Devil's Bride (56 page)

She did; her scream all but drowned out the shot—the next instant, she flung herself full length upon him. Tears streaming down her cheeks, she framed his face; when he didn't respond, she sobbed and frantically searched—for the wound he didn't have.

Beyond thought, beyond all rational function, Honoria pushed aside Devil's coat—and found nothing but unmarked white shirt covering warm hard flesh. Gasping, her throat raw from her scream, her head pounding, she couldn't take it in. Devil was dead—she'd just seen him shot. She pulled his coat back—a wet stain was starting to spread. Her fingers touched metal.

She stilled. Then her eyes flicked up to Devil's; she saw green gleam beneath his long lashes. Beneath her hand, his chest lifted fractionally.

“
Such
a touching scene.”

Honoria turned her head. Charles strolled closer, stopping ten paces away. He'd dropped the pistol he'd used to shoot Devil; in his hand was a smaller one. “A pity to put an end to it.” Still smiling, Charles raised the pistol, pointing it at her breast.

“
Charles!
”

Vane's shout had Charles spinning around. Devil half rolled, coming up on his left elbow, freeing his right arm, simultaneously flinging Honoria to the ground, shielding her with his body.

Charles's head snapped back; his lips curled in a feral snarl. He raised his pistol. And paused for an infinitesimal second to correct his aim.

Neither Devil nor Vane hesitated. Two shots rang out; Charles jerked once. The look on his face was one of stunned surprise. He staggered back; his arm slowly fell. The pistol slid from his fingers; his eyes closed—slowly, he crumpled to the ground.

Devil swung around—a stinging blow landed on his ear.

“
How dare you?
” Honoria's eyes spat fire. “How
dare
you walk out to be killed like that!” Grabbing his shirt, she tried to shake him. “If you ever do that again, I'll—”

“
Me?
What about you? Happily going off with a murderer. I should tan your hide—lock you in your room—”

“It was
you
he shot—
I
nearly died!” Honoria hit his chest hard. “How the hell do you think I could live without you, you impossible man!”

Devil glared. “A damned sight better than I could without
you!
”

His voice had risen to a roar. Their gazes locked, sizzling with possessive fury. Honoria searched his eyes; he searched hers. Simultaneously, they blinked.

Honoria dragged in a breath, then flung her arms about him. Devil tried to cling to righteous fury, then sighed and wrapped his arms about her. She was hugging him so tightly he could barely breathe. He lifted her into his lap. “I'm still here.” He stroked her hair. “I told you I'll never leave you.” After a moment, he asked: “Are you all right? Both of you?”

Honoria looked up, blue-grey eyes swimming; she searched his face, then hiccupped. “We're all right.”

“You didn't get hurt when you fell?”

She shook her head. “I don't think so. Nothing
feels
amiss.”

Devil frowned. “I'll take you home.” To Mrs. Hull, who knew about such things. “But first . . .” He glanced at Charles, sprawled on the leaves.

Honoria looked, then, sniffing, flicked her skirts straight and struggled up. Devil helped her up, then stood. Drawing a deep breath, he stepped forward—Honoria pressed close. Devil hesitated, then put his arm around her and felt hers slide about his waist. Together, they walked to where Vane stood, looking down on Charles.

Two bullets ripping into it from different angles had made a mess of Charles's chest. It was instantly apparent he couldn't survive. But he hadn't yet died. When Devil halted at his right hip and looked down, Charles's lids flickered.

“How?” he whispered, his voice hoarse.

Devil pulled Tolly's flask from his pocket. It would never hold liquid again; the ball had pierced one side and lodged in the other. He held it out.

Charles stared. Recognition dawned; his features twisted. “So,” he gasped, each word a fight. “My little half brother won through in the end. He was so set on saving you—” A cough cut him off.

Devil quietly said: “Tolly was a far better man than you.”

Charles tried to sneer.

“If I was you,” Vane said, “I'd use what time you have left to make your peace with God. Heaven knows, you'll never make it with the Cynsters.” So saying, he walked away.

His expression supercilious, Charles opened his mouth to comment—his features contorted, his eyes opened wide. He stiffened. Then his lids fell; his head lolled to one side.

