Devils Bride

'But as soon as we returned to town, he started plotting in earnest.' Devil looked at Honoria. 'First, he tried to convince me to send you back to the Place.' His lips twisted. 'I'm afraid I told him precisely where you stood in my affections. So, from then on, you, too, were in his sights-he wouldn't risk a posthumous heir.'

Turning to Vane, Devil missed Honoria's startled expression. 'The episode with the brandy came next, then the three sailors with swords who knew my route home. Both attempts were well within Charles's capabilities.'

Vane held Devil's gaze. 'That brandy should have done for you, you know.'

Feeling Honoria shiver, Devil shot him a warning glance. 'But it didn't, so he persevered. The sailors, I suspect, was an opportunity he couldn't pass up-he's walked home with me from White's often enough.'

Vane frowned. 'What about this business with the palaces? Where does that fit?'

Devil grimaced. 'It might not-but I'll wager it'll turn out to be Charles. Whatever, I'll find out tonight.'

'Tonight?' Vane blinked. 'What with everything else, I'd forgotten. What's our plan?'

Devil glanced at Honoria; absorbed with her own thoughts, she eventually felt his gaze. Looking up, she blushed. 'I was just recalling,' she said, her eyes locking on Devil's, 'something Lady Herring mentioned.'

Devil's expression blanked. 'Lady Herring?'

Honoria nodded. 'She said Charles approached her-something about replacing her last paramour. She refused him-from the sound of it, quite contemptuously.'

'Hmm.' Devil looked thoughtful.

'That wouldn't have helped Charles at all.' Vane shook his head. 'He always resented your successes- apparently on that level, too.'

The look Devil shot him was sharply reproving; Vane simply raised his brows. 'It might explain why he started frequenting the palaces-the timing's right. A Cynster couldn't patronize such places for long without us hearing of it, and we heard of it soon after Tolly's funeral.'

Devil nodded. 'But I still want to know definitely.'

'When's the meeting?'

'Midnight.'

Vane looked at the clock. 'I'll drive-Sligo can travel behind. Lucifer'll keep watch from the street-Scandal'll be at the corner.' Devil stared; Vane raised his brows. 'You didn't seriously imagine we'd let you waltz in there without pickets?'

Honoria kept her lips firmly shut on the response she knew Devil would not, in this instance, appreciate-'Thank God for the Bar Cynster' was not what he was thinking.

Devil scowled. 'What else have you organized?'

'Nothing.' Vane's expression was mild. 'But there's no earthly use imagining we'll let Charles take another easy crack at you. If you die, he'll be the head of the family-there's not one of us can stomach the thought.'

Devil glanced at Honoria; when she said nothing, he looked back at Vane. 'All right. But I don't want the cavalry charging in before the bugle sounds-we need to let Charles run with his master plan and let him take enough rope to hang himself.'

'His master plan.' Vane glanced at the note in his lap. 'Is that what this is?'

Devil nodded. 'It fits. I'd worried that all the other attempts were too simple, too spontaneous-simply not like Charles. You know how he thinks. Any plan of his is convoluted and complicated. He's also very conservative, socially rigid. This latest effort has his character stamped all over it. Involved, heavy with intrigue, and solidly based in society's view of me, Honoria, and Chillingworth.'

'Chillingworth?' Vane frowned. 'Why him?'

'Because he appears to be the perfect goad.'

'For what?'

Devil smiled-chillingly. 'My temper.'

Vane blinked, remembering the note Devil had received, the note he hadn't been allowed to see. His expression leached. 'Oh.'

'Indeed. This time, Charles has outdone himself-it's really a very good plan. It might have worked.' Devil glanced at Honoria. 'If things had been otherwise.'

Studying his eyes, she raised a brow. 'I'm not well acquainted with Charles's mental processes-could you explain his master plan to me?'

Devil's lips twisted; raising her hand, he brushed a kiss across her knuckles. 'Charles needs to kill me-and now you as well-to take the title. He's tried to avoid direct action; the phaeton, the brandy, the sailors-there's no way of connecting them with him. But such chancy methods haven't succeeded. So, consider-he needs both me and you dead with a reason. After Tolly's death, accidental shooting of even one of us would cause a furore.'

'No one would swallow that twice,' Vane put in. 'And he knows the rest of us wouldn't let your death under suspicious circumstances rest.'

'Which is why he's focused on the one type of death for both of us that society will swallow without a qualm, and, even more importantly, the family will not only accept, but work with him to hide.'

Vane's jaw firmed. 'I don't like what I'm thinking, but if that's how he's set it up, he's read us very well.'

Devil nodded. 'He's clever. Not wise, but clever.'

'I still don't understand,' Honoria said. 'What exactly is this death Charles has planned for us?'

Devil looked at her, his expression bleak. 'Charles has known me all my life. He knows of my temper, of the scope of my rage; he has a reasonable idea of what might touch it off. With his three carefully structured notes, he arranged for me to find you coming out of Chilling worth's house.'

'I'd worked that much out.'

'From there on, he's relying on me-and my rage-to set the scene. He's counting on me to enact the role of jealously furious husband to the hilt, so he can kill us both and blame it on my sufficiently well-known temper.'

Honoria held his gaze. 'He's going to make it appear that you killed me in a jealous rage, and then killed yourself?'

Devil nodded.

Honoria's eyes narrowed, then flashed. Her chin firmed. 'Charles,' she declared, 'is clearly not a Cynster.' She looked at Devil. 'How do we plan to catch him?'

'The only way we can-by letting him show his hand.'

'So what's our next move?' Vane handed the note back to Devil.

'Our next move is to make our own plans, which must include all the right actions to make Charles believe his plan is succeeding. In any good play, the villain only reveals himself in the last scene; Charles won't appear unless we, the intended victims, play out the earlier scenes correctly.' Devil glanced at Vane, leaning forward, intent, then looked at Honoria, calmly expectant by his side. He smiled, coldly. 'We've already completed the opening scene in our melodrama. For the next…'

At six o'clock the next morning, wreathed in mist, two tall figures, pistol in hand, faced each other on Paddington Green. Their seconds stood aside; a scrap of white drifted down. Two shots rang out. One of the principals crumpled to the ground; the other, clothed in black, waited while the doctor swooped down on his patient, then handed his pistol to his second and stiffly turned away.

He and his second climbed into a black, unmarked carriage and departed the scene.

The third scene in the tragedy was played out later that morning.

Gentlefolk taking their morning stroll in Grosvenor Square-nurses and their charges, governesses and young misses, old and young alike-all witnessed the unexpected sight of the St. Ives traveling carriage rolling into the square. It drew up before St. Ives House; an army of footmen descended to strap on a mountain of luggage.

Diverted, many watched, wondering, then the door opened; His Grace of St. Ives, his face like stone, appeared, leading a heavily veiled woman. Given her height, there were few who did not recognize his duchess; her stiff manner and the way she held her head led most to speculate that there'd been some falling-out, some possibly scandalous rift in what had, until then, appeared a remarkably felicitous relationship.

Before a host of round eyes, the duke handed the duchess into the carriage and followed her in. A footman shut the door; the coachman whipped up his horses.