Devil's Bride (22 page)

Very straight, her expression blank, she held her tongue until, the turn accomplished, he ran out of entertainments. Then, and only then, did she glance sideways and meet his eye. “You are not being fair.”

His features hardened. “That's the way our world is.”

“Perhaps,” Honoria declared, tilting her chin, “it's time our world changed.”

He made no answer; flicking the reins, he sent the horses back along the avenue.

Honoria's head was so high she nearly missed seeing the gentleman standing by the verge; he raised his cane in greeting, then waved it.

Devil checked his team, drawing them to a stamping halt by the lawn's edge. “Good afternoon, Charles.”

Charles Cynster inclined his head. “Sylvester.” His gaze traveled to Honoria. “Miss Anstruther-Wetherby.”

Resisting an instinctive retreat to haughtiness, Honoria returned his nod. “Sir. Might I inquire how your family is faring?” Charles wore the customary black armband, easily seen against his brown coat. Devil likewise wore the badge of mourning, virtually invisible against his black sleeve. Honoria leaned down and gave Charles her hand. “I've yet to meet your brother and sisters since coming to town.”

“They are . . .” Charles hesitated. “Well, I think.” He met Honoria's eyes. “Recovering from the shock. But how are you? I admit to surprise at seeing you here. I had thought your plans were otherwise?”

Honoria smiled—feelingly. “They are.
This
”—she gestured airily—“is merely a temporary arrangement. I've agreed to remain with the Dowager for three months. After that, I plan to begin my preparations for Africa. I'm considering a prolonged sojourn—there's so much to see.” Her smile grew brittle. “
And
do.”

“Indeed?” Charles frowned vaguely. “I believe there's a very good exhibition at the museum. If Sylvester's too busy to escort you, pray call on me. As I assured you before, I'll always hold myself ready to assist you in any way I can.”

Regally, Honoria inclined her head.

After promising to convey their regards to his family, Charles stepped back. With a flick of his wrist, Devil set his horses trotting. “Honoria Prudence, you would try the patience of a saint.”

Irritation ran beneath his smooth tones. “You,” Honoria declared, “are no saint.”

“A point you would do well to bear in mind.”

Quelling a most peculiar shiver, Honoria stared straight ahead.

They ran the gauntlet—the long line of stationary carriages holding the
grandes dames
of the
ton
—once more, then Devil turned his horses for home. By the time they reached Grosvenor Square, Honoria had refocused on her day's objective. The objective she had yet to attain.

Devil drew up before his door. Throwing the reins to Sligo, he alighted and lifted Honoria down. By the time she caught her breath, she was on the porch; his front stoop, she decided, was no place for an argument.

The door opened; Devil followed her inside. The hall seemed crowded; as well as Webster, Lucifer was there.

“You're early.”

Honoria glanced at Devil, surprised by the disapproval she detected in his tone. Lucifer's brows had quirked in surprise, but he smiled charmingly as he bowed over her hand. Straightening, he looked at Devil. “In recompense, if you will, for my previous absence.”

Previous
absence? Honoria looked at Devil.

His expression gave nothing away. “You'll have to excuse us, my dear. Business demands our attention.”

Business her left foot. Honoria raced through her options, searching for some acceptable way to remain with them. There wasn't one. Swallowing a curse, she inclined her head regally, first to her nemesis, then to his cousin, then turned and glided up the stairs.

“I hesitate to state the obvious, but we're getting nowhere. I, for one, am finding failure a mite tedious.” A general growl of agreement greeted Gabriel's pronouncement. All six cousins were present, long limbs disposed in various poses about Devil's library.

“Speaking personally,” Vane drawled, “I'd prefer to have failure to report. As it is, Old Mick, longtime servitor to the second family, has departed these fair shores.”

Harry frowned. “He's left England?”

“So Charles informs me.” Vane flicked a speck of lint from his knee. “I went to Tolly's lodgings and found them relet. According to the landlord, who lives downstairs, Charles turned up the day after Tolly's funeral. No one had told Mick about Tolly—he was, needless to say, cut up.”

Richard whistled soundlessly. “He'd been with the family forever—he was devoted to Tolly.”

Vane inclined his head. “I assumed Charles would have ensured Mick was told in time to come up for the funeral—he must have been more distraught than we realized. As it transpired, there was something of a scene. According to the landlord, Mick stormed out. According to Charles, Mick was so cut up over Tolly's death that he decided to quit London and return to his family in Ireland.”

Harry looked wary. “Do we know Mick's surname?”

“O'Shannessy,” Richard supplied.

Devil frowned. “Do we know where his family live?”

Vane shook his head.

Harry sighed. “I'm due in Ireland within the week to look over some brood mares. I could see if I can ferret out
our
Mick O'Shannessy.”

Devil nodded. “Do.” His features hardened. “And when you find him, aside from our questions, make sure Charles took proper care of him. If not, make the usual arrangements and have the accounts sent to me.”

Harry nodded.

“Incidentally,” Vane said, “Charles's man, Holthorpe, has also left for greener fields—in his case, to America.”

“America?” Lucifer exclaimed.

“Apparently Holthorpe had saved enough to visit his sister there. When Charles returned from Somersham, Holthorpe was gone. Charles's new man has rather less presence than Sligo and goes by the name of Smiggs.”

Harry snorted. “Sounds like he'll suit Charles.”

Lucifer sighed. “So where do we search next?”

Devil frowned. “We must be overlooking something.”

Vane grinned wryly. “But not even the devil knows what it is.”

Devil humphed. “Unfortunately not. But if Tolly stumbled on someone's illegal or scandalous secret, then, presumably, if we try hard enough, we can learn that same secret.”

