil shot her a black glance. “Somewhere we can talk freely.”
“I thought you said Sligo was half-deaf?”
“He is—others aren’t.” Devil scowled discouragingly at a party of young people. The fashionable throng was rapidly thinning, left behind in their wake. “Anyway, Sligo knows all about Tolly and our search.”
Honoria’s eyes narrowed—then flew wide. The rhododendron walk loomed ahead. “I thought you said we were to observe the strictures?”
“Wherever possible,” Devil growled, and whisked her into the deserted walk. Screened by the thick bushes, he halted and swung to face her. “Now!” Eyes narrowed, he captured her gaze. “Why the devil do you want to know if Tolly was a dab hand at hiding his feelings?”
Chin up, Honoria met his gaze—and tried not to notice how very big he was. He was tall enough and broad enough to screen her completely—even if someone strolled up on them, all they would see of her was a wisp of skirt. She tipped her chin higher. “Was he—or wasn’t he?”
The eyes boring into hers were crystal-clear, his gaze sharp as a surgeon’s knife. She saw his jaw clench; when he spoke, his voice was a deep feral growl. “Tolly couldn’t dissemble to save himself. He never learned the knack.”
“Hmm.” Honoria shifted her gaze to the bushes.
“Why did you want to know?”
She shrugged. “I just . . .” She glanced up—her glib reply died on her lips, slain by the look in his eye. Her heart leapt to her throat; determinedly, she swallowed it. “I just thought it was of interest that he spent the evening before he was shot playing with his brother and sisters, apparently in excellent spirits.” Elevating her nose, she let her gaze drift over the glossy green leaves.
Devil stared at her. “He did?”
Honoria nodded. Silence stretched; eyes on the bushes, she waited, barely breathing. She could feel his gaze, still intense, on her face; she knew when he looked away. Then, with a deep resigned sigh that seemed to come from his boots, he set her hand back on his sleeve, and turned her along the walk. “So—tell me—what have you learned?”
It wasn’t the most gracious invitation to collusion, but Honoria decided it would do. “The twins mentioned their last dinner with Tolly when I saw them on Wednesday.” Strolling beside him down the secluded walk, she related the twins’ description. “I had the impression Tolly and the twins were close. If he was agitated, even if he was trying to hide it, I would have thought they’d have noticed.”
Devil nodded. “They would have—they’re as sharp as tacks.” He grimaced. “Uncle Arthur told me Tolly went there for dinner. He gave me the impression Tolly was somewhat reserved. I’d forgotten how young men react to their fathers—it was probably no more than that.”
He fell silent, pacing slowly down the serpentine path; Honoria held her tongue, content to let him ponder her findings. Although he walked by her side, she felt surrounded by his strength. What had Louise said? Unfailingly protective? That was, she had to admit, a comforting trait.
Eventually the rhododendrons ended; the walk debouched onto a wide sweep of lawn. “Your information,” Devil said, as they stepped clear of the walk, “narrows the field rather drastically.”
“Whatever Tolly learned, whatever sent him to find you, he must have stumbled on it after he left the family that evening.” She looked up and saw Devil grimace. “What is it?”
He glanced at her, lips thin, his gaze considering. Then he answered. “Tolly’s man went home to Ireland before we could talk to him. He’ll know if Tolly was in the boughs when he came in that night.” Honoria opened her mouth. “And yes—we’re tracking him down. Demon’s over there now.”
Honoria glanced around, noting the many nursemaids and governesses, charges in tow, dotted across the lawn. “Where are we?”
Devil stopped. “In the nursery section. The rhododendrons keep the darlings out of sight and sound of their fond mamas.” He half turned to retrace their steps—an earsplitting cry rent the peace.
“Deyyyyyyyy-vil!”
All heads turned their way, most displaying disapproving expressions. Devil turned back in time to catch Simon as he flung himself against his cousin.
“Hello! Didn’t ’spect to see you here!”
“I didn’t expect to see you either,” Devil returned. “Make your bow to Honoria Prudence.”
Simon promptly complied. Smiling in return, Honoria noted the boy’s ruddy cheeks and bright eyes, and marveled at the resilience of youth. She looked up as two women, the twins, Henrietta, and little Mary came bustling up in Simon’s wake. Devil made her known to Mrs. Hawlings, the younger girls’ nurse, and Miss Pritchard, the twins’ governess.
“We’d thought to take advantage of the weather while we may,” Mrs. Hawlings explained. “The fogs and rains will be here soon enough.”
“Indeed.” Honoria saw Devil draw Simon aside. She could guess the subject under discussion. Left to deal with—or was that distract?—the governess and nurse, she exchanged polite nothings with a facility born of long practice. The expectant look in the twins’ bright eyes as they glanced from her to Devil and back again did not escape her. She could only be thankful they did not voice the question clearly exercising their minds.
