Devils Bride (Cynster 1)

Later that evening, Honoria was seated in an armchair in the drawing room, her lap full of embroidery silks, when a shadow fell across her. The Dowager was on the chaise, similarly occupied in sorting brilliant hanks. Michael, pleading tiredness, had retired early; Devil had retreated to the library. The tea trolley had come and gone; the evening had slipped silently into night.

Stymied in her attempt to discriminate between azure and turquoise, Honoria looked up-all the way up to Devil's face. He stood directly before her, his expression inscrutable. For a long moment, he simply held her gaze, his own shadowed, impossible to read. Then he held out his hand. "Come for a walk, Honoria Prudence."

From the corner of her eye, Honoria noted that the Dowager had been struck deaf.

Devil's lips softened fleetingly; his gaze remained intense, focused on her face. "I promise not to bite."

Honoria considered the pros and cons-she needed to talk to him, to make sure, while Michael was still here, that their bargain-his proposition-was precisely as she thought. She searched his face. "Not to the summerhouse." She might wish to learn more of pleasure, but she wanted the lessons under her control.

This time, his pirate's smile materialized fully if briefly. "Only on the terrace-I wouldn't want to distract you."

Honoria quelled an incipient shiver, elicited by the deep purring tones of his voice, and shot him a disbelieving glance.

He raised his brows resignedly. "Word of a Cynster."

And in that she could trust. Gathering her silks, Honoria set them aside, then placed her hand in his. He drew her to her feet, then settled her hand on his arm. The Dowager ignored them, apparently absorbed in lilac silks to the exclusion of all else. They strolled to where long windows stood open to the terrace, the night a curtain of black velvet beyond.

"I wished to speak to you," Honoria began the instant they gained the flags.

"And I to you." Looking down at her, Devil paused.

Regally, Honoria inclined her head, inviting his comment.

"Michael has informed me you've agreed to remain with my mother for the next three months."

Reaching the balustrade, Honoria lifted her hand from his sleeve and swung to face him. "Until the period of mourning is over."

"After which time, you'll become my duchess."

She tilted her chin. "After which time, I'll return to Hampshire."

He'd halted directly before her, no more than a foot away. With the light behind him, it was all she could do to discern his expression-arrogantly impassive; his eyes, hooded and shadowed, fixed on hers, she couldn't read at all. Honoria kept her head high, her gaze unwavering, determined to impress on him how inflexible she was.

The moment stretched-and stretched; she started to feel light-headed. Then one of his brows rose.

"We appear to have a problem, Honoria Prudence."

"Only in your mind, Your Grace."

The planes of his face shifted; his expression held a warning. "Perhaps," he said, exasperation clear beneath the polite form, "before we decide what will occur at the end of the three months, we should agree on the three months themselves?"

Haughtily, Honoria raised her brows. "I've agreed to remain with your mother."

"And seriously consider my proposal."

The message in his tone was unmistakable-a bargain, or no deal. Drawing in a quick breath, she nodded. "And seriously consider the prospect of becoming your wife. I should, however, inform you that I am unlikely to change my stance on that matter."

"In other words, you're bone stubborn-and I have three months to change your mind."

She did not at all like the way he said that. "I am not a vacillating female-I have no intention of changing my mind."

His teeth flashed in his pirate's smile. "You've yet to experience my powers of persuasion."

Honoria shrugged; nose in the air, she shifted her gaze beyond his shoulder. "You may persuade away-I won't be marrying, you or anyone."

Again, silence was his ally, slowly stretching her nerves taut. She nearly jumped when hard fingertips slid beneath her chin, turning her face back to him.

Even in the dark she could sense the piercing quality of his gaze, feel its potency. "Women have been known, on occasion, to change their minds." He spoke slowly, softly, his tones deep and purring. "How much of a woman are you, Honoria Prudence?"