By the end of five whirlwind days, they were ready to leave London; Devil's final chore was to reel in Viscount Bromley.
When the enormity of his losses, the perilous nature of his finances, was fully explained, Bromley, a hardened case, philosophically shrugged and agreed to Devil's terms. He was in a position to ascertain the truth of "Lucifer's discreditable rumor," to identify the Cynster involved and learn all the facts. All this he agreed to do-by the first of February.
Satisfied, on every count, Devil laid aside his black armband and, with his wife-to-be on his arm, retired to Somersham Place.
Chapter 18
The ballroom at Somersham Place was filled to overflowing. Afternoon sunlight poured through the long windows, striking glints from the curls and coifs of damsels and dowagers, rakes and rogues, gentlemen and haughty matrons. Gowns of every hue vied with bright jewels and equally bright eyes. The full flower of the ton was present-to see, to witness, to appreciate.
"She's the last marriageable Anstruther-Wetherby female and as rich as bedamned-isn't it just like Devil to have such a pearl fall into his lap."
"Such a handsome couple-Celestine designed her gown expressly."
Surrounded by such comments, by felicitations and congratulations, Honoria circulated through the throng, smiling, graciously inclining her head, exchanging the required words with all those who'd come to see her wed.
She was now the duchess of St. Ives. The past months of consideration, the last weeks of frenetic activity, had culminated in a simple service in the chapel in the grounds. The church had been packed, the overflow surrounding it like a jeweled sea. Mr. Merryweather had pronounced them man and wife, then Devil had claimed his kiss-a kiss she'd remember all her life. The sun had broken through as the crowd surged forth, forming a long aisle. Bathed in sunshine, they'd run a gauntlet of well-wishers all the way to the ballroom.
The wedding banquet had commenced at noon; it was now close to three o'clock. The musicians were resting-only six waltzes had been scheduled, but she'd already danced more. The first had been with Devil, an affecting experience. She'd been starved of breath by its end, only to be claimed by Vane, then Richard, followed by Harry, Gabriel, and Lucifer in quick succession. Her head had been spinning when the music finally ceased.
Scanning the crowd, Honoria spied Devil talking to Michael and her grandfather, seated near the huge fireplace. She headed toward them.
Amelia bobbed up in her path. "You're to bring Devil to cut the cake. They're setting up the trestles in the middle of the room-Aunt Helena said Devil would toe the line more easily if you ask."
Honoria laughed. "Tell her we're on our way."
Thrilled to be involved, Amelia whisked herself off.
Devil saw her long before she reached him; Honoria felt his gaze, warm, possessively lingering, as she dealt with the continual claims on her attention. Reaching his side, she met his eyes briefly-and felt her tension tighten, felt anticipation streak through her, the spark before the flame. They'd shared a bed for four weeks, yet the thrill was still there, the sudden breathlessness, the empty ache of longing, the need to give and take. She wondered if the feeling would ever fade.
Serenely, she inclined her head, acknowledging her grandfather. At Devil's behest, they'd met briefly before leaving London; focused on her future, she'd found it unexpectedly easy to forgive the past.
"Well, Your Grace!" Leaning back, Magnus looked up at her. "Here's your brother going to stand at the next election. What d'you think about that, heh?"
Honoria looked at Michael; he answered her unvoiced question. "St. Ives suggested it." He looked at Devil.
Who shrugged. "Carlisle was ready to put your name forward, which is good enough for me. With the combined backing of the Anstruther-Wetherbys and the Cynsters, you should be assured of a sound constituency."
Magnus snorted. "He'll get a safe seat, or I'll know the reason why."
Honoria grinned; stretching up, she planted a kiss on Michael's cheek. "Congratulations," she whispered.
Michael returned her affectionate kiss. "And to you." He squeezed her hand, then released it. "You made the right decision."
Honoria raised a brow, but she was smiling. Turning, she met Magnus's eye. "I am come to steal my husband away, sir. It's time to cut the cake."
"That so? Well-lead him away." Magnus waved encouragingly. "I wouldn't want to miss witnessing this phenomenon-a Cynster in tow to an Anstruther-Wetherby."
Honoria raised her brows. "I'm no longer an Anstruther-Wetherby."
"Precisely." Devil met Magnus's gaze, a conqueror's confidence in his eyes as he raised Honoria's hand to his lips. He turned to Honoria. "Come, my dear." He gestured to the room's center. "Your merest wish is my command."
Honoria slanted him a skeptical glance. "Indeed?"
"Indubitably." With polished efficiency, Devil steered her through the throng. "In fact," he mused, his voice deepening to a purr, "I'm anticipating fulfilling a goodly number of your wishes before the night is through."
Smiling serenely, Honoria exchanged nods with the duchess of Leicester. "You're making me blush."
"Brides are supposed to blush-didn't they tell you?" Devil's words feathered her ear. "Besides, you look delightful when you blush. Did you know your blush extends all the way-"