"They are…" Charles hesitated. "Well, I think." He met Honoria's eyes. "Recovering from the shock. But how are you? I admit to surprise at seeing you here. I had thought your plans were otherwise?"
Honoria smiled-feelingly. "They are. This"-she gestured airily-"is merely a temporary arrangement. I've agreed to remain with the Dowager for three months. After that, I plan to begin my preparations for Africa. I'm considering a prolonged sojourn-there's so much to see." Her smile grew brittle. "And do."
"Indeed?" Charles frowned vaguely. "I believe there's a very good exhibition at the museum. If Sylvester's too busy to escort you, pray call on me. As I assured you before, I'll always hold myself ready to assist you in any way I can."
Regally, Honoria inclined her head.
After promising to convey their regards to his family, Charles stepped back. With a flick of his wrist, Devil set his horses trotting. "Honoria Prudence, you would try the patience of a saint."
Irritation ran beneath his smooth tones. "You," Honoria declared, "are no saint."
"A point you would do well to bear in mind."
Quelling a most peculiar shiver, Honoria stared straight ahead.
They ran the gauntlet-the long line of stationary carriages holding the grandes dames of the ton-once more, then Devil turned his horses for home. By the time they reached Grosvenor Square, Honoria had refocused on her day's objective. The objective she had yet to attain.
Devil drew up before his door. Throwing the reins to Sligo, he alighted and lifted Honoria down. By the time she caught her breath, she was on the porch; his front stoop, she decided, was no place for an argument.
The door opened; Devil followed her inside. The hall seemed crowded; as well as Webster, Lucifer was there.
"You're early."
Honoria glanced at Devil, surprised by the disapproval she detected in his tone. Lucifer's brows had quirked in surprise, but he smiled charmingly as he bowed over her hand. Straightening, he looked at Devil. "In recompense, if you will, for my previous absence."
Previous absence? Honoria looked at Devil.
His expression gave nothing away. "You'll have to excuse us, my dear. Business demands our attention."
Business her left foot. Honoria raced through her options, searching for some acceptable way to remain with them. There wasn't one. Swallowing a curse, she inclined her head regally, first to her nemesis, then to his cousin, then turned and glided up the stairs.
"I hesitate to state the obvious, but we're getting nowhere. I, for one, am finding failure a mite tedious." A general growl of agreement greeted Gabriel's pronouncement. All six cousins were present, long limbs disposed in various poses about Devil's library.
"Speaking personally," Vane drawled, "I'd prefer to have failure to report. As it is, Old Mick, longtime servitor to the second family, has departed these fair shores."
Harry frowned. "He's left England?"
"So Charles informs me." Vane flicked a speck of lint from his knee. "I went to Tolly's lodgings and found them relet. According to the landlord, who lives downstairs, Charles turned up the day after Tolly's funeral. No one had told Mick about Tolly-he was, needless to say, cut up."
Richard whistled soundlessly. "He'd been with the family forever-he was devoted to Tolly."
Vane inclined his head. "I assumed Charles would have ensured Mick was told in time to come up for the funeral-he must have been more distraught than we realized. As it transpired, there was something of a scene. According to the landlord, Mick stormed out. According to Charles, Mick was so cut up over Tolly's death that he decided to quit London and return to his family in Ireland."
Harry looked wary. "Do we know Mick's surname?"
"O'Shannessy," Richard supplied.
Devil frowned. "Do we know where his family live?"
Vane shook his head.
Harry sighed. "I'm due in Ireland within the week to look over some brood mares. I could see if I can ferret out our Mick O'Shannessy."
Devil nodded. "Do." His features hardened. "And when you find him, aside from our questions, make sure Charles took proper care of him. If not, make the usual arrangements and have the accounts sent to me."
Harry nodded.
"Incidentally," Vane said, "Charles's man, Holthorpe, has also left for greener fields-in his case, to America."
"America?" Lucifer exclaimed.
"Apparently Holthorpe had saved enough to visit his sister there. When Charles returned from Somersham, Holthorpe was gone. Charles's new man has rather less presence than Sligo and goes by the name of Smiggs."
Harry snorted. "Sounds like he'll suit Charles."
