Devils Bride

Richmond House, ablaze with lights, shone through the darkness. Their carriage joined the long queue leading to the portico. Innumerable stop-start jerks later, the carriage door was opened; Devil uncoiled his long length and stepped down. He assisted the Dowager up the porch steps, then returned. Avoiding his eye, Honoria placed her fingers in his and allowed him to hand her down, then escort her in the Dowager's wake.

Negotiating the stairs proved an unexpected trial; the unyielding press of bodies forced them close. So close she could feel the heat of him reach for her, feel his strength envelop her. The flimsiness of her lavender-silk gown only heightened her susceptibility; as they reached the head of the stairs, she flicked open her fan.

The duchess of Richmond was delighted to receive them. 'Horatia's near the conservatory.' The duchess touched a scented cheek to the Dowager's, then held out a hand to Honoria. 'Hmm-yes.' Surveying her critically as she rose from her curtsy, the duchess broke into a beaming smile. 'A pleasure to meet you, my dear.' Releasing Honoria, she glanced archly at Devil. 'And you, St. Ives? How are you finding life as an almost-affianced gentleman?'

'Trying.' His expression bland. Devil shook her hand.

The duchess grinned. 'I wonder why?' Slanting a laughing glance at Honoria, the duchess waved them on. 'I'll rely on you, St. Ives, to ensure Miss Anstruther-Wetherby is suitably entertained.'

With stultifying correctness, Devil offered his arm; in precisely the same vein, Honoria rested her fingertips upon it and allowed him to steer her in the Dowager's wake. She kept her head high, scanning the crowd for familiar faces.

Many were too familiar. She wished she could take her hand from Devil's sleeve, take just one step away, enough to put some distance between them. But the ton had grown so used to the idea she was his duchess-in-waiting, that she was his, that any hint of a rift would immediately focus every eye on them, which would be even worse.

Her serene mask firmly in place, she had to leave her nerves to suffer his nearness.

Devil led her to a position just beyond the chaise where the Dowager and Horatia Cynster sat, surrounded by a coterie of older ladies. Within minutes, they were surrounded themselves, by friends, acquaintances, and the inevitable Cynsters.

The group about them swelled and ebbed, then swelled and ebbed again. Then a suavely elegant gentleman materialized from the crowd to bow gracefully before her. 'Chillingworth, my dear Miss Anstruther- Wetherby.' Straightening, he smiled charmingly. 'We've not been introduced, but I'm acquainted with your brother.'

'Michael?' Honoria gave him her hand. She'd heard of the earl of Chillingworth; by reputation, he was Devil Cynster's match. 'Have you seen him recently?'

'Ah-no.' Chillingworth turned to greet Lady Waltham and Miss Mott. Lord Hill and Mr. Pringle joined the group, distracting the other two ladies; Chillingworth turned back to Honoria. 'Michael and I share the same club.'

And very little else, Honoria suspected. 'Indeed? And have you seen the play at the Theatre Royal?' Lady Waltham had waxed lyrical about the production but couldn't remember its title.

The earl's brows rose. 'Quite a tour de force.' He glanced at Devil, absorbed with Lord Malmsbury. 'If St. Ives is unable to escort you, perhaps I could get up a party, one you might consent to join?'

Classically handsome, well set, tall enough to look down into her eyes, Chillingworth was a damsel's dream-and a prudent mama's nightmare. Honoria opened her eyes wide. 'But you've already seen the play, my lord.'

'Watching the play would not be my aim, my dear.'

Honoria smiled. 'But it would be my aim, my lord, which might disappoint you.'

An appreciative gleam lit Chillingworth's eyes. 'I suspect, Miss Anstruther-Wetherby, that I wouldn't find you disappointing at all.'

Honoria raised a brow; simultaneously, she felt a stir at her side.

Chillingworth looked up, and nodded. 'St. Ives.'

'Chillingworth.' Devil's deep drawl held a subtle menace. 'What cast of the dice landed you here?'

The earl smiled. 'Pure chance-I stopped to pay my respects to Miss Anstruther-Wetherby.' His smile deepened. 'But speaking of gaming, I haven't seen you at the tables recently. Other matters keeping you busy?'

'As you say.' Devil's tone was noncommittal. 'But I'm surprised you haven't gone north for the hunting. Lord Ormeskirk and his lady have already left, I hear.'

'Indeed-but one shouldn't cram one's fences, as I'm sure you appreciate.'

Devil raised a brow. 'Assuming one still has fences to overcome.'

Honoria resisted an urge to raise her eyes to the heavens. The following five minutes were a revelation; Devil and Chillingworth traded quips as sharp-edged as sabers, their rivalry self-evident. Then, as if they'd satisfied some prescribed routine, the conversation swung to horseflesh and thus into a more amicable vein. When that subject failed, Chillingworth turned the talk to politics, drawing her into the conversation. Honoria wondered why.

A squeaky screech was her first warning of impending difficulty. Everyone looked toward the dais at the end of the room. A whine followed by a handful of plucked notes confirmed the general supposition; a hum rose along with a bustling rush as partners were claimed for the first waltz.

Looking back at Chillingworth, Honoria saw him smile.

'Can I tempt you to the dance floor, Miss Anstruther-Wetherby?'

With that simple question, he put her on the spot. Fairly and squarely, with no room for maneuver. As she studied Chillingworth's quizzical hazel eyes, Honoria's mind raced, but she didn't need to think to know Devil's opinion. The arm under her fingers was rigid; while he appeared as languidly bored as ever, his every muscle had tensed.

She wanted to dance, had intended to dance-had looked forward to her first waltz in the capital. And she'd known that Devil, still wearing a black armband, would not take the floor. Until Celia's 'at-home,' she'd fully intended to waltz with others, thus making a clear statement that she would live her own life, make her own decisions, that she was her own mistress, not his. This waltz was to have been her declaration-and what better partner with which to underscore her point than Chillingworth?

He was waiting, outwardly charming but watching her like a hawk; the musicians were still tuning their strings. Devil was also watching her-he might be hedonistic, he might be unpredictable, but here, in the duchess of Richmond's ballroom, he was helpless to prevent her doing as she wished. So what did she wish?

Calmly, Honoria held out her hand. 'Thank you, my lord.' Satisfaction flared in Chillingworth's eyes; Honoria lifted a brow. 'But I do not dance this evening.'

To give him his due, the light in his eyes didn't fade although his triumphant expression certainly did. For an instant, he held Honoria's gaze, then glanced at the other ladies in their group. Looking back at Honoria, he raised a resigned brow. 'How exceedingly cruel of you, my dear.'

His words were too soft for anyone beyond Honoria or Devil to hear. Chillingworth raised his brows fleetingly at Devil, then, with a last nod to Honoria, he turned and, with faultless grace, solicited Miss Mott's hand.

Devil waited until the end of the dance to catch his mother's eye. She grimaced at him but when he persisted, reluctantly conceded. Setting his hand over Honoria's fingers, still resting on his sleeve, he turned her toward the chaise. Puzzled, she glanced up at him.

'Maman wishes to leave.'

Collecting the Dowager, they took leave of their hostess. Taking Honoria's cloak from a footman, Devil draped it about her shoulders, fighting the urge to rest his hands, however briefly, on the smoothly rounded contours. His mother commandeered the Richmonds' butler, leaving him to lead Honoria down the steps and hand her into the carriage.

The door shut upon them, cloaking him in safe darkness; harness jingled, and they were on their way home. And he was still sane. Just.

Settled in his corner, Devil tried to relax. He'd been tense on the way to Richmond House, he'd been tense while there. He was still tense now-he didn't entirely know why.