The tyrant came knocking on her door late that evening.
Devil's uncles, aunts, and younger cousins had stayed for dinner, then all except Tolly's family had departed, letting the staff catch their collective breath. A cloak of calm had settled over the Place, a restful silence only found in those houses that had seen birth and death many times.
Leaving the Dowager and Tolly's parents swapping bittersweet memories, Honoria had retired to her chamber. She had intended to compose her letter to Michael. Instead, the peace outside drew her to the window; she sank onto the window seat, her mind sliding into the night.
The knock that interrupted her undirected reverie was so peremptory she had no doubt who was there. She hesitated, then, stiffening her spine, rose and crossed to the door.
Devil was standing in the corridor, looking back toward the stairs. As she set the door wide, he turned and met her gaze. "Come for a walk."
He held out his hand; Honoria held his gaze steadily-and slowly raised one brow. His lips twitched, then he fluidly sketched a bow. "My dear Honoria Prudence, will you do me the honor of strolling with me in the moonlight?"
She preferred his order to his request; the effortless charm lurking beneath his words, uttered in that soft, deep voice, was enough to turn any lady's head. But it needed no more than the blink of an eye to decide why he was here. "I'll get my shawl."
The swath of fine Norwich silk lay on a chair; draping it about her shoulders, Honoria pinned the ends, then headed for the door. She intended making it plain that she was not about to pull back from her interest in Tolly's murder.
Devil took her hand and drew her over the threshold and shut the door, then settled her hand on his sleeve. "There's another stairway that gives onto the side lawn."
In silence, they left the house to stroll beneath the huge trees dotting the lawn, passing from shadow to moonlight and back again.
The silence was soothing; the pervasive tang of leaves, green grass, and rich earth, scents Devil always associated with his home, was tonight spiced with a subtle fragrance, an elusive scent he had no difficulty placing.
It was her-the fragrance of her hair, of her skin, of her perfume-lily of the valley with a hint of rose-an expensive, alluring mix. Beneath all wafted the heady scent of woman, warm and sensual, promising all manner of earthly delights. The evocative scent teased his hunter's senses and heightened the tension gripping him.
Tonight, he was prey to two driving desires-at the moment, he could pursue neither goal. There was nothing he could do to avenge Tolly's death-and he could not take Honoria Prudence to his bed. Not yet. There was, however, one point he could address-he could do something about her chin.
He had no intention of letting her involve herself with Tolly's murder, but his action on the terrace had been ill-advised. Intimidation would not work with this particular lady. Luckily, an alternative strategy lay to hand, one much more to his liking. Using it would kill two birds with one stone. Cloaked in shadow, Devil smiled-and turned their steps toward the summerhouse.
She lost patience before they reached it. "What steps are you taking to apprehend your cousin's killer?"
"The matter will be dealt with-rest assured of that."
He felt her glare. "That's not what I asked."
"That is, however, all the answer you need."
She stiffened, then sweetly inquired: "Has anyone informed you, Your Grace, that you are without doubt the most arrogant man in Christendom?"
"Not in those precise words."
The comment robbed her of speech long enough for him to lead her up the summerhouse steps. He halted in the pavillion's center, releasing her. Shafts of moonlight streaked the floor, patterned with the shadows of the leaves. Through the dimness, he saw her breasts swell.
"Be that as it may-"
Honoria's words ended on a half squeak; one instant, her tormentor was standing, loose-limbed and relaxed, before her-the next, long fingers had firmed about her chin. And he was suddenly much closer. "What are you doing?" Her eyes had flown wide; she was breathless. She didn't try to free her chin; his grip felt unbreakable.
His lids lifted; his eyes, even paler in the weak light, met hers. "Distracting you."
His deep murmur was certainly distracting; Honoria felt it in her bones. Other than on her chin, he wasn't touching her, yet she felt herself sliding into his hold. He drew her upward and she stretched, her head tilting further, her heart tripped, then started to race. His eyes held hers, mesmerizing in the moonlight, ageless, seductive, all-knowing. His head slowly lowered-her lips softened, parted.
She could not have pulled back had the heavens fallen.
The first touch of his lips sent an aching shudder through her; his arms immediately closed about her, drawing her against him. Hardness surrounded her; muscles with less give than steel caged her. His head angled; the pressure of his lips increased.
They were hard, like the rest of him-commanding, demanding; a heartbeat later they were warm, enticing, seductively persuasive. Honoria stilled, quivering, on some invisible threshold-then he tugged and she plunged forward, into the unknown.
It was not the first time she'd been kissed, yet it was. Never before had there been magic in the air, never before h
ad she been taken by the hand and introduced to a world of sensation. Pleasure rose, warm and enthralling, then whirled through her, a kaleidoscope of delight, leaving her giddy. Pleasurably giddy.