Devils Bride (Cynster 1)

Amelia blinked. "I play the pianoforte."

"And I play the harp," Amanda supplied.

Excellent examples of both instruments stood before them; Webster hurried to maneuver the required pieces into place. Honoria turned to the girls. "You play together?" They nodded. "Good. What pieces can you play? Think of slow, mournful pieces-requiems or sections thereof."

To her relief, the twins were true to their class, well taught and with decent repertoires. Five minutes later, she'd also discovered they possessed considerable skill.

"Excellent." Honoria exchanged a relieved glance with Webster. "Don't let anyone distract you-we need you to play for at least forty minutes. Start at the beginning of your list and start repeating once you've finished. You can stop when the tea trolley arrives."

The girls nodded, and commenced a liturgical excerpt.

"Shall I open the doors, miss?" Webster whispered.

"Yes-the ones to the terrace as well." Both the music room and the drawing room gave onto the long terrace. Webster set the two doors flanking the fireplace wide, joining the two rooms. Heads turned as the haunting chords flowed over the conversations.

Gradually, tempted by the music, both ladies and gentlemen strolled in. The twins, used to performing before their elders, did not falter. There were chairs aplenty; gentlemen obligingly set them out, the ladies subsiding in groups, the gentlemen standing beside them.

From her position by the open terrace door, Honoria watched her distraction take hold. Suddenly, she felt a familiar presence behind her.

"This was inspired."

Glancing back, she met Devil's green eyes; they scanned her face.

"What was wrong?"

Honoria wondered if there was anyone in the entire assembly who had missed her assumption of the Dowager's authority. She'd been prepared to swear Devil had been deep in conversation at the far side of the room at the time. "Your devil-horse ate the tea cakes. Mrs. Hull is not impressed. I believe she has visions of turning your steed into cat's meat."

He was close, his shoulder propped against the doorframe behind her; she felt his chest quake with suppressed laughter. "Hully wouldn't do that."

"Just mention your horse and watch her reach for her cleaver."

He was silent, looking out over the room. "Don't tell me you don't play?"

Honoria caught herself just in time-and reframed her answer. "I play the harpsichord, but I'm not Tolly's sister. Incidentally," she continued, in the same mild tone, "I give you fair warning that regardless of whatever imbroglio you and your mother concoct, I will not be marrying you."

She felt his gaze on her face; when he spoke, the words feathered her spine. "Would you care to wager on that?"

Honoria lifted her chin. "With a reprobate like you?" She waved dismissively. "You're a gamester."

"One who rarely loses."

The deep words reverberated through her; Honoria abandoned speech and opted for a haughty shrug.

Devil didn't move. His gaze swept her face, but he said nothing more.

To Honoria's relief, her strategem worked. The tea, when it arrived, was perfect, the scones fresh from the oven, the jam sweet. The twins retired to subdued but sincere applause; one glance at their faces showed just how much their contribution had meant to them.

"We'll get them to play again tomorrow," Devil murmured in her ear.

"Tomorrow?" Honoria fought to quell an unhelpful shiver.

"At the wake." Devil met her eyes. "They'll feel better to be doing something useful again."

He left her musing-and returned with a cup of tea for her. She took it, only then realizing how much in need of refreshment she was. Other than understanding her too well, Devil behaved himself, smoothly introducing her to family friends. Honoria didn't need to exercise her imagination over how the company viewed her-their deference was marked.

The events of the afternoon, orchestrated by Devil and the Dowager, aided and abetted by Devil's demon horse, had conveyed a clear message-that she was to be Devil's bride.

The evening passed swiftly; dinner, attended by everyone, was a somber meal. No one was inclined to entertainment; most retired early. A brooding, melancholy silence descended over the house, as if it mourned, too.