The sun found a chink in the clouds and beamed down; the twins and Henrietta fell to weaving daisy chains. Little Mary, her fingers too plump to manage the slim stems, sat beside her sisters on the grass, big blue eyes studying first the three women chatting nearby, then Devil, still talking to Simo
n. After a long, wide-eyed scrutiny, she picked up her doll and, on sturdy legs, stumped up to Honoria’s side.
Honoria didn’t know she was there until she felt a small hand slip into hers. Startled, she glanced down. Mary looked up and smiled—confidently, openly trusting—then tightened her pudgy-fingered grip and, looking back at her sisters, leaned against Honoria’s legs.
It took all Honoria’s years of practice to preserve her composure, to look back at Mrs. Hawlings and Miss Pritchard and continue to converse as if nothing had happened. As if there wasn’t a hot, soft hand snuggled into hers, as if there wasn’t a soft weight propped against her legs, a soft cheek pressed against her thigh. Luckily, neither woman knew her well enough to know that her expression was not normally so blank.
Then Devil strolled up, one hand on Simon’s shoulder. He saw Mary and glanced at Honoria. She kept her expression bland, determinedly uninformative under his sharp-eyed scrutiny; he looked down and held out a hand. Mary dropped Honoria’s hand and went to him. Devil swung her up in his arms; Mary clung and snuggled her head down on his shoulder.
Honoria breathed deeply, her gaze locked on little Mary clinging close; the emotions rolling through her, sharp need, poignant desire swamping all fear, left her giddy.
Devil declared it was time for them to go. They made their farewells; as Mrs. Hawlings turned away, Mary in her arms, the little girl wriggled about to wave a pudgy hand. Honoria smiled softly and waved back.
“Come—Sligo’s probably organizing a search by now.” Honoria turned; Devil took her hand and tucked it into his elbow, leaving his fingers, warm and strong, over hers. She found his touch both comforting and disturbing as, frowning slightly, she tried to settle her emotions. They walked briskly back to the main carriageway.
The curricle was in sight when Devil spoke. “As a governess, did you ever have younger children in your care?”
Honoria shook her head. “As a finishing governess, my role was specifically restricted to girls a year from their come-out. If the families I worked with had younger children, they always had another, ordinary governess to take charge of them.”
Devil nodded, then looked ahead.
The drive back to Grosvenor Square gave Honoria time to marshal her thoughts. Their outing had been unexpectedly productive.
She’d verified Lady Osbaldestone’s theory that she was strong enough to influence Devil, even over something he had a deep antipathy to—like her involvement in the search for Tolly’s murderer. She’d had it confirmed that she did, very definitely, want to have his child. Of all men, he had to be the best-qualified mate for a woman with her particular fear—and she most assuredly wanted him, arrogant tyrant that he was, worshiping at her feet.
There remained one piece of Lady Osbaldestone’s vision she had yet to verify, although he had, from the first, stated that he was marrying her to get her into his bed. Did that qualify as passion? Was that what lay between them?
Ever since their interlude on the terrace at the Place, she’d given him no chance to draw her close; his “mine” had effectively quashed her pursuit of his “pleasure.” Over the last three days, however, her interest in the subject had returned. Even grown.
Webster opened the door; Honoria swept over the threshold. “If you have a moment, Your Grace, there’s a matter I wish to discuss.” Head high, she headed straight for the library door. A footman sprang to open it for her; she glided through—into the devil’s lair.
Devil watched her go, his expression unreadable. Then he handed his driving gloves to Webster. “I suspect I won’t want to be disturbed.”
“Indeed, Your Grace.”
Waving aside the hovering footman, Devil entered the library and shut the door.
Honoria stood before the desk, tapping her fingers on its edge. She heard the latch click; turning, she watched Devil slowly approach. “I want to discuss the ton’s likely reaction when it learns I’m not marrying you.” That seemed a suf-ficiently goading topic.
Devil’s brows rose. “Is that what this is about?”
“Yes.” Honoria remembered to frown when he did not halt but continued his prowling advance. “It’s pointless to close your eyes to the fact that such an outcome will cause a considerable stir.” She turned to stroll, as slowly as he, around the edge of his desk. “You know perfectly well it will affect not just yourself but the family as well.” Glancing over her shoulder, she saw him some steps behind her, following in her wake. She kept walking. “It’s simply not sensible to allow the expectation to build.”
“So what do you suggest?”
Rounding the desk, Honoria continued toward the fire place. “You could hint that matters were not settled between us.”
“On what grounds?”
“How should I know?” She flung a glance over her shoulder. “I’m sure you’re imaginative enough to invent something.”