Lucifer sighed. "So where do we search next?"
Devil frowned. "We must be overlooking something."
Vane grinned wryly. "But not even the devil knows what it is."
Devil humphed. "Unfortunately not. But if Tolly stumbled on someone's illegal or scandalous secret, then, presumably, if we try hard enough, we can learn that same secret."
"And whose secret it is," Gabriel, somewhat grimly, added.
"It could be anything," Lucifer said. "Tolly could have heard it from a man on a corner or from some silly chit in a ballroom."
"Which is why we'll need to cast our net wide. Whatever it is must be out there somewhere-we'll have to trawl." Devil scanned their dissatisfied but still-determined faces. "I can't see that we have any choice other than to keep searching until we have some facts to work on."
Gabriel nodded. "You're right." He stood and met Devil's eye, a lilting smile curving his lips. "None of us are about to desert."
The others nodded; unhurriedly, they left, restrained impatience in their eyes. Devil saw them out. He turned back to the library, then hesitated. Frowning, he glanced over his shoulder. "Webster-"
"I believe Miss Anstruther-Wetherby is in the upstairs parlor, Your Grace."
Devil nodded and started up the stairs. Their lack of progress hung heavily on his mind; Honoria's wish to involve herself in the hunt was an added irritant-seducing her to his side was proving difficult enough without that complication. Gaining the top of the stairs, he smiled, grimly. There was more than one way of spiking a gun-presumably the same held true for loose cannon.
The parlor door opened noiselessly; Honoria was pacing before the hearth. She didn't hear him enter. She was muttering in distinctly forceful fashion; as Devil neared, he caught the words "fair" and "stubborn beast."
Honoria glanced up-and jumped back. Devil caught her by the elbows and yanked her to him, away from the fire.
Breathless, her heart in her mouth, Honoria pushed him away. He released her instantly; her inner shaking didn't stop. Furious, on any number of points, she put her hands on her hips and glared. "Don't do that!" She batted aside a distracting curl. "Hasn't anyone ever told you it's unacceptable to sneak up on people?"
"I wasn't sneaking." Devil's expression remained mild. "You didn't hear me-you were too busy rehearsing your lecture."
Honoria blinked; caution belatedly seeped into her mind.
"Now I'm here," Devil continued, "why don't you deliver it?" The invitation was the opposite of encouraging. "On the other hand," his brows quirked, "you might care to hear what my cousins had to report."
Honoria was bottling up so much spleen, she felt she might explode. There was, she understood, an "either or" buried in his words. If she poured out the tirade she'd spent the last hour preparing, she wouldn't hear what had been learned of Tolly's killer. Her head hurt. "Very well-tell me what you and your cousins have found out."
Devil gestured to the chaise; he waited until she sat, then settled his long frame in the opposite corner. "Unfortunately, thus far, despite considerable effort, we've turned up precisely nothing. No hint whatever of what it was that set Tolly on the road to Somersham."
"Nothing?" Honoria searched his face; there was no hint of evasion in his eyes. "Where did you look and what were you searching for?"
Devil told her; she drank in his des
cription of the others' particular strengths and the gamut of their investigations. She was confident he wasn't lying; she did wonder if he was telling her the whole truth. She quizzed him, but his answers remained consistent. "So what now?"
In the distance, they heard the dinner gong boom. "Now," he said, rising gracefully and holding out his hand, "we keep searching." He'd explained they were looking for someone else's secret. "Until we have a scent to follow, we can do nothing more."
Honoria wasn't so certain of that. She allowed him to draw her to her feet. "Perhaps-"
One long finger slid beneath her chin; Devil tipped her face up to his. "I'll keep you informed of developments, Honoria Prudence."
His voice deepened on her name. Mesmerized, Honoria saw the color of his eyes change, a gleam silvering their depths. His gaze shifted, dropping to her lips; she felt them soften, part, felt her lids grow heavy.
"Ah… yes." Breathless, she lifted her chin from his finger and stepped sideways, bringing the door into view. "I'd better change."
One black brow rose, but beyond that and a quizzical glance, he made no comment, escorting her to the door and holding it while she made good her escape. It was only when, half an hour later, she sat before her mirror for her maid, Cassie, to do her hair, that understanding dawned.
