Devils Bride

room. Your parents are already inside.'

They allowed her to shepherd them up the steps. Honoria was aware of their curious glances.

On the porch, both girls paused, gulping back their tears. Honoria cast a swift glance behind and saw Devil, his back to them, one arm draped across the boy's slight shoulders, head bent as he spoke to the lad. Turning back, she gathered her now shivering charges and urged them on.

Both balked.

'Will we have to… I mean-' One glanced up at her.

'Will we have to look at him?' the other forced out. 'Is his face badly damaged?'

Honoria's heart lurched; sympathy-long-buried empathy-welled. 'You won't have to see him if you don't want to.' She spoke softly, reassuringly. 'But he looks wonderfully peaceful-just like I imagine he always did. Handsome and quietly happy.'

Both girls stared at her, hope in their eyes.

'I was there when he died,' Honoria felt compelled to add.

'You were?' There was surprise and a touch of youthful skepticism in their tones.

'Your cousin was there as well.'

'Oh.' They glanced back at Devil, then both nodded.

'And now we'd better get you settled.' Honoria glanced back; a maid had hopped down from the carriage; footmen had materialized and were unstrapping boxes from the boot and the roof. 'You'll want to wash your faces and change before the rest of the family arrives.'

With sniffs and watery smiles for Webster, encountered in the hall, they allowed her to usher them upstairs.

The chamber allotted to the girls was near the end of one wing; promising to fetch them later, Honoria left them in their maid's care and returned downstairs.

Just in time to greet the next arrivals.

The rest of the day flew. Carriages rolled up in a steady stream, disgorging matrons and stiff-necked gentlemen and a goodly sprinkling of bucks. Devil and Vane were everywhere, greeting guests, fielding questions. Charles was there, too, his expression wooden, his manner stilted.

Stationed by the stairs, Honoria helped the Dowager greet and dispose of family and those friends close enough to claim room within the great house. Anchored to her hostess's side, the keeper of the lists, she found herself introduced by the Dowager, with a gently vague air.

'And this is Miss Anstruther-Wetherby, who is keeping me company.'

The Cynster cousin to whom this was addressed, presently exchanging nods with Honoria, immediately looked intrigued. Speculation gleamed in the matronly woman's eyes. 'Indeed?' She smiled, graciously coy. 'I'm very pleased to make your acquaintance, my dear.'

Honoria replied with a polite, noncommittal murmur. She'd failed to foresee her present predicament when she'd offered her aid; now she could hardly desert her post. Fixing a smile on her lips, she resolved to ignore her hostess's blatant manipulation. The Dowager, she'd already realized, was even more stubborn than her son.

The family viewing of the body was held late that afternoon; remembering her promise, Honoria went to fetch Tolly's sisters from the distant wing.

They were waiting, pale but composed, intensely vulnerable in black muslin. Honoria ran an experienced eye over them, then nodded. 'You'll do.' They came forward hesitantly, clearly dreading what was to come. Honoria smiled encouragingly. 'Your cousin omitted to mention your names.'

'I'm Amelia, Miss Anstruther-Wetherby.' The closest bobbed a curtsy.

Her sister did the same, equally gracefully. 'I'm Amanda.'

Honoria raised her brows. 'I presume calling 'Amy' will bring you both?'

The simple sally drew two faint smiles. 'Usually,' Amelia admitted.

Amanda had already sobered. 'Is it true-what Devil said? About you knowing about losing one you love?'

Honoria met her ingenuous gaze levelly. 'Yes-I lost both my parents in a carriage accident when I was sixteen.'

'Both?' Amelia looked shocked. 'That must have been terrible-even worse than losing a brother.'

Honoria stilled, then, somewhat stiffly, inclined her head. 'Losing any family member is hard-but when they leave us, we still have to go on. We owe it to them-to their memory-as much as to ourselves.'

The philosophical comment left both girls puzzling. Honoria seized the moment to get them headed downstairs, to the private chapel off the gallery.

Halting in the doorway, the twins nervously surveyed the black-clad ranks of their aunts and uncles and older male cousins, all silent, most with heads bowed.

Both girls reacted as Honoria had hoped: their spines stiffened-they drew deep breaths, straightened their shoulders, then paced slowly down the quiet room. Hand in hand, they approached the coffin, set on trestles before the altar.

From the shadows by the door, Honoria watched what was, in essence, a scene from her past. The somber peace of the chapel held her; she was about to slip into the back pew when Devil caught her eye. Commandingly formal in black coat and black trousers, white shirt and black cravat, he looked precisely what he was-a devilishly handsome rake-and the head of his family. From his position beyond the coffin, he raised one brow, his expression a subtle melding of invitation and challenge.

Tolly was no relative of hers, but she'd been present when he died. Honoria hesitated, then followed Tolly's sisters down the aisle.

Clinging to each other, the twins moved on, slipping into the pew behind their weeping mother. Honoria paused, look ing down on an innocence not even death could erase. As she had said, Tolly's face was peaceful, serene; no hint of the wound in his chest showed. Only the grey pallor of his skin bore witness that he would not again awake.

She'd seen death before, but not like this. Those before had been taken by God; they had only needed to be mourned. Tolly had been taken by man-a vastly different response was required. She frowned.

'What is it?' Devil's voice came from beside her, pitched very low.

Honoria looked up. Frowning, she searched his eyes. He knew-how could he not? Why, then…? A chill touched her soul-she shivered and looked away.

'Come.' Devil took her arm; Honoria let him hand her to a pew. He sat beside her; she felt his gaze on her face but did not look his way.

Then Tolly's mother rose. Supported by her husband, she placed a white rose in the coffin; the viewing was at an end. No one spoke as they slowly filed out, following the Dowager and Tolly's parents to the drawing room.

In the front hall, Devil drew Honoria aside, into the shadows of the stairs. As the last stragglers passed, he said, his voice low: 'I'm sorry-I shouldn't have insisted. I didn't realize it would remind you of your parents.'

Honoria looked up, directly into his eyes. They were not, she realized, particularly useful for hiding emotions-the clear depths were too transparent. Right now, they looked contrite.

'It wasn't that. I was simply struck-' She paused, again searching his eyes. 'By how wrong his death was.' Impulsively, she asked: 'Are you satisfied with the magistrate's verdict?'

His face hardened into a warrior's mask. His lids lowered, screening those too-revealing eyes, his lashes a distracting veil. 'Perfectly.' Languidly, he gestured toward the drawing room. 'I suggest we join the others.'

His abrupt dismissal was not quite a slap in the face, but it certainly gave Honoria pause. Cloaked in her customary poise, she allowed him to lead her into the drawing room, then inwardly cursed when so many eyes swung their way.

Their entrance together, separate from the earlier crowd, supported the image Devil and the Dowager were intent on projecting-the image of her as Devil's bride. Such subtle nuances were life and breath to the ton, Honoria knew it-she was usually adept at using such signals to her own advantage, but, in the present case, she was clearly fencing with a master.

Make that two masters, simultaneously-the Dowager was no newcomer to the game.