“And
whose
secret it is,” Gabriel, somewhat grimly, added.

“It could be anything,” Lucifer said. “Tolly could have heard it from a man on a corner or from some silly chit in a ballroom.”

“Which is why we'll need to cast our net wide. Whatever it is must be out there somewhere—we'll have to trawl.” Devil scanned their dissatisfied but still-determined faces. “I can't see that we have any choice other than to keep searching until we have some facts to work on.”

Gabriel nodded. “You're right.” He stood and met Devil's eye, a lilting smile curving his lips. “None of us are about to desert.”

The others nodded; unhurriedly, they left, restrained impatience in their eyes. Devil saw them out. He turned back to the library, then hesitated. Frowning, he glanced over his shoulder. “Webster—”

“I believe Miss Anstruther-Wetherby is in the upstairs parlor, Your Grace.”

Devil nodded and started up the stairs. Their lack of progress hung heavily on his mind; Honoria's wish to involve herself in the hunt was an added irritant—seducing her to his side was proving difficult enough without that complication. Gaining the top of the stairs, he smiled, grimly. There was more than one way of spiking a gun—presumably the same held true for loose cannon.

The parlor door opened noiselessly; Honoria was pacing before the hearth. She didn't hear him enter. She was muttering in distinctly forceful fashion; as Devil neared, he caught the words “fair” and “stubborn beast.”

Honoria glanced up—and jumped back. Devil caught her by the elbows and yanked her to him, away from the fire.

Breathless, her heart in her mouth, Honoria pushed him away. He released her instantly; her inner shaking didn't stop. Furious, on any number of points, she put her hands on her hips and glared. “
Don't do
that!” She batted aside a distracting curl. “Hasn't anyone ever told you it's unacceptable to sneak up on people?”

“I wasn't sneaking.” Devil's expression remained mild. “You didn't hear me—you were too busy rehearsing your lecture.”

Honoria blinked; caution belatedly seeped into her mind.

“Now I'm here,” Devil continued, “why don't you deliver it?” The invitation was the opposite of encouraging. “On the other hand,” his brows quirked, “you might care to hear what my cousins had to report.”

Honoria was bottling up so much spleen, she felt she might explode. There was, she understood, an “either or” buried in his words. If she poured out the tirade she'd spent the last hour preparing, she wouldn't hear what had been learned of Tolly's killer. Her head hurt. “Very well—tell me what you and your cousins have found out.”

Devil gestured to the
chaise
; he waited until she sat, then settled his long frame in the opposite corner. “Unfortunately, thus far, despite considerable effort, we've turned up precisely nothing. No hint whatever of what it was that set Tolly on the road to Somersham.”

“Nothing?” Honoria searched his face; there was no hint of evasion in his eyes. “Where did you look and what were you searching for?”

Devil told her; she drank in his description of the others' particular strengths and the gamut of their investigations. She was confident he wasn't lying; she did wonder if he was telling her the whole truth. She quizzed him, but his answers remained consistent. “So what now?”

In the distance, they heard the dinner gong boom. “Now,” he said, rising gracefully and holding out his hand, “we keep searching.” He'd explained they were looking for someone else's secret. “Until we have a scent to follow, we can do nothing more.”

Honoria wasn't so certain of that. She allowed him to draw her to her feet. “Perhaps—”

One long finger slid beneath her chin; Devil tipped her face up to his. “I'll keep you informed of developments, Honoria Prudence.”

His voice deepened on her name. Mesmerized, Honoria saw the color of his eyes change, a gleam silvering their depths. His gaze shifted, dropping to her lips; she felt them soften, part, felt her lids grow heavy.

“Ah . . . yes.” Breathless, she lifted her chin from his fin-ger and stepped sideways, bringing the door into view. “I'd better change.”

One black brow rose, but beyond that and a quizzical glance, he made no comment, escorting her to the door and holding it while she made good her escape. It was only when, half an hour later, she sat before her mirror for her maid, Cassie, to do her hair, that understanding dawned.

He'd told her what they'd discovered—nothing. He'd promised to keep her apprised of developments—eyes narrowing, Honoria realized he meant
after
they'd been acted upon. Even more telling, he'd prevented her from offering to assist—so that he wouldn't have to refuse and make it plain that she was still not permitted any meaningful involvement.

When she entered the drawing room, she was poised and assured, able to meet Devil's eye with calm serenity. Throughout the meal, she remained distant, listening to the conversation with but half an ear, her mind busy formulating her investigative strategy.

Nothing useful had yet been discovered, which left the field wide open. As for His Grace's antiquated notions, she was sure that, when she discovered the vital secret, he wouldn't be able to deny her. How could he?—she wouldn't tell him until after, until it was too late for him to exclude her.

I
nvestigating Tolly's murder proved more difficult than she'd thought. While his cousins had entre´e to Tolly's largely male world, Honoria did not. Likewise, they knew Tolly, his habits, his interests. On the other hand, she reasoned, she could view his last days impartially, the facts uncolored by preconceived notions. Besides, women were notoriously more observant than men.

Tolly's youngest aunt, Celia, had been elected by the conclave of Cynster wives to give the first “at home,” a declaration to the
ton
that the family had emerged from deepest mourning. Even Louise was present, still in deadest black, her composure a shield against those proffering their condolences.

At St. Ives House, black crepe had wreathed the knocker ever since they had come up to town; on the Dowager's orders, it had been removed this morning. Their first week in the capital had been spent quietly, eschewing all social functions, but it was now three weeks since Tolly's death; his aunts had decreed their time in deep mourning past. They all still wore black and would for another three weeks, then they would go into half-mourning for another six weeks.