He'd told her what they'd discovered-nothing. He'd promised to keep her apprised of developments-eyes narrowing, Honoria realized he meant after they'd been acted upon. Even more telling, he'd prevented her from offering to assist-so that he wouldn't have to refuse and make it plain that she was still not permitted any meaningful involvement.
When she entered the drawing room, she was poised and assured, able to meet Devil's eye with calm serenity. Throughout the meal, she remained distant, listening to the conversation with but half an ear, her mind busy formulating her investigative strategy.
Nothing useful had yet been discovered, which left the field wide open. As for His Grace's antiquated notions, she was sure that, when she discovered the vital secret, he wouldn't be able to deny her. How could he?-she wouldn't tell him until after, until it was too late for him to exclude her.
Chapter 11
Investigating Tolly's murder proved more difficult than she'd thought. While his cousins had entree to Tolly's largely male world, Honoria did not. Likewise, they knew Tolly, his habits, his interests. On the other hand, she reasoned, she could view his last days impartially, the facts uncolored by preconceived notions. Besides, women were notoriously more observant than men.
Tolly's youngest aunt, Celia, had been elected by the conclave of Cynster wives to give the first "at home," a declaration to the ton that the family had emerged from deepest mourning. Even Louise was present, still in deadest black, her composure a shield against those proffering their condolences.
At St. Ives House, black crepe had wreathed the knocker ever since they had come up to town; on the Dowager's orders, it had been removed this morning. Their first week in the capital had been spent quietly, eschewing all social functions, but it was now three weeks since Tolly's death; his aunts had decreed their time in deep mourning past. They all still wore black and would for another three weeks, then they would go into half-mourning for another six weeks.
Honoria circulated amongst Celia's guests, noting those whose acuity might prove useful. Unfortunately, as it was the first time she'd ventured into society, there were many eager to claim her attention.
"Honoria." Turning, Honoria found Celia beside her, a plate of cakes in her hand, her eye on a chaise on the opposite side of the room. "I hate to ask, but I know you can handle it." With a smile, Celia handed her the plate. "Lady Osbaldestone-she's a veritable tartar. If I go, she'll shackle me to the chaise, and I'll never get free. But if one of the family doesn't appear to appease her curiosity, she'll batten on Louise. Here, let me take your cup."
Relieved of her empty teacup, Honoria was left with the cake plate. She opened her lips to point out she wasn't "family"-but Celia had disappeared into the crowd. Honoria hesitated, then, with a resigned sigh, straightened her shoulders and bore down on Lady Osbaldestone.
Her ladyship greeted her with a basilik stare. "And about time, too." A clawlike hand shot out and snaffled a petit four. "Well, miss?" She stared at Honoria. When she simply stared back, politely vacant, her ladyship snorted. "Sit down, do! You're giving me a crick. Daresay that devil St. Ives chose you for your height-I can just imagine why." This last was said with a definite leer-Honoria swallowed an urge to request clarification. Instead, she perched, precisely correct, on the edge of the chaise, the cake plate held where Lady Osbaldestone could reach it.
Her ladyship's black eyes studied her carefully while the petit four was consumed. "Not just in the usual way and an Anstruther-Wetherby to boot, heh? What's your grandfather say to this match, miss?"
"I have no idea," Honoria answered calmly. "But you're laboring under a misapprehension. I'm not marrying anyone."
Lady Osbaldestone blinked. "Not even St. Ives?"
"Particularly not St. Ives." Deciding she might as well eat, Honoria selected a small tea cake and nibbled delicately.
Her declaration had struck Lady Osbaldestone dumb. For a full minute, her black eyes, narrowed, rested on Honoria's profile, then her ladyship's face cracked in a wide smile; she cackled gleefully. "Oh, you'll do. Keep up that pose, miss, and you'll do for Devil Cynster nicely."
Haughtily, Honoria looked down her nose. "I have no interest in His Grace of St. Ives."
"Oh-ho!" Her ladyship poked her arm with a bony finger. "But has His Grace an interest in you?"
Her eyes trapped in her ladyship's black gaze, Honoria wished she could lie. Lady Osbaldestone's grin grew wider. "Take my advice, girl-make sure he never loses it. Never let him take you for granted. The best way to hold such men is to make them work for their pleasure."
