"One of the windmills is out of action."
"Mills?" Honoria recalled numerous windmills dotting the fields. "There seem to be a lot about."
Devil's lips twitched. He reached for her hand. "This is fen country, Honoria Prudence-the mills drive pumps which drain the land."
"Oh." Honoria found herself being towed down the aisle. "Where are you taking me?"
He raised both brows at her. "To find a horse. Wasn't that what you wanted?"
Ten minutes later, atop a frisky chestnut mare, Honoria clattered out of the stable yard-in Devil's wake. The notion of a surreptitious detour occurred only to be dismissed; he'd overtake her in an instant.
They left the park by a different route from that which led through the woods; beyond the park walls, the clack of windmills became noticeable, steadily increasing as they headed north. The mill in question was a large one; Devil dismounted in its shadow to confer with his foreman.
For Honoria, their discussion held little interest. As they cantered back to the Place, she took the devil by the horns. "Have you any idea who the 'highwayman' might be?" It seemed a clear enough question.
His response was a dissertation on the mechanics of fen drainage. By the time they reached the stable yard, Honoria had heard enough to verify the adage about Cynsters being as passionate about their land as they were in their other pursuits. She'd also gained a very firm idea of what her host thought of her interest in his cousin's murder.
The next morning, she watched from her window until she saw her nemesis ride out. Then she headed for the stables. The grooms saw nothing odd in her request that the mare be saddled again. When she passed under the arch leading out of the park, Honoria whooped with delight. Smiling inanely, she headed for the wood.
She ended going the long way around via the village. It was an hour and more before she finally reached the straight where Tolly had been shot. The mare seemed to sense the fatal spot; Honoria drew rein and slid from the saddle, tethering the horse some yards down the lane.
Brisk and full of purpose, she crossed the lane-the rumble of hoofbeats reached her. Halting, she listened; the unknown horseman was heading her way. "Damn!" She whisked about and hurried back to the mare.
She couldn't remount. In disbelief, Honoria looked right and left. The hoofbeats drew steadily nearer. In that moment, she would have traded her entire wardrobe for a suitable log; none was to be found.
The unknown presence was likely some local no more threatening than Mr. Postlethwaite. Honoria stepped to the mare's head and assumed a haughty, nonchalant expression. If she wished to stand beside her horse in the lane, who had the right to gainsay her?
The oncoming horse rounded the curve and burst into view. The rider wasn't Mr. Postlethwaite.
The black demon halted beside her; Devil looked down at her. "What are you doing here?"
Honoria opened her eyes wide-even wider than they already were. "I stopped to stretch my legs." He didn't blink. "And admire the view?" They were hemmed in on all sides by the wood. Honoria narrowed her eyes at him. "What are you doing here?"
Devil met her look, his expression implacable, then swung down from the saddle. Jaw set, he knotted the reins about a tree; without a word, he turned and strode to the spot where Tolly had fallen.
Honoria marched determinedly in his wake. "You don't believe it was a highwayman any more than I do-and it certainly wasn't a poacher."
Devil snorted. "I'm not daft." He shot her a piercing glance, then looked away, flexing his shoulders as if throwing off some restraint.
Honoria watched him study the ground. "Well? Who do you think did it?"
"I don't know, but we'll find out."
"We'll?" Honoria was perfectly certain he didn't mean her and him. "You're all searching, aren't you-you and your cousins?"
The look he cast her brimmed with masculine long suffering; his short sigh underscored it. "As you've so accurately deduced, it wasn't a highwayman; nor was it a poacher-Tolly was murdered. Behind such a murder there must be a reason-we're looking for the reason. The reason will lead us to the man."
&
nbsp; "From what I heard, you haven't any clue as to what the reason might be." His glance, razor-sharp, touched her face; Honoria tried not to look conscious.
"Tolly lived a full life. While I'm going over the ground here, the others are quartering London-the balls, the hells-anywhere a Cynster might have been."
Recalling the assignments he'd delegated to his cousins, Honoria frowned. "Was Tolly particularly partial to cats?" Devil stared at her, his expression utterly blank.
"The catteries?"
He blinked, slowly, then his gaze, devoid of expression, met hers. "The salons. Of the demimonde."