Honoria tightened her hold on Devil, but did not take her eyes from Charles's face. “Is he dead?” Devil nodded. “It's finished.” Hoofbeats approached, coming from the south. Vane came out of the cottage and looked at Devil. Devil shrugged. They moved to intercept the newcomers. Honoria moved with Devil; she wasn't yet ready to let him go.

Horsemen appeared on the bridle path, riding briskly. The next instant, the clearing was overflowing with Cynsters.

“What are you doing here?” Devil asked.

“We came to help,” Richard replied, in the tone of one offended to be asked. Looking at the body sprawled on the ground, he humphed. “Looks like you've managed without us. He was so damned sure he had you dancing to his tune, he left London before you did.”

“What next?” Gabriel, his horse tied to a tree, came to join them.

“You can't seriously consider passing this off as an accident.” Lucifer followed on his heels. “Aside from anything else, I, for one, will refuse point-blank to attend Charles's funeral.”

“Quite.” Harry ranged himself beside Vane. “And if you can stomach burying Charles next to Tolly,
I
can't.”

“So what do we do with the body, brother mine?” Richard raised his brows at Devil.

They all looked at Devil.

Honoria glanced up, but he had his mask on. He glanced down at her, then looked at the cottage. “We can't risk burying him—someone might stumble across the grave.” His gaze lingered on the cottage, then swept the wood around them. “There hasn't been much rain. The wood's fairly dry.”

Vane studied the cottage. “It's yours after all—no one would know except Keenan.”

“I'll take care of Keenan—there's a widow in the village who's quite keen to have him as a boarder.”

“Right.” Richard shrugged out of his coat. “We'll have to bring the roof down and push the walls in to make sure it burns well enough.”

“We'd better get started.” Gabriel glanced at the sky. “We'll need to make sure the fire's out before we leave.”

Honoria watched as they stripped off coats, waistcoats, and shirts, Devil and Vane included. Richard and Gabriel unearthed axes from the stable; Harry and Lucifer led the horses away, taking Charles's hired chestnut with them.

“Turn him loose in the fields closest to the Cambridge Road,” Devil called after them.

Harry nodded. “I'll do it this evening.”

Moments later, the sound of axes biting into seasoned timber filled the clearing. Devil and Vane each took one of Charles's hands; they dragged his body into the cottage. Honoria followed. From the threshold, she watched as they manhandled Charles onto the bare pallet on which Tolly had died.

“Most appropriate.” Vane dusted his hands.

Honoria stepped back—a woodchip went flying past her face.

“
What the
—!” Richard, axe in hand, glared at her, then raised his head. “Devil!”

He didn't need to explain what the problem was. Devil materialized and frowned at Honoria. “What the devil are you doing here? Sit down.” He pointed to the log across the clearing—the same log he'd made her sit on six months before. “Over there—safe out of the way.”

Six months had seen a lot of changes. Honoria stood her ground. She looked past his bare chest and saw Vane, with one blow, smash a rickety stool to pieces. “What are you doing with the furniture?”

Devil sighed. “We're going to bring this place down about Charles's body—we need lots of fuel so the fire burns hot enough to act as his pyre.”

“But—” Honoria stepped back and looked at the cottage, at the wide half logs of the walls, the thick beams beneath the eaves. “You've got plenty of wood—you don't need to use Keenan's furniture.”

“Honoria, the furniture's mine.”

“How do you know he isn't attached to it by now?” Stubbornly, she held his gaze.

Devil pressed his lips together.

Honoria's chin firmed. “It'll take two minutes to carry it out. We can use the blankets to cover it, then Keenan can take it away later.”

Devil threw up his hands and turned back into the cottage. “All right, all right—but we'll have to hurry.”

Vane simply stared when Devil explained. He shook his head, but didn't argue. He and Devil shifted the heavier pieces; Honoria gathered the smaller items into baskets and pails. Harry and Lucifer returned—and couldn't believe their eyes. Honoria promptly conscripted Lucifer; Harry escaped on the pretext of fetching Devil's and Vane's horses and taking them upwind of the cottage.

