Devils Bride (Cynster 1)

Locking one arm about her throat, Charles hauled her upright.

"Charles!"

Devil's roar filled the clearing; Honoria nearly fainted. She looked wildly about; holding her before him, Charles swung her this way, then that, but couldn't locate Devil's position. Charles cursed; the next instant, Honoria felt the hard muzzle of a pistol pressing beneath her left breast.

"Come out, Sylvester-or do you want to see your wife shot before your eyes?"

Pushing her head back, Honoria glimpsed Charles's face, full of gloating, his eyes glittering wildly. Frantic, she tried struggling; Charles squeezed her throat. Raising his elbow, he forced her chin up; she had to stretch on her toes, losing all purchase on the ground.

"Devil?" Honoria spoke to the sky. "Don't you dare come out-do you hear? I'll never forgive you if you do-so don't." Panic gripped her, sinking its talons deep; black shadows danced across her eyes. "I don't want you to save me. You'll have other children, there's no need to save me." Her voice broke; tears choked her. A dull roaring filled her ears. She didn't want to be saved if the price was his life.

In the ditch, Devil checked his pistol. Vane, brows nearly reaching his hairline, stared at him. "Other children?"

Devil swore through his teeth. "Fine time she picks to announce her condition."

"You knew?"

"One of the prime requirements of being a duke-you have to be able to count." His face grimly set, Devil stuck his pistol into the back of his waistband and resettled his coat. "Make for the other end of the ditch, beyond the track."

Honoria was babbling hysterically; he couldn't afford to listen. He pulled Tolly's hip flask from his pocket; he'd carried it since Louise had given it back to him, a reminder of his unavenged cousin. Working feverishly, he wriggled the flask into the inside left breast pocket of his coat; swearing softly, he carefully ripped the lining-finally, the flask slid in. Resettling his coat, he checked the position of the flask. Vane stared. "I don't believe this."

"Believe it," Devil advised. He looked up; Honoria was still in full spate. Charles, his pistol at her breast, scanned the wood.

"I don't suppose there's any point trying to talk you out of it?" On his back, Vane checked his pistol. When Devil made no reply, he sighed. "I didn't think so."

"Sylvester?"

"Here, Charles."

The answer allowed Charles to face in their general direction. "Stand up. And don't bring any pistol with you."

"You do realize," Vane hissed, wriggling onto his stomach, "that this wild idea of yours has the potential to severely dint the family's vaunted invincibility?"

"How so?" Devil unbuttoned his coat, making sure the buttons hung well clear of his left side.

"When Charles kills you, I'll kill Charles, then your mother will kill me for allowing Charles to kill you. This madness of yours looks set to account for three of us in one fell swoop."

Devil snorted. "You're starting to sound like Honoria."

"A woman of sound sense."

Getting ready to stand, Devil shot a last glance at Vane. "Cover my back?"

Vane met his gaze. "Don't I always?" Then he swung about; crouched low, he started for the far end of the ditch.

Devil watched him go, drew in a long breath, then stood.

Charles saw him-he tightened his hold on Honoria.

"Let her go, Charles." Devil kept his voice even; the last thing he wanted was to panic Charles-the one he was counting on to shoot straight. "It's me you want, not her." He started forward, stepping over the scrubby undergrowth, sidestepping new canes and saplings. He didn't look at Honoria.

"Go back!" she screamed. "Go away!" Her voice broke on a sob. "Please… no." She was crying in earnest. "No…No!" Shaking her head, she gulped back sobs, her eyes pleading, her voice trailing away.

Devil walked steadily forward. He neared the edge of the clearing and Charles smiled-a smugly victorious smile. Abruptly, he flung Honoria away.

She screamed as she fell; Devil heard the scuffling of leaves as she frantically tried to free her feet from her skirts. Calmly, he stepped into the clearing. Charles raised his arm, took careful aim-and shot him through the heart.

The impact was greater than he'd expected; it rocked him back on his heels. He staggered back, hung motionless for a split second-the second in which he realized he was still alive, that Charles had clung to habit and aimed for his heart, not his head, that Tolly's hip-flask had been up to the task-then he let himself fall, slipping his right hand under the back of his coat as he went down. He landed on his left hip and shoulder; beneath him, his right hand held his pistol, already free of his waistband. Artistically, he groaned and rolled onto his back, his boots closest to Charles. All that remained was for Honoria-for once in her life-to behave as he expected.