On a Wicked Dawn (Cynster 9)

Luc glanced at Amelia — she grinned and settled back on the seat. Making a mental note to ask for an explanation later, he kissed Honoria's cheek, then held out his hand.

Devil gripped it; their gazes met, locked. "I'll see you in town in September."

Luc inclined his head. "Indeed — we can catch up, and no doubt Gabriel will want to make a start on his new idea."

"Presuming the preconditions have been met."

One boot on the step, Luc raised a brow. "Of course. And I daresay we'll be able to compare notes, you and I."

They were much of a height. Devil held Luc's midnight blue gaze, his own pale gaze steady, then inclined his head, accepting the challenge. "As you say."

With a nod, Luc climbed up; Devil shut the door.

"Good-bye!" Honoria waved.

"Good luck!" Devil added.

The driver cracked his whip — the coach lurched, and rolled forward; slowly gathering speed, it rolled down the gently curving drive. Honoria and Devil stood side by side and watched until the avenue of oaks intervened, blocking the coach from sight.

Honoria heaved a sigh. "Well, that's it for a while." She turned to her spouse. "And what was that all about? On what subject do you and Luc expect to compare notes?"

His gaze on the distant avenue, Devil paused, then looked down at his duchess. His wife. Looked into her misty grey eyes, the clear steady eyes that had first trapped his hardened heart.

"Have I ever told you that I love you?"

Honoria blinked, then opened her eyes wide. "No. As you very well know."

He could feel his face hardening. "Well, I do."

She — the mother of his three children, who now knew him better than anyone else in the world, even better than his mother — studied his eyes, then smiled. "I know. I always have." Linking her arm in his, she turned, not back to their guests but toward the rose garden around the side of the house. "Did you think I didn't?"

He considered, allowing her to steer their steps. "I suppose I always assumed you'd guessed."

"So why the sudden confession?"

That was much harder to explain. They stepped down to the sunken garden, strolled past the rioting roses to the seat at its end. Honoria neither spoke nor prompted. They sat; together they looked back at the house — their home — steeped in the glories of the past, full of the laughter and cries of their children, the future incarnate.

"It's like a rite of passage," Devil finally said. "But not one that's connected with any other. At least, that's how it is for me — and some others."

"Like Luc?"

Devil nodded. "It's easier, for us, to live the reality rather than declare it, to acknowledge it in our hearts but not put it into words. Basically, to act the part without owning to the label."

Her eyes on the house, Honoria followed his thoughts, tried to understand. "But… why? Oh, I can understand at first, but surely, over time, as you admit, actions speak the truth and the words become redundant—"

"No." Devil shook his head. "Those particular words never become worthless. Or easy." He glanced at Honoria. "They never lose their power."

She could feel it now as she met his gaze. Understanding dawned; misty-eyed again, she smiled. "Ah — I see. Power. So, to you, putting the fact into words—"

"Saying them out aloud."

"Uttering them, declaring the truth, is like…" She gestured, knowing what she meant yet not able to describe it.

Devil could, did. "It's like giving an oath of fealty — not just by one's actions acknowledging your sovereign, but offering your sword and accepting and acknowledging another's power to rule you." He met Honoria's gaze. "Men like me — like Luc — we're conditioned never to give that final, binding oath, not until we're forced to it. To do so willingly goes against every precept, every ingrained rule."

"You mean you — and Luc — are rather more… primitive than most?"