Devils Bride (Cynster 1)

Under her hands, his chest expanded; his lips found hers as he lifted her, settling her in his lap. A fleeting thought impinged on Honoria's mind-that she'd been here, like this, before. She dismissed it as nonsense-she could never have forgotten the sensation of being surrounded by him, his thighs hard beneath her, his arms a cage about her, his chest a fascinating wall of hard, shifting muscle bands over even harder bone. She pressed her hands against it, then slid them around, reaching as far as she could. His hands at her back urged her closer; her breasts brushed his chest.

Then he changed the angle of their kiss and shifted her, laying her back against one arm.

Immediately, the tenor of their kiss changed; his tongue glided sensuously over hers, then alongside-she sensed his invitation. Responding, she was drawn deep into an intimate game, of thrust and parry, of artlessly evocative caresses, of steadily escalating desire. When his hand closed over her breast, she arched; his long fingers found her nipple, tantalizingly circling it before closing in a firm caress, which only left her aching for more.

Instead, his hand left her; her lips trapped beneath his, Honoria was considering pulling away to protest, when she felt her bodice give. An instant later, his hand slid beneath the twill, cupping her breast fully.

Heat seared her; as his fingers closed, then stroked, her breast grew heavy. Honoria tried to break their kiss to catch her breath; he refused to let her go, deepening the kiss instead as she felt his fingers tangle with the silk ribbons of her chemise. Giddy, her senses reeling, she felt the ribbons give, felt the silk shift and slide-then his hand, his fingers, stroked her bare skin, intimately, unhurriedly.

Sweet fever rose and spread through her; her senses sang. Every particle of awareness she possessed was fixed on where he caressed her. With each questing sweep of his fingers, he knew her more.

Devil broke their heady kiss so that he could move her back slightly and shift his attentions to her other breast. She dragged in a shuddering breath, but kept her eyes shut and didn't protest; lips curving, he gave her what she wanted. Her skin was smooth as satin, rich to the touch; his fingertips tingled as he stroked her, his palm burned when he cupped the soft weight. Her height belied her curvaceousness; each breast filled his palm, a satisfyingly sensual sensation. His only complaint was that he couldn't see what his fingers traced; her carriage dress was too stiff, the style too well cut, to brush her bodice aside.

He returned to the first breast; his fingers tightened. Honoria's eyes glinted from beneath her lashes. He caught her gaze. "I want you, sweet Honoria." Gravelly with leashed desire, his voice was very deep. "I want to watch you, naked, writhing in my arms. I want to see you, naked, spread beneath me."

Honoria couldn't stop the shiver that raced through her. Eyes trapped in his, she struggled to draw breath, struggled to steady her giddy head. The planes of his face were hard-edged; desire glowed in his eyes. His fingers shifted; a shaft of pure delight streaked through her. She shivered again.

"There's much more that I can teach you. Marry me, and I'll show you all the pleasure I can give you-and all that you can give me."

If she'd needed any warning of how dangerous he was, how intent he was, it was there in that last phrase; Honoria heard his possessiveness ring. Any pleasure he gave her she would pay for-but would possessing her truly be such pleasure to him? And, given all she now knew, was being possessed, by him, any longer a destiny to be feared? Breathing shallowly, she raised her hand and sent it skating over his chest. Muscles shifted, then locked. Other than a hardening of his features, his face showed no reaction.

Honoria smiled knowingly; raising her hand, she boldly traced his jaw, traced the sensual line of his lips.

"No-I will go upstairs, I think."

They both froze, eyes locked on the other's. The Dowager's voice carried clearly from the hall as she issued instructions to Webster, then heels clicked as she swept past the library door.

Eyes wide, excruciatingly aware that his hand lay firm about her naked breast, Honoria swallowed. "I think I'd better go up." How long had they been here, scandalously dallying?

Devil's smile turned devilish. "In a minute." It wasn't one, but ten. When she finally climbed the stairs, Honoria felt like she was floating. Reaching the gallery, she frowned. Devil's pleasure, she suspected, could be seriously addictive; of his possessiveness she had not a doubt. But passion?-that should be intense, uncontrollable, explosively powerful; Devil had been in control throughout. Her frown deepening, she shook her head and headed for the morning room.

Chapter 12

"I don't believe it!" Seated before her escritoire, Honoria stared at the single sheet of parchment in her hand. For the third time, she read the simple message, then, her jaw setting ominously, she rose and, letter in hand, headed for the library.

She didn't knock. She flung the door wide and marched in. Devil, seated in his accustomed place, raised his brows.

"I take it there's a problem."

"Indeed." Honoria's eyes glittered. "This!" With a flourish, she deposited her letter on the desk. "Explain that, if you would, Your Grace."

Devil picked up the letter and scanned it, lips firming as he realized its content. Dropping it on the blotter, he leaned back, studying Honoria still standing before the desk, arms crossed, eyes flashing-the very image of an intemperate virago. "I didn't actually think you'd ask."

"Didn't think I'd ask?" The look she bent on him overflowed with incredulous scorn. "When I spend a small fortune at a modiste's, I expect to receive a bill. Of course I asked!"

Devil glanced at the letter. "It appears you received an answer."

"Not an answer I wished to receive." Turning to pace, skirts swishing, Honoria paused long enough to inform him through clenched teeth: "It is, as you very well know, totally unacceptable for you to pay for my wardrobe."

"Why?"

Dumbfounded, she stopped and stared. "Why?" Then she narrowed her eyes at him. "You've been dealing with ladybirds too long, Your Grace. While it may be de rigueur to lavish Celestine's best on such women, it is not accepted practice for gentlemen to provide wardrobes for ladies of character."

"While I naturally hesitate to contradict you, Honoria Prudence, you're wrong on both counts." With unruffleable sangfroid, Devil picked up his pen, and his next letter. "It's perfectly acceptable for gentlemen to provide wardrobes for their wives. Ask any of Maman's acquaintances-I'm sure they'll verify that fact." Honoria opened her mouth-he continued before she could speak: "And as for the other, I haven't."

Honoria frowned. "Haven't what?"

Devil looked up and met her eye. "Haven't lavished Celestine's best on any of my ladybirds." Honoria's expression blanked; he lifted one brow. "That's what you meant, wasn't it?"