Devils Bride (Cynster 1)

Honoria blinked. "John Coachman's up top." Even as she said it, Sligo's unease reached her.

He shook his head. "He'll have his hands full with his team. If any wanted to grab you, all they need do is spook the horses. And I don't want to send Carter in alone. If those men are there, he might not come back."

Honoria understood, yet she had to find out if the men were there. "I'll come in with you. It's not particularly well-lit-if I cling to the shadows, no one will pay any attention to me." On the words, she left her seat.

Sligo gaped-Honoria scowled and he let down the steps. Defeated he handed her down, then beckoned Carter closer. "If we walk in front, shoulder to shoulder, you'll be less noticeable, ma'am."

Honoria nodded curtly. She followed close on Sligo's heels as he and Carter crossed the tavern's threshold.

They entered a smoke-filled, low-ceilinged room-a deathly silence fell. Every conversation was suspended, instantly cut off. Sligo and Carter halted; Honoria sensed their defensiveness. Men lounged, slumped over a long counter; others sat on crude benches about rough tables. All heads had snapped their way; eyes used to sifting shadows focused without difficulty on her. The expression on some faces was surprised; most quickly turned calculating. Some turned malevolent. Danger, palpable, cloying, hung on the smoky air. Honoria tasted it, felt it crawl across her skin.

The barman, a harrassed-looking individual, reacted first. "You've come to the wrong place." He shooed them back. "We don't have what you want."

"Now, now." A beefy arm stopped him in his tracks. A body to match the arm heaved its way off a bench. "Don't be so hasty, Willie. Who's to say wha' the fancy want?"

The leer that went with this, directed at Honoria, convinced her the barman was right.

"Tha's right. Lady walks in-must know what she's a-lookin' for." Another grinning navvy, wide as a tug, lumbered to his feet. "Any number of us 'ere might have wha' she's after."

Honoria looked him in the eye. "You're quite right." The only way out was through sheer, brazen bluff. Pushing Carter aside, she stepped forward. "You might well be able to assist me. However"-she let her gaze roam the tables-"I must warn you that my husband and his cousins-the Bar Sinister, as they're called-are presently on their way here. All six of them." She considered the navvy. "They're all taller than you."

She turned to the barman: "I daresay you can imagine how their group got its name. And now they've learned that three of your patrons attacked one of them last night. They're coming for revenge, but when they get here, they're not going to waste time on identification."

Barman and patrons struggled through her words; Honoria inwardly sighed. "I think they're going to wreck this tavern-and everyone in it as well."

The navvies bristled; rebellious rumblings flew. "If it's a rough-house they're after, we'll give it 'em," one brawny salt declared.

"I'll complain to the magistrate," the barman bleated.

Honoria eyed the navvies measuringly. "Six of them-all rather large. And…" She looked at the barman. "Did I mention my husband's a duke?" The man's face blanked; she smiled. "His nickname's Devil. Lucifer and Demon will be with him." She peered out through the open door. "I didn't see the Watch out there."

The navvies exchanged glances. Tales of the forays mounted by the less civilized of society's males were commonplace; the poorer classes bore the brunt of such destructive routs. The crowd in the Anchor's Arms were too old to risk getting their skulls cracked unnecessarily.

The man who'd spoken first eyed her challengingly. "And just what might you be a-doing 'ere, then? A duchess an'all?"

Honoria looked down her nose at him. "My dear man, surely you've heard that duchesses are required to do charitable deeds? Saving the Anchor's Arms is my deed for today." She paused. "Provided, of course, that you tell me what I need to know."

The navvy glanced at his cronies-many nodded. Still suspicious, he turned back to her. "How d'we know if'n we help you, you'll be able to stop this 'ere Devil from laying waste anyway?"

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"You don't." Honoria held his gaze. "You can only hope."

"What'd you want to know?" came from the back of the room.

Honoria lifted her head. "Three sailors met here recently. I need to talk to them. Carter-describe the two you saw."

Carter did; more than a few remembered them.

"In here yesterday evenin'-off the Rising Star."

"Rising Star upped anchor this mornin' for Rotterdam."

"You're sure?" Confirmation came from several points in the room.

Then silence fell. Dense, cold, it chilled the air. Even before she turned, Honoria knew Devil had arrived.

She swung to face him-and only just stopped her blink. She swallowed instead. It was him, but not the man she habitually saw. This man filled the space before the door with a menacing presence; barely restrained aggression poured from him in waves. His elegant attire did nothing to conceal his powerful frame, nor the fact that he was fully prepared to annihilate anything or anyone unwise enough to give him the slightest excuse. He fitted the image she'd created to perfection.