While Richard and Gabriel weakened the joints, the pile of Keenan's possessions grew. Finally, Harry, whom Honoria had collared and sent to clear out the stable, came back with an old oilcloth and dusty lamp. He put the lamp on the pile, then flicked the oilcloth over the whole.

“There! Done.” He looked at Honoria, not in challenge, not in irritation, but in hope. “
Now
you can sit down. Out of the way.”

Before she could reply, Lucifer pulled the big carved chair out from under the oilcloth, picked up the tasseled cushion, and plumped it. Coughing furiously, he dropped it back down and made her a weak but extravagant bow. “Your chair, madam.
Please
be seated.”

What could she say?

Her slight hesitation was too much for Gabriel, strolling up to hand his axe to his brother. “For God's sake, Honoria, sit down—
before
you drive us all demented.”

Honoria favored him with a haughty stare, then, sweeping regally about, she sat. She could almost hear their sighs.

They ignored her thereafter, as long as she stayed in the chair. When she stood and strolled a few paces, just to stretch her legs, she was immediately assailed by frowning glances—until she sat down again.

Swiftly, efficiently, they pulled the cottage down. Honoria watched from her regal perch—the acreage of tanned male chests, all gleaming with honest sweat, muscles bunching and rippling as they strove with beams and rafters, was eye-opening, to say the least. She was intrigued to discover that her susceptibility to the sight was severely restricted.

Only her husband's bare chest affected her—that particular sight still held the power to transfix her, to make her mouth go suddenly dry. One thing that hadn't changed in six months.

Between them, little else was the same. The child growing within her would take the changes one stage further—the start of their branch of the family. The first of the next generation.

Devil came over once they'd got the fire started. Honoria looked up, smiling through her tears. “Just the smoke,” she said, in reply to his look.

With a sudden “swhoosh,” the flames broke through the collapsed roof. Honoria stood; Devil put the carved chair back under the oilcloth, then took her hand. “Time to go home.”

Honoria let him lead her away. Richard and Lucifer remained to ensure the fire burned out. Harry rode off, Charles's hired horse in charge. The rest of them made their way back through the wood, riding through the lengthening shadows. In front of Devil, Honoria leaned back against his chest, and closed her eyes.

They were safe—and they were heading home.

Hours later, chin-deep in the ducal bath, soothed by scented steam, Honoria heard sudden mouselike rustlings.

Cracking open her eyes, she saw Cassie scurry out, closing the door behind her.

She would have frowned, but it was too much effort. Minutes later, the mystery was solved. Devil climbed into the bath. It was more than big enough for both of them—he'd had it specially designed.

“
Aarrghhh
.” Sinking into the water, Devil closed his eyes and leaned back against the bath's edge.

Honoria studied him—and saw the tiredness, the deep world-weariness, the last days had etched in his face. “It had to be,” she murmured.

He sighed. “I know. But he was family. I'd rather the script had been otherwise.”

“You did what had to be done. If Charles's deeds ever became known, Arthur's life, and Louise's, would be ruined, let alone Simon, the twins and the rest—the whispers would follow them all their lives. Society's never fair.” She spoke quietly, letting the truth carry its own weight, its inherent reassurance. “This way, I presume Charles will simply disappear?”

“Inexplicably.” After a moment, Devil added: “Vane will wait a few days, then sort out Smiggs—the family as a whole will be mystified. Charles's disappearance will become an unsolved mystery. His soul can find what peace it can, buried in the woods where Tolly died.”

Honoria frowned. “We'll have to tell Arthur and Louise the truth.”

“Hmm.” Devil's eyes gleamed from beneath his lashes. “Later.” Lifting his arm, he reached for the soap, then held it out to Honoria.

Opening her eyes, she blinked, then took it. Softly smiling, she came up onto her knees between his bent legs. This ranked as one of her favorite pastimes—soaping his chest, washing his magnificent body. Quickly raising a lather in the crisp mat of hair on his chest, she splayed her hands, caressing each heavy muscle band, lovingly sculpting each shoulder, each arm.

I love you, I love you. The refrain sang in her head; she let her hands say the words, give voice to the music, infusing every touch, every caress, with her love. His hands rose in answer, roaming her curves, unhurriedly possessing every one, orchestrating an accompaniment to her song.