Devils Bride (Cynster 1)

"Good." Honoria looked up in time to witness Richard's insouciant bow.

"A very good idea, this ball of yours." He paused at the door, a Cynster smile on his lips. "We were all looking for a way to get the Season rolling. Nothing could be better than an impromptu ball."

Honoria shot him a warning look; chuckling, he left.

She went on with her planning, trying not to listen for footsteps beyond the door, trying not to wonder whether Devil would drop by to hear of his cousins' selections, to ask her what she was doing, to offer his views.

He didn't.

When she entered the breakfast parlor the next morning, she was pleased to find Devil still present, sipping coffee and scanning The Gazette. Her place was now at the table's other end, an expanse of polished mahogany between them. Taking her seat, she beamed a warm smile across the silver service.

Devil returned the gesture, the expression more evident in his eyes than on his lips. Folding The Gazette, he laid it aside. "How are your plans progressing?"

Although he'd dined at home the previous night, he'd been preoccupied with business; he had come to bed late, conversation very far from his mind. Between sipping tea and nibbling toast, Honoria filled him in.

He listened attentively, interpolating comments, ending with: "You're setting a new fashion, you know. I've already heard of two other hostesses who are planning early, impromptu entertainments."

Smiling radiantly, Honoria shrugged. "Where St. Ives leads, the others will follow."

He grinned appreciatively, then his eyes locked on hers. "I've had the horses brought up from the Place. It's fine outside-I wondered if you'd care to ride?"

Honoria's heart leapt-she sorely missed their private hours. "I-"

"Your pardon, Your Grace."

Turning, Honoria watched as Mrs. Hull bobbed a curtsy to Devil, then faced her. "The caterers have arrived, ma'am. I've put them in the parlor."

"Oh-yes." Happiness deflating like a pricked balloon, Honoria smiled weakly. "I'll join them shortly." The florists were also due that morning, as were the musicians.

Mrs. Hull withdrew; Honoria turned back to meet Devil's eyes. "I'd forgotten. The supper menu needs to be decided today. I won't have time to ride this morning."

With a suave smile, Devil waved dismissively. "It's of no account."

Honoria held back a frown-that smile did not reach his eyes. But she could think of nothing appropriate to say; with an apologetic smile, she stood. "By your leave."

Devil inclined his head, his superficial smile still in place. He watched Honoria leave, then set down his cup and stood. Slowly, a frown replaced his smile. He walked into the hall; behind him, Webster gave orders for the parlor to be cleared. An instant later, he appeared at his elbow.

"Shall I send for your horse, Your Grace?"

Devil focused, and found his gaze resting on the stairs up which Honoria had gone. "No." When he rode alone, he rode early, before others were about. His features hardening, he turned to the library. "I'll be busy for the rest of the morning."

*****

The day of the duchess of St. Ives's impromptu ball dawned crisp and clear. In the park, wispy mist wreathed beneath the trees; shrill birdcalls echoed in the stillness.

Devil rode along the deserted tan track, the heavy thud of his horse's hooves drumming in his ears. He rode with single-minded abandon, fast yet in absolute control, his body and his mount's in fluid concert as they flew through the chill morning. At the end of the track, he hauled the snorting chestnut's head about-and rode back even faster.

Nearing the end of the tan, he eased back, pulling up before a stand of oak. The deep-chested horse, built for endurance, blew hard, and dropped his head. Devil loosened the reins, chest swelling as he drew the air deep.

There was no one in sight, nothing but trees and well-tended lawns. The tang of damp grass rose as the chestnut shifted, then settled to crop. Devil filled his chest again, and felt the cold reach his brain. And, as often happened in this solitude, his unease, the nagging disquiet that had gnawed at him for days, crystallized, clarified. The insight was not encouraging.

The idea that he was irritated because his wife was so busy organizing her ball that she had no time for him did not sit well-yet denying his jealousy, the waiting, the wanting to be with her, was pointless. Even now, he could feel the black emotion roiling inside. Yet he had no justifiable cause for complaint. Duchesses were supposed to give balls. Honoria was behaving precisely as a wife should-she'd made no awkward demands, no requests for attention he didn't wish to give. She hadn't even accepted the attention he'd been only too willing to bestow.

That fact rankled. Deeply.

Frowning, Devil shook his shoulders. He was being unreasonable-he'd no right to expect his wife to be different, to comport herself by some different code-one he couldn't, even now, define. Yet that was precisely what he did want, the desire at the heart of his dissatisfaction.

Unbidden, his mind conjured up that moment when, in his woodsman's cottage, she'd leaned against him. He'd looked down, seen the warmth and understanding in her eyes, and felt her weight, soft and womanly, against him. And realized just how much he now had that Tolly would never have, never have a chance to experience.