Devils Bride (Cynster 1)

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sp; The disgust in his voice made her jaw ache.

"What the hell does she think she's about?"

He shouldered through the door into the short corridor; seconds later, very gently, she was deposited in his bed. Honoria decided a murmur and a wriggle were required for authenticity.

She heard him humph, then listened to the familiar sounds of him undressing, her mind supplying what she could not see.

The relief she felt when he slid into bed beside her, curling around her, warm, hard, reassuringly solid, made her chest ache. Carefully, he slid one arm over her waist; his hand gently pushed between her breasts, long fingers draping possessively over the lower.

She felt him heave a long, deep sigh; the last of his tension left him.

Minutes later, before she could decide whether or not to "wake up," his breathing deepened. Smiling, still wondering, Honoria closed her eyes.

Chapter 23

The next morning, Honoria woke late, alone, Devil long gone, up and about his business. His unflagging energy struck her as unfair-the events of the night had left her drained. Her gaze, unfocused, fell on the swath of ivory silk adorning the richly hued carpet. Her nightgown.

They'd engaged in a midnight tussle-half-asleep, she'd been reluctant to relinquish the gown's warmth. He, however, had insisted, then compensated admirably. Even now, she felt pleasurably aglow, inside and out. Smiling, she sank deeper into the bed, luxuriating in the lingering sense of warm fulfilment.

Who'd made the first move she neither knew nor cared; they'd turned to each other and let their bodies seal their unvoiced commitment that, regardless of any differences, they remained man and wife, their alliance rock-solid, as enduring as the Place.

The door from her apartments cracked open; Cassie peeked, then bustled in. "G'morning, ma'am." She swiped up the nightgown. "It's nearly eleven."

"Eleven?" Honoria blinked her eyes wide.

"Webster asked if you wanted any breakfast kept. Having missed dinner and all."

Honoria sat up. "We ate later." An hour after her nightgown had hit the floor, Devil's mind had turned to food. She'd been sound asleep again; he'd made a trip to the kitchens, then ruthlessly harried her awake, insisting she eat morsels of chicken, ham, and cheese, all washed down with white wine.

"There's kedgeree, boiled eggs, and sausages."

Honoria wrinkled her nose. "I'll take a bath."

The bath suited her mood: lazy, disinclined to move. She stared through the steam, reviewing the previous evening-and heard in her mind, in the depths of the night, her husband's deep voice as, sated, replete, he'd slumped beside her. "You can't fear losing me half as much as I fear losing you." It had been a grudging admission; he'd thought her already asleep.

Why would he fear losing her even more than she feared losing him?

The minutes ticked by, the water grew cold, and still she could find only one answer. As she rose from the bath, her spirits soared-she spent the next half hour sternly lecturing herself on the unwisdom of leaping to conclusions, especially conclusions like that.

She retired to the morning room but couldn't settle, idly drifting between window and fireplace, consumed by a longing to see her husband again. To look into his face; to study his clear eyes. Mrs. Hull brought up a pot of herbal tea. Grateful, she accepted a cup, but it grew cold while she stared at the wall.

Louise and the twins provided a welcome diversion; they came to lunch, the girls eager to describe their latest gowns. Honoria toyed with a portion of steamed fish and listened with half an ear. She'd canceled all her other engagements, although the news that the new duchess of St. Ives was indisposed was certain to lead to speculation.

In this instance, speculation would be accurate. She'd hesitated to let the thought form in her mind, but it now seemed beyond question. Her dullness every morning, her fragile appetite, all testified to the fact.

She was carrying Devil's child.

The very thought made her giddy with happiness, with eager anticipation tinged only by understandable apprehension. Real fear had no chance of intruding, not with Devil and his family so constantly about her.

As if to emphasize that last, with the twins on the front steps, Louise glanced at her affectionately. "You're looking well, but if you have any questions, there's me or Horatia or Celia-we've all been there before you."

"Oh-yes." Honoria blushed-she hadn't told Devil; she could hardly tell his aunts first. "That is-" She gestured vaguely. "If…"

Smiling, Louise patted her arm. "Not if, my dear. When." With a nod and a wave, she left, the twins falling in behind her.

Climbing the stairs, Honoria debated just how to tell Devil the news. Every time she imagined doing so, the specter of his would-be murderer intruded. They were closing in; before he'd left that morning, Devil had told her that he and Vane were searching for proof, precisely what he hadn't said. He'd promised to reveal all tonight. The last thing they needed now was a distraction-announcing the impending birth of his heir would create a major stir, focusing society's rabid interest on them.