Devils Bride

over me to your heart's content, but you will stay away from all danger. You spoke of duty-it's my duty to protect you, not yours to protect me.'

Honoria went to shake her head; Devil caught her chin on the edge of his hand and trapped her gaze with his. 'Promise me you'll do as I ask.'

Honoria drew as deep a breath as her tight chest would allow, then shook her head. 'No-leave duty aside- we spoke also of reasons, a reason to justify my doing all and anything to safeguard your life.' She spoke quickly, breathlessly; she had to make him understand. 'My reason is one that will stand against any objection.'

Devil's face hardened. His hand fell; he drew back. Her eyes locked on his, Honoria clung to the contact, refusing to let him withdraw totally behind his mask. She drew a swift breath, and let it out on the words: 'I love you-more than I've ever loved anyone. I love you so profoundly it goes beyond all reason. And I could never let you go-let you be taken from me-that would be the same as letting life itself go, because you are life to me.'

Devil stilled. For one, heart-stopping moment, he looked into Honoria's eyes; what he saw there locked his chest. He wrenched his gaze free and swung away. He paced toward the door, then stopped. Hands in fists by his sides, chest swelling, he dropped his head back, and stared at the ceiling. Then exhaling, he looked down. He spoke without turning. 'Your reason's not good enough.'

Honoria lifted her chin. 'It is to me.'

'Damn it woman!' Furious, Devil turned on her. 'How by all that's holy do you imagine I'm supposed to function, knowing that, at any instant, you may be courting heaven knows what danger-all in the name of keeping me safe?' His voice rose to a bellow that literally shook the chandelier. Gesticulating violently, he paced viciously, like some trapped jungle cat. 'Do you have any idea what I felt when I learned where you'd gone today?' Brilliant with accusation, his eyes raked her. 'Can you even conceive what I felt when I walked in that tavern door?' He halted directly before her.

Honoria caught her breath as his eyes locked on hers.

'Do you know what might have happened in such a place?' His voice had lowered, his tones chillingly prophetic.

Honoria didn't move.

'They could have knifed Sligo and Carter-killed them without a qualm. Then they'd have raped you-one after another. If you'd survived, they'd have slit your throat.'

Devil spoke with deadpan conviction; it was the truth-a truth he'd had to face. The muscles across his shoulders rippled; he tensed, holding back his reactive rage, clinging grimly to the reality of the woman standing slim, straight, and unharmed before him. A second later he caught himself reaching for her-abruptly, he swung away, pacing again, then he stopped.

His back to Honoria, he dragged in a deep breath. 'How the hell do you think I would have felt then!-if anything had happened to you?' He paused, then flatly stated: 'I cannot countenance you putting yourself in danger over me. You can't ask that of me.'

Silence fell; Devil looked back at Honoria. 'Will you give me your word you will not knowingly go into danger?'

Honoria held his gaze, then, slowly, shook her head. 'I can't.'

He looked forward immediately, his fury clearly delineated in the rigid lines of his back, clearly expressed in a single, violent expletive.

'I simply can't.' Honoria spread her hands. 'I'm not trying to be wilful, but you must see I can't-' Her words were drowned out by a half-strangled roar; the next instant,

Devil flung open the door. Honoria stiffened. 'Where are you going?'

'Downstairs.'

'Don't you dare leave.' If he did, would he come back? 'I haven't finished-'

His hand on the doorknob, Devil turned, his green gaze impaling her. 'If I don't leave, you won't sit comfortably for a sennight.'

Before she could react, he slammed the door shut. Honoria listened to his footsteps, uncharacteristically heavy, retreat. She stood before the fire, her gaze fixed unseeing on the panels of the door, for a very long time.

Reaching the library, Devil flung himself into an armchair. An instant later, he sprang up and fell to pacing. He never paced-the action was too indicative of lost control for his liking. If he kept on as he was, he'd wear a track in the rug.

Uttering a long-drawn groan, he halted; eyes closed, he dropped his head back and concentrated on breathing, on letting his impotent rage settle. Into the morass of emotions that swirled inside him, all called forth by the woman he'd taken to wife.

Both jaw and fists clenched; then again he forced himself to relax. One by one, tensed muscles uncoiled; eventually, he stood easy. Eyes still closed, he looked inward, sifting through his reactions to what lay beneath.

When he saw what it was, he wasn't impressed.

Honoria was dealing with this unexpected development far better than he. Then again, she'd been through it before, albeit unhappily. He'd never experienced the like before.

He hadn't, in fact, known real fear, even on the battlefield. He was a Cynster; fate took care of Cynsters. Unfortunately, he wasn't sanguine enough to assume fate's benevolence extended to Cynster wives. Which left him battling a fear he'd no idea how to combat.

Exhaling slowly, he opened his eyes. Spreading his fingers, he studied them. They were almost steady. His muscles, tensed for so long, now felt chilled. He glanced at the decanter, then grimaced. Switching his gaze to the flames cheerily dancing in the hearth, he paused, then, deliberately, opened the door of his memory. And let Honoria's words warm him.

He stared at the flames for so long that when he heaved a long sigh and turned to the door, they still danced before his eyes.

Honoria shivered beneath the unfamiliar covers of her bed. After much mental debate, she'd returned to her apartments, undressed, and climbed between the sheets. She hadn't had any dinner-not that it mattered; she'd lost her appetite. Whether she'd find it again was moot, but if she could relive her scene with Devil, she would not change one word she'd said.

Her declaration had been necessary-she hadn't expected him to like it. She had no idea how he viewed her confession-he'd turned from her the instant he'd seen her words confirmed in her eyes.

Frowning, she stared into the dark, trying, for the umpteenth time, to make consistent sense of his reaction. On the surface, he'd appeared his usual tyrannical, domineering self, insisting without quarter that she fall in with his dictates, resorting to intimidation when she stood firm. Yet not all he'd said fitted that image-the mere thought of her being in danger had agitated him to a remarkable degree. It was almost as if…

The nebulous thought went round and round in her head, and followed her into sleep.

She woke to find a very large, dense shadow looming over her.

'Damn fool woman-what the devil are you doing here?'

His tone made it clear the question was rhetorical; Honoria valiantly stifled a giggle. He sounded so put upon-poor aggrieved male-not one of the most powerful men in the land. Her eyes adjusted to the dark, she saw him, hands on hips, shake his head. Then he leaned over her.

He loosened her covers, then pressed down on the soft mattress and slid his hands under her. He lifted her easily; Honoria played dead.

'And a bloody nightgown.'

The disgust in his voice made her jaw ache.

'What the hell does she think she's about?'

He shouldered through the door into the short corridor; seconds later, very gently, she was deposited in his bed. Honoria decided a murmur and a wriggle were required for authenticity.