From six feet behind, Devil’s gaze remained steady. “Why?”
“Why?”
“Why should I invent something?”
“Because . . .” Gesturing vaguely, Honoria walked into the corner of the room. She stopped and stared at the volumes level with her nose. “Because it’s necessary.” She drew a deep breath, mentally crossed her fingers, and swung around. “Because I don’t want anyone held up to ridicule because of my decision.”
As she’d hoped, Devil was no longer six feet away. His eyes held hers, mere inches distant. “I’m the only one risking the ton’s ridicule. And I’m not about to run shy.”
Honoria narrowed her eyes at him, and tried not to notice she was trapped. “You are without doubt the most impossibly arrogant, conceited—” His eyes dropped from hers—Honoria caught her breath.
“Have you finished?”
The question was uttered in a conversational tone. His lids lifted and he met her gaze; Honoria managed a nod.
“Good.” Again his gaze lowered; one hand rose to frame her face, then he bent his head.
Honoria’s lids fell; in the instant his lips closed over hers, she gripped the bookshelves behind her tightly, fighting down her triumph. She’d got her wolf to pounce, and he hadn’t even realized he’d been baited.
The thrill of success met the thrill of delight his kiss sent racing through her; she parted her lips, eager to learn of his passion, eager to experience again the pleasure she’d found in his arms. He shifted; she thought he groaned. For one instant, his weight pressed against her as his lips forced hers wider, his tongue tasting her voraciously. The sudden surge of desire surprised her; immediately, he shackled it, drawing back to a slow, steady plundering designed to reduce any resistance to dust.
That instant of raw, primitive emotion spurred Honoria on—she wanted to know it, taste it again; she needed to learn more. Her hands left the bookshelves and slid beneath his coat. His waistcoat effectively shielded his chest; the buttons, thankfully, were large. Her fingers busy, she angled her head against the pressure of his kiss. Their lips shifted, then locked; tentatively, then with greater confidence, she kissed him back.
It had been far too long since he’d kissed her.
Devil knew that was true; he was so famished, so caught up in drinking in the heady taste of her, that long minutes passed before he realized she was responding. Not passively allowing him to kiss her, not even merely offering her lips, her soft mouth. She was kissing him back. With untutored skill maybe, but also with the same determined forthrightness that characterized all she did.
The realization mentally halted him. She pressed closer, deepening the kiss of her own volition—shaking off his distraction, he took all she offered and greedily angled for more. Then he felt her hands on his chest. Palms gliding, fingers spread, she traced the heavy muscles, the fine linen of his shirt no real barrier to her touch.
She was setting him alight! Abruptly, Devil straightened, breaking off their kiss. It didn’t work—Honoria’s hands slid over his shoulders as she stretched upward against him; who initiated the next kiss was moo
t. With a groan, Devil took all she gave, his arms closing possessively about her. Did she know what she was doing?
Her eagerness, the alacrity with which she pressed herself against him, suggested she’d forgotten every maidenly precept she’d ever learned. It also suggested it was time to draw her deeper. Setting aside restraint, Devil kissed her deeply, hungrily, as ravenously as he wished, deliberately leaving her breathless. Raising his head, he drew her to the large armchair before the hearth; her hand in his, he freed the last two buttons on his waistcoat, then sat. Looking up at her, he raised one brow.
Her senses whirling, her hand clasped in his, Honoria read the question in his eyes. He’d asked it of her once before: How much of a woman are you? Her breasts, already heated, swelled as she drew breath. Deliberately, she stepped about his knees and sat, turning to him, sliding her hands over his chest, pushing his waistcoat wide.
Under her hands, his chest expanded; his lips found hers as he lifted her, settling her in his lap. A fleeting thought impinged on Honoria’s mind—that she’d been here, like this, before. She dismissed it as nonsense—she could never have forgotten the sensation of being surrounded by him, his thighs hard beneath her, his arms a cage about her, his chest a fascinating wall of hard, shifting muscle bands over even harder bone. She pressed her hands against it, then slid them around, reaching as far as she could. His hands at her back urged her closer; her breasts brushed his chest. Then he changed the angle of their kiss and shifted her, laying her back against one arm.
Immediately, the tenor of their kiss changed; his tongue glided sensuously over hers, then alongside—she sensed his invitation. Responding, she was drawn deep into an intimate game, of thrust and parry, of artlessly evocative caresses, of steadily escalating desire. When his hand closed over her breast, she arched; his long fingers found her nipple, tantalizingly circling it before closing in a firm caress, which only left her aching for more.
Instead, his hand left her; her lips trapped beneath his, Honoria was considering pulling away to protest, when she felt her bodice give. An instant later, his hand slid beneath the twill, cupping her breast fully.
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