Devils Bride (Cynster 1)

She felt him shrug. "I'll leave you to deal with them."

"I won't be here." She made the statement firmly.

"We'll be here often enough-we'll spend some of the year in London and on my other estates, but the Place will always be home. But you needn't worry over me-I'm not fool enough to face the disappointed local aspirants without availing myself of your skirts."

"I beg your pardon?" Turning, Honoria stared at him.

He met her gaze briefly; his lips quirked. "To hide behind."

The temptation was too great-Honoria lifted an arrogant brow. "I thought Cynsters were invincible."

His smile flashed. "The trick is not to expose oneself unnecessarily to the enemy's fire."

Struck by the force of that fleeting smile, Honoria blinked-and abruptly faced forward. There was, after all, no reason she should face him unnecessarily either. Then she realized she'd been distracted. "I hate to destroy your defense, but I'll be gone in a few days."

"I hesitate to contradict you," came in a purring murmur just above her left ear, "but we're getting married. You are, therefore, not going anywhere."

Honoria gritted her teeth against the shivery tingles that coursed down her spine. Turning her head, she looked directly into his mesmerizing eyes. "You only said that to spike Lady Claypole's guns." When he didn't respond, just met her gaze levelly, she looked forward, shrugging haughtily. "You're no gentleman to tease me so."

The silence that followed was precisely gauged to stretch her nerves taut. She knew that when he spoke, his voice deep, low, velvet dark. "I never tease-at least not verbally. And I'm not a gentleman, I'm a nobleman, a distinction I suspect you understand very well."

Honoria knew what she was meant to understand-her insides were quaking in a thoroughly distracting way-but she was not about to surrender. "I am not marrying you."

"If you think that, my dear Miss Anstruther-Wetherby, I fear you've overlooked a number of pertinent points."

"Such as?"

"Such as the past night, which we spent under the same roof, in the same room, unchaperoned."

"Except by a dead man, your cousin, who everyone must know you were fond of. With his body laid out upon the bed, no one will imagine anything untoward occurred." Convinced she'd played a winning card, Honoria wasn't surprised by the silence which followed.

They emerged from the trees into the brightness of a late-summer morning. It was early; the crisp chill of the night had yet to fade. The track followed a water-filled ditch. Ahead, a line of gnarled trees lay across their path.

"I had intended to ask you not to mention how we found Tolly. Except, of course, to the family and the magistrate."

Honoria frowned. "What do you mean?"

"I'd rather it was thought that we found him this morning, already dead."

Honoria pursed her lips, and saw her defense evaporate. But she could hardly deny the request, particularly as it really mattered not at all. "Very well. But why?"

"The sensationalism will be bad enough when it becomes known he was killed by a highwayman. I'd rather spare my aunt, and you, as much of the consequent questioning as possible. If it's known he lived afterward and we found him before he died, you'll be subjected to an inquisition every time you appear in public."

She could hardly deny it-the ton thrived on speculation. "Why can't we say he was already dead when we found him yesterday?"

"Because if we do, it's rather difficult to explain why I didn't simply leave you with the body and ride home, relieving you of my dangerous presence."

"Given you appear impervious to the elements, why didn't you leave after he died?"

"It was too late by then."

Because the damage to her reputation had already been done? Honoria swallowed an impatient humph. Between the trees, she could see a stone wall, presumably enclosing the park. Beyond, she glimpsed a large house, the roof and the highest windows visible above tall hedges. "Anyway," she stated, "on one point Lady Claypole was entirely correct-there's no need for any great fuss."

"Oh?"

"It's a simple matter-as Lady Claypole will not give me a recommendation, perhaps your mother could do so?"

"I think that's unlikely."