Devils Bride (Cynster 1)

He drew a deep breath; the crisp cold sang through his veins. He wanted Honoria-had wanted her from the first-but his want was not quite what he'd thought it. The physical want, the possessive want, the protective want, the need for her loyalty, her commitment-all these he'd fulfilled. What remained?

Something, certainly-something strong enough, pow

erful enough, to unsettle him, to obsess him, to undermine effortlessly his normally unassailable control. Something beyond his experience.

Brows quirking, he examined that conclusion and could not fault it. Lips firming, he took up his reins. He wasn't going to get any real peace until he fulfilled this want, too.

Both he and the chestnut had cooled. Leaning forward, he patted the horse's sleek neck and dug in his heels. The chestnut obediently stepped out, shifting fluidly into a loping canter.

The bark of the tree before which they'd stood splintered. The sound reached Devil; glancing back, he saw the fresh lesion in the trunk, level with his chest. In the same instant, a telltale "cough" reached his ears.

He didn't stop to investigate; he didn't rein in until he reached the park gate where others were now gathering for their morning ride.

Devil halted to let the chestnut settle. Guns were not permitted in the park. The keepers were exempt, but what would they shoot at-squirrels?

The chestnut had calmed; deadly calm himself, Devil headed back to Grosvenor Square.

*****

The duchess of St. Ives's impromptu ball was an extravagant success. Held, not in the large ballroom, but in the relative intimacy of the music room, the evening overflowed with laughter, dancing, and an easy gaiety not often encountered within the rigid confines of the ton.

Many present, of course, were related; the rest were longstanding acquaintances. The tone was set from the first, when the duke and duchess led the company in a vigorous, breathless waltz. All hundred guests took the hint, setting themselves to enjoy the relaxed atmosphere, the champagne that flowed freely, the excellent supper and the similarly excellent company. Some five hours after the first had arrived, the last guests, weary but smiling, took their leave. Webster shut the front door, then set the bolts.

In the center of the hall, Devil looked down at Honoria, leaning on his arm. Lights still danced in her eyes. He smiled. "A signal success, my dear."

Honoria smiled back, resting her head against his arm. "It went very well, I think."

"Indeed." His hand over hers where it lay on his sleeve, Devil turned her toward the library. It had become their habit to end their evenings there, sipping brandy, exchanging comments. They halted on the threshold; footmen and maids were clearing glasses and straightening furniture. Devil glanced at Honoria. "Perhaps, tonight, we should take our drinks upstairs."

Honoria nodded. Devil accepted a lighted candelabrum from Webster; together they started up the stairs.

"Amelia and Amanda were exhausted."

"For quite the first time in their lives."

Honoria smiled fondly. "They danced every dance bar the waltzes. And they would have danced those if they could have." Glancing up, she noted the slight frown marring her husband's handsome countenance; looking forward, she inwardly grinned. The twins' presence had triggered an intriguing reaction in their male cousins-repressive looks had been de rigueur. She could foresee certain interesting scenes as the Season unfolded.

The thought reminded her of another interesting scene, one in which she'd participated. "Incidentally, I give you fair warning, I will not again invite Chillingworth if you behave as you did tonight."

"Mel" The look of innocence Devil sent her would have done credit to a cherub. "I wasn't the one who started it."

Honoria frowned. "I meant both of you-he was no better."

"I could hardly let him get away with casting a slur on my ability to satisfy you."

"He didn't! It was you who twisted his words that way."

"That was what he meant."

"Be that as it may, you didn't have to inform him that I-" Honoria broke off, cheeks flaming-again. She caught the gleam in Devil's green eyes. Pulling her hand from under his, she pushed him away; he didn't even stagger. "You're incorrigible." Lifting her skirts, she climbed the last stairs. "I don't know why you insisted on inviting him when all the conversation you exchanged was a litany of thinly veiled insults."

"That's why." Retaking her arm, Devil drew it through his as they crossed the gallery. "Chillingworth's the perfect whetstone to sharpen my wit upon-his hide's as thick as a rhinoceros's."

"Humph!" Honoria kept her chin high.

"I did let him waltz with you."

"Only because I made it impossible for you to do otherwise." She'd used the waltz to separate the two dueling reprobates-unsuccessfully as it transpired.