Lord Ainsworth spouted on; Devil hardly heard him. When it finally dawned that the woman on his arm was in all likelihood not listening either, he cut his lordship's performance short. "Sorry, Ainsworth, but we must catch up with Lady Jersey."
As Sally Jersey had a well-developed dislike of the pompous Ainsworth, his lordship did not offer to accompany them. Crestfallen, he took his leave of them; the others in their circle smiled and dispersed, many taking to the floor as the strains of a waltz filled the room.
Devil placed his hand over Honoria's and ruthlessly drew her away. As they strolled the edge of the dance floor, their pace enough to discourage idle encounters, he searched for words, finally settling for: "There's no reason you can't dance."
His tone was dark; his delivery flat. He looked down; Honoria looked up. She studied his eyes; the smile that slowly curved her lips held understanding spiced with feminine satisfaction. "Yes, there is."
Her eyes challenged him to deny it; when he said nothing, her smile deepened and she looked ahead. "I think we should stop by Lady Osbaldestone, don't you?"
Devil didn't; the old tartar was guaranteed deliberately to bait him. On the other hand, he needed a major distraction. Dragging in a deep breath, he nodded, and set course for her ladyship's chaise.
*****
"If there was ever any doubt, that-" with a nod, Vane indicated the group about the chaise on the opposite side of the ballroom, "settles it."
Standing beside Vane, one shoulder propped against the wall, Gabriel nodded. "Indubitably. Lady Osbaldestone hardly qualifies as a desirable interlocutor."
Vane's gaze was fixed on Devil's broad back. "I wonder what Honoria said to get him there?"
"Whatever," Gabriel said, pausing to drain his glass, "it looks like we've lost our leader."
"Have we?" Vane narrowed his eyes. "Or is he, as usual, leading the way?"
Gabriel shuddered. "What a hideous prospect." He wriggled his broad shoulders. "That felt like someone walked over my grave."
Vane laughed. "No point in running from fate-as our esteemed leader is wont to say. Which raises the intriguing subject of his fate. When do you think?"
Considering the tableau opposite, Gabriel pursed his lips. "Before Christmas?"
Vane's snort was eloquent. "It damn well better be before Christmas."
"What had better be before Christmas?"
The question had them turning; instantly, restraint entered both their expressions. "Good evening, Charles." Gabriel nodded to his cousin, then looked away.
"We were," Vane said, his tone mild, "discussing impending nuptials."
"Indeed?" Charles looked politely intrigued. "Whose?"
Gabriel stared; Vane blinked. After an instant's pause, Vane replied: "Devil's, of course."
"Sylvester's?" Brow furrowing, Charles looked across the room, then his features relaxed. "Oh-you mean that old business about him marrying Miss Anstruther-Wetherby."
"Old business?"
"Good heavens, yes." His expression fastidious, Charles smoothed his sleeve. Looking up, he saw his cousins' blank faces-and sighed. "If you must know, I spoke to Miss Anstruther-Wetherby at some length on the matter. She's definitely not marrying Sylvester."
Vane looked at Gabriel; Gabriel looked at Vane. Then Vane turned back to Charles. "When did you speak to Honoria Prudence?"
Charles lifted a supercilious brow. "At Somersham, after the funeral. And I spoke with her shortly after she came up to town."
"Uh-huh." Vane exchanged another look with Gabriel.
Gabriel sighed. "Charles, has anyone ever pointed out to you that ladies are prone to change their minds?"
Charles's answering glance was conte
mptuous. "Miss Anstruther-Wetherby is an exceedingly well-educated lady of superior sensibilities."