Devils Bride (Cynster 1)

Amanda and Amelia swung back to face Honoria; she pretended not to notice, and spoke to Louise. "I believe it should be an impromptu ball-just for family and friends."

Louise nodded. "Not many of the ton are yet in residence-it would hardly do for the duchess of St. Ives to hold her first formal ball when fully half of society is still on the hunting field."

"Indeed-tantamount to social indiscretion. A sure way of putting the grandes dames' noses out of joint. Too many would be offended if I held my first formal ball now-but an impromptu ball should raise no ire."

Louise sat back, gesturing magnanimously. "As business has necessitated your return to town, no one would question your right to a little informal entertainment. And, of course, Helena has yet to come up-you couldn't hold your first formal ball without her."

"Precisely." Honoria nodded; the Dowager had gone to visit friends and was not expected to join them until the start of the Season proper. "And if it's just for friends…"

"And family," Louise added.

"Then," Honoria mused, "it could be held quite soon."

Amanda and Amelia looked from one distant expression to the other. "But will we be invited!" they wailed.

Honoria blinked and regarded them with apparent surprise. "Good heavens! You've put up your hair!"

Louise laughed; the twins pulled faces at Honoria, then leapt up from their footstools to flank her on the chaise.

"We promise to be models of decorum."

"The most proper young ladies you ever did see."

"And we've plenty of cousins to dance with, so you won't need to be forever finding us partners."

Honoria studied their bright eyes, and wondered how they would view their magnificant cousins once they saw them in their true colors, their true setting, prowling a ton ballroom. Her hesitation earned her two abjectly imploring looks; she laughed. "Of course you'll be invited." She glanced from one ecstatic face to the other. "But it will be up to your mama to decide if you should attend or not."

They all looked at Louise; she smiled fondly but firmly at her daughters. "I'll reserve my decision until I've spoken with your father but, given you're to be presented this Season, an impromptu family ball, particularly one at St. Ives House, would be an excellent start to your year."

Expectation took flight; the twins glowed with delight.

Leaving them in alt, already badgering Louise over their ball gowns, Honoria traveled on to Lady Colebourne's town house, to partake of luncheon amidst a host of young matrons. Any lingering reservations over the need for her ball were swiftly laid to rest. Considering gleams appeared in too many eyes at the news that her husband had returned to town, a married gentleman now, far safer, in terms of dalliance, than the unattached rake he used to be.

Smiling serenely, Honoria considered stamping her claim on him, too. Perhaps with a tattoo?-on his forehead, and another relevant part of his anatomy. The ton's bored matrons could look elsewhere for entertainment. Devil was hers-she had to fight an urge to declare the point publicly.

By the time she climbed into her carriage to return to Grosvenor Square, rampant possessiveness had taken firm hold. The strength of the feeling shocked her, but she knew well enough from whence it sprang. Within the ton, there was more than one way to lose a husband.

Not since the night of the storm, when she'd woken to find him in her room, had she thought again of losing him. Despite her fears, despite the fact Sligo and Devil's head stableman had shared her suspicions, nothing further had occurred-it now seemed likely that Devil had been right, and the disintegration of his phaeton nothing more than freakish accident.

Staring at the streetscape, Honoria felt a totally unexpected determination well. She recognized it for what it was-it surprised her, but she did not fight it. Too many people had told her that it was her fate to be his bride.

Which meant he was hers-she intended keeping it that way.

*****

Devil lunched with friends, then dropped in at White's. It was their third day back in the capital; despite the acquisition of a wife, the comfortable regime of former days was slowly settling into place. "The only difference," he explained to Vane as they strolled into the reading room, "is that I no longer need to exert myself over the matter of warming my bed."

Vane grinned. Nudging Devil's elbow, he nodded to two vacant armchairs.

They settled companionably behind newssheets. Devil gazed at his, unseeing. His mind was full of his wife and her stubbornness. Quite how he had come to marry the one woman in all the millions impervious to intimidation, he did not know. Fate, he recalled, had arranged the matter-his only option seemed to be to hope fate would also provide him with the means to manage her without damaging the subtle something growing between them.

That was unique, at least in his experience. He couldn't define it, could not even describe it-he only knew it was precious, too valuable to risk.

Honoria was also too valuable to risk, at any level, in any way.

He frowned at the newssheet-and wondered what she was doing.

Later that afternoon, having parted from Vane, Devil strolled home through the gathering dusk. He crossed Piccadilly and turned into Berkeley Street.