Adopting a martyred expression, Honoria sighed. "I really am not going to marry him."
Lady Osbaldestone, suddenly terrifyingly sober, looked at Honoria through old black eyes. "Girl-you don't have a choice. No-!" She pointed a skeletal finger. "Don't poker up and stick that Anstruther-Wetherby chin in the air. There's no benefit in running from fate. Devil Cynster has all but declared he wants you-which means he'll have you-and if that chin is any guide, it'll be a good thing, too. And as he's too experienced to pursue where there's no reciprocating sentiment, you needn't think to deny it." Her ladyship snorted. "You'd have to be dead to be immune to his temptation-and you don't look too desiccated to me."
A blush stole into Honoria's cheeks; Lady Osbaldestone nodded. "Your mother's dead-so's your grandmother-so I'll give you the right advice in their stead. Accept fate's decree-marry the devil and make it work. Handsome may be as handsome is, but underneath it all he's a good man. You're a strong woman-that's the way it should be. And despite any thoughts of yours, the devil, in this case, is right. The Cynsters need you; the Anstruther-Wetherbys, strange to tell, need you as a Cynster, too. Fate has landed you precisely where you're supposed to be."
Leaning forward, she held Honoria's gaze mercilously. "And besides, if you don't take him on, who do you imagine will? Some namby-pamby chit with more hair than wit? Do you hate him so much you'd condemn him to that-a marriage with no passion?"
Honoria couldn't breathe. A gust of laughter reached them; the rustle of silk heralded an approaching lady. "There you are, Josephine. Are you grilling poor Miss Anstruther-Wetherby?"
Lady Osbaldestone finally consented to release Honoria; she glanced up at the newcomer. "Good afternoon, Emily. I was merely giving Miss Anstruther-Wetherby the benefit of my experienced counsel." She waved Honoria to her feet. "Off you go-and remember what I said. And take those cakes away-they're fattening."
Shaken, her features stiff, Honoria bobbed a curtsy to Emily, Lady Cowper, then, head high, let the crowd swallow her. Unfortunately, many ladies were waiting to waylay her, to quiz her on her new relationship.
"Has St. Ives taken you to Richmon
d yet? The trees are quite lovely at present."
"And where are you planning to spend the festive season, my dear?"
Sidestepping such inquiries required tact and skill, difficult with her mind reeling from Lady Osbaldestone's lecture. Spying Amanda and Amelia half-hidden by a palm, Honoria sought refuge with them. Their eyes lit up when they saw the cake plate; she handed it over without comment.
"Mama said we should come and see what 'at homes' are like," Amanda said around a miniature currant bun.
"We're to be brought out next year," Amelia added.
Honoria watched them eat. "How are you?"
Both girls looked up, openly, without any trace of pain. They both screwed up their faces in thought, then Amanda offered: "All right, I think."
"We keep expecting him to come for dinner-just like he always did." Amelia looked down and picked up a last crumb.
Amanda nodded. "Laughing and joking, just like that last night."
Honoria frowned. "Last night?"
"The night before he was shot."
Honoria blinked. "Tolly came to dinner the night before he died?"
Amelia nodded. "He was in great spirits-he usually was. He played spillikins with the young ones, then after dinner, we all played Speculation. It was great fun."
"That's…" Honoria blinked again. "Nice-I mean, that you have such good memories of him."
"Yes." Amanda nodded. "It is nice." She appeared to dwell on the fact, then looked at Honoria. "When are you going to marry Devil?"
The question hit Honoria right in the chest. She looked into the twins' eyes, four orbs of innocent blue, and cleared her throat. "We haven't decided."
"Oh," they chorused, and smiled benignly.
Honoria beat a hasty retreat and headed for an empty alcove. Inwardly, she cursed. First Lady Osbaldestone, now Tolly's sisters. Who else was lining up to shake her resolution? The answer was unexpected.
"How are you coping with being absorbed into the clan?"
The soft question had Honoria turning, to meet Louise Cynster's still-weary eyes. Tolly's mother smiled. "It takes a little getting used to, I know."
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