Devils Bride

'Only to nod to-my father knew him better.'

Uncertain, Honoria watched him sip; her full name was no state secret-she simply didn't care to use it, to claim relationship with that irascible, stubborn old gentleman in London.

'There was a second son, wasn't there?' Her rescuer studied her musingly. 'He defied Magnus over… I remember-he married against Magnus's wishes. One of the Montgomery girls. You're their daughter?'

Stiffly, Honoria inclined her head.

'Which brings us back to my question, Miss Anstruther

Wetherby. What the deuce are you doing here, gracing our quiet backwater?'

Honoria hesitated; there was a restlessness in the long limbs, a ripple of awareness-not of her, but of the body on the pallet behind them-that suggested conversation was his need. She lifted her chin. 'I'm a finishing governess.'

'A finishing governess?'

She nodded. 'I prepare girls for their come-out-I only remain with the families for the year before.'

He eyed her with fascinated incredulity. 'What in all the heavens does old Magnus think of that?'

'I've no idea. I've never sought his opinion.' He laughed briefly-that same throaty, sensuous sound; Honoria suppressed an urge to wriggle her shoulders. Then he sobered. 'What happened to your family?'

Inwardly, Honoria shrugged. It couldn't hurt to tell her tale, and if it distracted him, well and good. 'My parents died in an accident when I was sixteen. My brother was nineteen. We lived in Hampshire, but after the accident, I went to stay with my mother's sister in Leicestershire.' He frowned. 'I'm surprised Magnus didn't intervene.'

'Michael informed him of the deaths, but he didn't come down for the funeral.' Honoria shrugged. 'We hadn't expected him. After the falling-out between him and Papa, there'd been no contact.' Her lips lifted fleetingly. 'Papa swore he'd never ask for quarter.'

'Stubbornness is clearly a family trait.' Honoria ignored the comment. 'After a year in Leicestershire, I decided to try my hand at governessing.' She looked up, into far-too-perceptive green eyes. 'Your aunt wasn't exactly welcoming?' Honoria sighed. 'No-she was very welcoming. She married beneath her-not the mild mesalliance the Anstruther-Wetherbys got so heated over but truly out of her class.' She paused, seeing again the rambling house filled with dogs and children. 'But she was happy and her household was welcoming but…' She grimaced and glanced at the dark face watching her. 'Not for me.'

'Fish out of water?'

'Precisely. Once I came out of mourning, I considered my options. Funds, of course, were never a problem. Michael wanted me to buy a small house in some safe country village and live quietly but…'

'Again, not for you?'

Honoria tilted her chin. 'I couldn't conceive of a life so tame. I think it unfair that women are forced to such mild existences and only gentlemen get to lead exciting lives.'

Both black brows rose. 'Personally, I've always found it pays to share the excitement.'

Honoria opened her mouth to approve-then caught his eye. She blinked and looked again, but the salacious glint had disappeared. 'In my case, I decided to take control of my life and work toward a more exciting existence.'

'As a governess?' His steady green gaze remained ingenuously interested.

'No. That's only an intermediary stage. I decided eighteen was too young to go adventuring in Africa. I've decided to follow in Lady Stanhope's footsteps.' 'Good God!'

Honoria ignored his tone. 'I have it all planned-my burning ambition is to ride a camel in the shadow of the Great Sphinx. One would be ill-advised to undertake such an expedition too young; governessing in a manner that requires spending only a year with each family seemed the ideal way to fill in the years. As I need provide nothing beyond my clothes, my capital grows while I visit various counties, staying in select households. That last, of course, eases Michael's mind.'

'Ah, yes-your brother. What's he doing while you fill in your years?'

Honoria eyed her inquisitor measuringly. 'Michael is secretary to Lord Carlisle. Do you know him?'

'Carlisle? Yes. His secretary, no. I take it your brother has political ambitions?'

'Lord Carlisle was a friend of Papa's-he's agreed to stand as Michael's sponsor.'

His brows rose fleetingly, then he drained his mug. 'What made you decide on governessing as your temporary occupation?'

Honoria shrugged. 'What else was there? I'd been well educated, prepared for presentation. Papa was adamant that I be presented to the ton, puffed off with all the trimmings-paraded beneath my grandfather's nose. He hoped I'd make a wonderful match, just to show Grandfather no one else shared his antiquated notions.'

'But your parents were killed before you were brought out?'

Honoria nodded. 'Lady Harwell, an old friend of Mama's, had a daughter two years younger than I. After putting off black gloves, I broached my idea to her-I thought with my background, my preparation, I could teach other girls how to go on. Lady Harwell agreed to a trial. After I finished coaching Miranda, she landed an earl. After that, of course, I never wanted for positions.'

'The matchmaking mama's delight.' An undercurrent of cynicism had crept into the deep voice. 'And who are you coaching around Somersham?'

The question returned Honoria to reality with a thump. 'Melissa Claypole.'

Her rescuer frowned. 'Is she the dark one or the fair one?'

'The fair one.' Propping her chin in her hand, Honoria gazed into the flames. 'An insipid miss with no conversation-God knows how I'm supposed to render her attractive. I was booked to go to Lady Oxley but her six- year old caught chicken pox, and then old Lady Oxley died. I'd declined all my other offers by then, but the Claypoles' letter arrived late, and I hadn't yet replied. So I accepted without doing my usual checks.'

'Checks?'

'I don't work for just anyone.' Stifling a yawn, Honoria settled more comfortably. 'I make sure the family is good ton, well connected enough to get the right invitations and sufficiently beforehand not to make a fuss over the milliner's bills.'

'Not to mention those from the modistes.'

'Precisely. Well'-she gestured briefly-'no girl is going to snare a duke if she dresses like a dowd.'

'Indubitably. Am I to understand the Claypoles fail to meet your stringent requirements?'

Honoria frowned. 'I've only been with them since Sunday, but I've a nasty suspicion…' She let her words trail away, then shrugged. 'Luckily, it appears Melissa is all but spoken for-by a duke, no less.' A pause followed, then her rescuer prompted: 'A duke?'

'So it seems. If you live about here you must know of him-sober, reserved, rather reclusive, I think. Already tangled in Lady Claypole's web, if her ladyship speaks true.' Recollecting her burning question, Honoria twisted around. 'Do you know him?'

Clear green eyes blinked back at her; slowly, her rescuer shook his head. 'I can't say I've had the pleasure.'

'Humph!' Honoria sank back in her chair. 'I'm beginning to think he's a hermit. Are you sure-'

But he was no longer listening to her. Then she heard what had caught his attention-the rattly breathing of the wounded youth. The next instant, he was striding back to the bed. He sat on the edge, taking one of the youth's hands in his. From the chair, Honoria listened as the youth's breathing grew more ragged, more rasping. Fifteen painful minutes later, the dry rattle ceased. An unearthly silence filled the cottage; even the storm was still. Honoria closed her eyes and silently uttered a prayer. Then the wind rose, mournfully keening, nature's chant for the dead.

Opening her eyes, Honoria watched as Devil laid his cousin's hands across his chest. Then he sat on the pallet's edge, eyes fixed on the pale features that would not move again. He was seeing his cousin alive and well, laughing, talking. Honoria knew how the mind dealt with death. Her heart twisted, but there was nothing she could do. Sinking back in the chair, she left him to his memories.

She must have dozed off. When next she opened her eyes, he was crouched before the hearth. The candle