Devils Bride

previous role.

Which, she suspected, meant that Sligo would bear watching. A footman opened the breakfast-parlor door.

'There you are, my dear.' The Dowager beamed gloriously from one end of the elegant table.

Honoria bobbed a curtsy, then inclined her head toward the head of the table. 'Your Grace.'

The devil nodded back, his gaze roving over her. 'I trust you slept well?' With a wave, he summoned Webster to hold a chair for her-the one beside his.

'Tolerably well, thank you.' Perforce ignoring the nine other empty chairs about the immaculately laid table, Honoria settled her skirts, then thanked Webster as he poured her tea. The previous day had gone in unpacking and settling in. A rain squall had cut short the afternoon; she'd got no closer to the park in the Square than the drawing-room windows.

'I have been telling Sylvester that we plan to visit the modistes this morning.' The Dowager waved a knife at her. 'He tells me that these days the ton selects modistes by age.'

'Age?' Honoria frowned.

Busy with toast and marmalade, the Dowager nodded. 'Apparently, it is quite convenable that I continue with my old Franchot, but for you it must be…' She glanced at her son. 'Qu'est-ce que?'

'Celestine,' Devil supplied.

Honoria turned her frown on him.

He met her look with one of ineffable boredom. 'It's simple enough-if you want bombazine and turbans, you go to Franchot. If frills and furbelows are your fancy, then Madame Abelard's is more likely to suit. For innocent country misses,' he paused, his gaze briefly touching Honoria's fine lace fichu, 'then I've heard Mademoiselle Cocotte is hard to beat. For true elegance, however, there's only one name you need know-Celestine.'

'Indeed?' Honoria sipped her tea, then, setting down her cup, reached for the toast. 'Is she on Bruton Street?'

Devil's brows flew. 'Where else?' He looked away as Sligo approached, carrying a silver salver piled with letters. Taking them, Devil flicked through the stack. 'I daresay you'll find any number of modistes that might take your fancy if you stroll the length of Bruton Street.'

From the corner of her eye, Honoria watched him examine his mail. He employed a small army of agents; one had followed on their heels from the Place and spent all yesterday closeted with his master. Running estates as extensive as those of the dukedom of St. Ives would keep any man busy; thus far, from all she'd seen, business had prevented Devil from pursuing his investigations.

Reaching the bottom of the pile, he shuffled the letters together, then glanced at his mother. 'If you'll excuse me, Maman.' Briefly, his eyes touched Honoria's. 'Honoria Prudence.' With a graceful nod, he stood; absorbed with his letters, he left the room.

Honoria stared at his back until the door hid it from view, then took another sip of her tea.

The St. Ives town carriage had just rumbled around the corner, bearing the Dowager and Honoria to Bruton Street, when Vane Cynster strolled into Grosvenor Square. His stride long and ranging, he crossed the pavements; cane swinging, he climbed the steps to his cousin's imposing door. He was about to beat an imperious tattoo when the door swung inward. Sligo rushed out.

'Oh! Sorry, sir.' Sligo flattened himself against the doorjamb. 'Didn't see you there, sir.'

Vane smiled. 'That's quite all right, Sligo.'

'Cap'n's orders. An urgent dispatch.' Sligo tapped his breast-rustling parchment testified to his cause. 'If you'll excuse me, sir?'

Released by Vane's bemused nod, Sligo hurried down the steps and ran to the corner. He flagged down a hackney and climbed aboard. Vane shook his head, then turned to the still-open door. Webster stood beside it.

'The master is in the library, sir. I believe he's expecting you. Do you wish to be announced?'

'No need.' Surrendering his cane, hat and gloves, Vane headed for Devil's sanctum. He opened the door, instantly coming under his cousin's green gaze.

Devil sat in a leather chair behind a large desk, an open letter in one hand. 'You're the first.'

Vane grinned. 'And you're impatient.'

'You're not?'

Vane raised his brows. 'Until a second ago, I didn't know you had no news.' He crossed the room and dropped into a chair facing the desk.

'I take it you have no insights to offer either?'

Vane grimaced. 'In a word-no.'

Devil grimaced back; refolding his letter, he laid it aside. 'I just hope the others have turned up something.'

'What's Sligo up to?' When Devil looked up, Vane elaborated: 'I bumped into him on the steps-he seemed in a tearing hurry.'

Devil waved dismissively. 'A small matter of forward strategy.'

'Speaking of which, have you managed to convince your bride-to-be that investigating murder is not a suitable hobby for a gentlewoman?'

Devil smiled. 'Maman can always be counted on to visit the modistes within forty-eight hours of arriving in town.'

Vane raised his brows. 'So you haven't succeeded in striking murder from Miss Anstruther-Wetherby's agenda?'

Devil's smile turned feral. 'I'm directing my fire at a different target. Once that falls, her agenda will no longer apply.'

Vane grinned. 'Poor Honoria Prudence-does she know what she's up against?'

'She'll learn.'

'Too late?'

'That's the general idea.'

A brief rap on the door heralded the appearance of Richard 'Scandal' Cynster; he was followed by Gabriel and Demon Harry, Vane's brother. The comfortably spacious room was suddenly very full of very large men.

'Why the delay?' Harry asked, lowering his long frame to the chaise. 'I expected to be summoned yesterday.'

'Devil had to make sure the coast was clear,' Vane replied-and earned a hard look from Devil.

'Lucifer sends his regrets,' Gabriel informed the room at large. 'He's exhausted from his efforts to discover any news of Tolly's peccadilloes-which efforts have thus far been completely unrewarding.'

'That,' Harry returned, 'I find exceedingly hard to believe.'

'Unrewarding in terms of our investigation,' Gabriel amended.

'As to that,' Harry continued, 'I know exactly how he feels.'

Despite considerable effort in their delegated spheres, none had uncovered any evidence that Tolly had been in trouble. Devil put forward the idea that Tolly might not personally have been in trouble at all. 'He may have unwittingly stumbled on something he wasn't supposed to know-he might unsuspectingly have become a threat to someone.'

Gabriel was nodding. 'That scenario sounds a lot more like Tolly.'

Harry snorted. 'Silly beggar would have got all fired up with innocent zeal and hared off to lay the evidence at your feet.'

'Before demanding that you fix it.' Richard's smile went slightly awry. 'That plot rings truer than any other.'

His eyes on Richard's, Devil said, 'The very fact that he was coming to see me may have been what led to his death.'

Vane nodded. 'That would explain why he was killed at Somersham.'

'We'll have to recanvass all Tolly's friends.' Under Devil's direction, Gabriel, Harry, and Richard agreed to take on the task.

'And me?' Vane raised his brows. 'What fascinating piece of detecting am I to undertake?'