Devil turned as Webster opened the door-revealing his curricle drawn up before the steps, along with a figure in pale lilac. Devil smiled. "No, Webster-everything's as I expected."
Strolling out, Devil paused in the shadows of the porch to relish the picture Honoria presented. His bride-to-be had a certain style, an innate elegance. Her hair was piled high in a fashionable knot, fine errant curls wreathing her face. A frilled parasol protected her complexion; her hands and feet were encased in tan leather. Her lilac carriage dress had been cut with skill, neatly fitting her slender waist, emphasizing the ripe swell of her hips and the generous curves of her breasts. It took conscious effort to wipe the wolfish smile from his face.
Adopting a bland, impassive expression, he strolled down the steps.
Twirling her parasol, Honoria watched him approach. "I gather you intend driving to St. Ives, Your Grace. I wonder if I might accompany you? I have a keen interest in old chapels-I believe the bridge-chapel at St. Ives is a particularly fine example of its kind."
"Good morning, Honoria Prudence." Halting before her, Devil claimed her right hand; smoothly raising it, he pressed his lips to her inner wrist, left bare by her glove.
Honoria nearly dropped her parasol. She shot him a glare and tried to calm her racing heart. "Good morning, Your Grace."
Without another word-without the argument she had primed herself to win-he led her to the curricle's side and lifted her to the seat. Effortlessly. She had to calm her wayward heart all over again. Shifting along, she clung to the rail as the seat tipped as he climbed up. Once it resettled, she rearranged her skirts, then fussed with her parasol.
Devil took the reins, dismissed his groom, then they were bowling down the drive. Honoria drew a deep breath; the cool air beneath the oaks revived her wits-and brought the last minutes into sharper focus. Abruptly narrowing her eyes, she turned them on Devil. "You knew!"
He glanced her way, his expression mildly indulgent. "I'm generally considered a fast learner."
An unnerving suspicion leapt to mind. "Where are you taking me?"
This time his expression was innocence incarnate. "To St. Ives-to see the bridge-chapel."
Honoria looked into his eyes-they were crystal-clear. Twisting about, she looked behind-and saw a horse on a leading rein following the curricle. She turned back. "You're going to St. Ives to return the horse Tolly was riding the afternoon he was shot."
Devil's gaze turned sharp, his expression irritated. "I don't suppose I can persuade you to leave the matter in my hands?"
Honoria frowned. "Is it Tolly's horse-or could it be the murderer's?"
Devil's jaw firmed. "It must be the horse Tolly was riding-it was found fully saddled in a field near the wood the day after the storm. It's from the stables Tolly usually used. And the murderer presumably left the scene on horseback." A straight stretch lay before them; he slowed his matched bays and looked at Honoria. "Honoria Prudence, you might have come upon Tolly a few minutes before I did, but there's no reason you should take an active role in tracking down his killer."
Honoria put her nose in the air. "I take leave to disagree, Your Grace."
Devil scowled."For God's sake, stop 'Your Gracing' me-call me Devil. We are, after all, going to be man and wife."
"That," Honoria declared, her chin rising another notch, "is unlikely."
Devil eyed the tip of her chin, and debated the wisdom of arguing. Instead, he said, his tone edged but even: "Honoria, I'm the head of this family-my shoulders are broader than yours and my back is a good deal stronger. Finding Tolly's murderer is my responsibility-rest assured I'll fulfill it."
She looked at him. "You do realize you've just contradicted yourself? One minute, you declare I'm to be your bride-the next you forbid me to act as either your wife or your bride should."
"As far as I'm concerned my wife, prospective or actual, which is to say you, should refrain from all dangerous activities." Forced to look to his horses, Devil heard his own growl; his frown deepened. "Murder is violent; tracking a murderer is dangerous. You should not be involved."
"Entrenched opinion states that a wife should give her husband aid and succor in all his enterprises."
"Forget the aid-I'll settle for the succor."
"I'm afraid you cannot separate the two-they come as a package. Besides," Honoria added, her eyes widening, "if I'm to stay away from all danger, however could we wed?"
He glanced at her, his expression arrested; he searched her face, then narrowed his eyes. "You know you stand in no danger from me. You wouldn't be here if you did."
That, Honoria inwardly admitted, was true; he was far too potent a force to challenge without cast-iron assurances. But her position was unassailable-given he viewed her as his bride, he would uphold her honor, even against himself. She could have no more formidable protector. Secure in that knowledge, she smiled serenely. "Have your cousins learned anything yet?"
He muttered something and looked ahead-she didn't try too hard to catch his words. His jaw was set-g
ranite would have been softer. He took the next turn at speed, then whipped up his horses. Unperturbed, she sat back, idly scanning the flat fields past which they flew.
Devil barely checked his team for Somersham,
Honoria glimpsed Mr. Postlethwaite by the vicarage. She waved; he blinked, then smiled and waved back. Had it really been only a week since she'd taken the lane through the wood?