street close by the docks. Sulfurous fog, dense and thick, wreathed the inn's low eaves. A rumble of male voices rolled out through the open door, punctuated by occasional female shrieks.
Sligo and Carter had traveled up top; descending nimbly to the cobbles, Sligo glanced around, then eased open the carriage door.
Her face lit by one of the carriage lamps, Honoria raised a brow.
'There's a problem.'
'Problem?' Honoria glanced through the door at the inn beyond. The carriage's leather window flaps were down. 'What problem?'
'This area's not safe.' Sligo scanned the shadows. 'We should have brought more men.'
'Why? I'll remain here while you and Carter go in. If the men are there, bring them out to me here.'
'Who's going to watch over you while we're in the inn?'
Honoria blinked. 'John Coachman's up top.' Even as she said it, Sligo's unease reached her.
He shook his head. 'He'll have his hands full with his team. If any wanted to grab you, all they need do is spook the horses. And I don't want to send Carter in alone. If those men are there, he might not come back.'
Honoria understood, yet she had to find out if the men were there. 'I'll come in with you. It's not particularly well-lit-if I cling to the shadows, no one will pay any attention to me.' On the words, she left her seat.
Sligo gaped-Honoria scowled and he let down the steps. Defeated he handed her down, then beckoned Carter closer. 'If we walk in front, shoulder to shoulder, you'll be less noticeable, ma'am.'
Honoria nodded curtly. She followed close on Sligo's heels as he and Carter crossed the tavern's threshold.
They entered a smoke-filled, low-ceilinged room-a deathly silence fell. Every conversation was suspended, instantly cut off. Sligo and Carter halted; Honoria sensed their defensiveness. Men lounged, slumped over a long counter; others sat on crude benches about rough tables. All heads had snapped their way; eyes used to sifting shadows focused without difficulty on her. The expression on some faces was surprised; most quickly turned calculating. Some turned malevolent. Danger, palpable, cloying, hung on the smoky air. Honoria tasted it, felt it crawl across her skin.
The barman, a harrassed-looking individual, reacted first. 'You've come to the wrong place.' He shooed them back. 'We don't have what you want.'
'Now, now.' A beefy arm stopped him in his tracks. A body to match the arm heaved its way off a bench. 'Don't be so hasty, Willie. Who's to say wha' the fancy want?'
The leer that went with this, directed at Honoria, convinced her the barman was right.
'Tha's right. Lady walks in-must know what she's a-lookin' for.' Another grinning navvy, wide as a tug, lumbered to his feet. 'Any number of us 'ere might have wha' she's after.'
Honoria looked him in the eye. 'You're quite right.' The only way out was through sheer, brazen bluff. Pushing Carter aside, she stepped forward. 'You might well be able to assist me. However'-she let her gaze roam the tables-'I must warn you that my husband and his cousins-the Bar
She turned to the barman: 'I daresay you can imagine how their group got its name. And now they've learned that three of your patrons attacked one of them last night. They're coming for revenge, but when they get here, they're not going to waste time on identification.'
Barman and patrons struggled through her words; Honoria inwardly sighed. 'I think they're going to wreck this tavern-and everyone in it as well.'
The navvies bristled; rebellious rumblings flew. 'If it's a rough-house they're after, we'll give it 'em,' one brawny salt declared.
'I'll complain to the magistrate,' the barman bleated.
Honoria eyed the navvies measuringly. 'Six of them-all rather large. And…' She looked at the barman. 'Did I mention my husband's a duke?' The man's face blanked; she smiled. 'His nickname's Devil. Lucifer and Demon will be with him.' She peered out through the open door. 'I didn't see the Watch out there.'
The navvies exchanged glances. Tales of the forays mounted by the less civilized of society's males were commonplace; the poorer classes bore the brunt of such destructive routs. The crowd in the Anchor's Arms were too old to risk getting their skulls cracked unnecessarily.
The man who'd spoken first eyed her challengingly. 'And just what might
Honoria looked down her nose at him. 'My dear man, surely you've heard that duchesses are required to do charitable deeds? Saving the Anchor's Arms is my deed for today.' She paused. 'Provided, of course, that you tell me what I need to know.'
The navvy glanced at his cronies-many nodded. Still suspicious, he turned back to her. 'How d'we know if'n we help you, you'll be able to stop this 'ere Devil from laying waste anyway?'
'You don't.' Honoria held his gaze. 'You can only hope.'
'What'd you want to know?' came from the back of the room.
Honoria lifted her head. 'Three sailors met here recently. I need to talk to them. Carter-describe the two you saw.'
Carter did; more than a few remembered them.
'In here yesterday evenin'-off the
'
'You're sure?' Confirmation came from several points in the room.
Then silence fell. Dense, cold, it chilled the air. Even before she turned, Honoria knew Devil had arrived.
She swung to face him-and only just stopped her blink. She swallowed instead. It was him, but not the man she habitually saw. This man filled the space before the door with a menacing presence; barely restrained aggression poured from him in waves. His elegant attire did nothing to conceal his powerful frame, nor the fact that he was fully prepared to annihilate anything or anyone unwise enough to give him the slightest excuse. He fitted the image she'd created to perfection.
His eyes, cold and flat, left her, scanning the room, holding not challenge but a promise, an intent every man could feel. Vane stood at his shoulder; just the two of them made the tavern seem uncomfortably overcrowded.
As Devil's gaze fastened on the wide-eyed barman, Honoria conjured a smile and swept into the breach. 'There you are, my lord. I fear the men you seek are not here-they sailed this morning.'
Devil didn't blink. His gaze fastened on her face-flames replaced the chill in his eyes but they remained oddly flat. One brow rose fractionally. 'Indeed?'
The single word, uttered in his deep voice, gave no hint of his thoughts. For one definable instant, me entire tavern held its breath. Then he nodded at the barman. 'In that case, you must excuse us.'
On the words, Devil turned, catching Honoria's arm, propelling her over the threshold, lifting her through the carriage door Sligo raced to open and into the safety beyond.
Vane swung out of the inn behind them; he loomed at Devil's shoulder as he paused, one boot on the carriage steps. 'I'll take the hackney.' Vane nodded to where the small carriage waited.
His expression beyond grim, Devil nodded-he followed Honoria into the carriage. Sligo slammed the door; John Coachman flicked the reins.
It took three tense, silent minutes before the coach maneuvered its way free of the narrow street. And a further, equally silent half-hour before it drew up in Grosvenor Square. Devil alighted. He waited until Sligo let down the steps, then held out his hand. Honoria placed hers in it; he helped her down and led her up the steps.
Webster opened the door, his relief so intense it showed in his face. Then he saw his master's face- immediately his expression leached to impassivity. Gliding into the hall, her fingers on an arm more like rock than human flesh, Honoria held her head high.
Devil halted in the hall. 'If you'll excuse me, my dear, I must speak with Sligo.' His tone was glacial, bleak, and not quite steady, the icy surface rippling with barely suppressed rage. 'I'll join you shortly. Upstairs.'
For the first time that evening, Honoria saw his face clearly, lit by the chandelier high above. It was paler