Devils Bride (Cynster 1)

Drawing abreast of her, Devil met her gaze. "The axle on my phaeton snapped."

There were small bloodstains on his shirt; he was moving briskly but without his usual fluid grace. He kept climbing; Honoria turned and followed. "Where?"

"Hampstead Heath." Without waiting for her next question, he added: "I needed some air, so I went out there and let the horses have their heads. We were flying when the axle went."

Honoria felt the blood drain from her face. "Went?"

Devil shrugged. "Snapped-there was an almighty crack. We might have hit something, but I don't think we did."

Reaching the top of the stairs, he turned and strode down the corridor; picturing the scene, and not liking what she saw, Honoria hurried in his wake. "Your horses-the bays?"

"No." Devil threw her a glance. "I had a pair of young blacks put to-to try out their paces." His features contorted. "I shot one immediately, but I only carry one pistol. Luckily, Sherringham came along-I borrowed his pistol, then he drove us back here."

"But-" Honoria frowned. "What actually happened?"

A decidedly testy glance found her. "The axle snapped under the box seat-essentially, the phaeton came apart. By hell's own luck, both Sligo and I were thrown free. I bounce better than he does."

"The carriage?"

"Is kindling."

They'd reached the end of the long corridor; opening the heavy oak door at its end, Devil strode on. He stopped in the middle of the room, in the center of a richly hued carpet. Lifting one shoulder, he started to ease off his coat-and caught his breath on an indrawn hiss.

"Here." Behind him, Honoria reached over his shoulders and gently tugged, freeing first one shoulder, then the other, then easing the sleeves off. "Great heavens!" Dropping the ruined coat, she stared.

His shirt was badly torn, the fine linen shredded down the side of his back that had taken the brunt of his fall. The abrasions had bled, as had numerous little cuts. Thankfully, his breeches and boots had provided sterner protection; there were no rips below his waist.

Before she could react, Devil pulled the shirt free of his breeches and hauled it over his head. And froze. Then his head snapped around. "What the devil are you doing here?"

It took a moment to shift her gaze from his bleeding back to his face. The look in his eyes didn't, immediately, make sense, then she looked past him-to the massive, fully canopied four-poster bed that dominated the room. In one swift glance, she took in the sumptuous hangings, all in shades of green, the ornately carved headboard and barley-sugar posts, the silk sheets and thick featherbed and the abundance of soft pillows piled high. Her expression mild, she looked back at him. "Your cuts are bleeding-they need salving."

Devil swore beneath his breath. "You shouldn't be in here." He wrestled with his shirt, trying to free his arms.

"Don't be ridiculous." Honoria caught his hands, now thoroughly tangled; deftly, she unlaced his cuffs. "The circumstances excuse the impropriety."

Devil stripped the shirt from his wrists and flung it aside. "I am not on my deathbed."

"You are, however, badly scraped." Honoria met his gaze calmly. "You can't see it."

Devil narrowed his eyes at her-then twisted, trying to look over his shoulder. "It doesn't feel that bad-I can take care of it myself."

"For goodness sake!" Honoria planted her hands on her hips and glared at him. "Stop acting like a six-year-old-I'm only going to bathe the cuts and apply some salve."

Devil's head whipped back. "That's just the point-I'm not a six-year-old-and I'm not dead, either."

"Naturally." Honoria nodded. "You're a Cynster-you're invincible, remember?"

Devil gritted his teeth. "Honoria, if you want to play ministering angel, you can damn well marry me first."

Honoria lost her temper-she'd been waiting to make the declaration he wanted and he turned up like this! Stepping forward, she planted her index finger in the center of his bare chest. "If," she declared, emphasizing the word with a definite jab. "I do decide to marry you." She tried another jab; when he instinctively stepped back, she closed the distance. "I would want to be assured." Another jab, another step. "That you will behave reasonably." Her finger was starting to ache. "In-all-situations!" Three quick jabs, three quick steps; Devil's legs hit the end of his bed. Honoria pounced. "Like now!" Glaring defiantly up at him, she prodded him one last time. "Sit!"

The face she looked into was uncompromisingly set; his eyes, shadowed green, smoldered darkly. They stood, gazes locked, toe-to-toe, will against will-abruptly, Devil's gaze shifted to the door.

Honoria grabbed the moment. Placing both palms on the heavy muscles of his chest, she pushed. Hard.

With a muffled expletive, Devil toppled-and sat.

"Your water, Your Grace." Webster elbowed open the door, which had swung half-shut behind them.