He shifted to stand beside her, gesturing for her to precede him. Simultaneously, Honoria felt his hand at the back of her waist. Without her petticoat, only a single layer of fabric separated her skin from his hard palm. He didn't exert any great pressure; instead, seductively questing, his hand traveled slowly, very slowly, down. When it reached the curve of her bottom, Honoria sucked in a quick breath-and stepped quickly over the threshold.
He followed. "This is Miss Anstruther-Wetherby, Webster." He looked her way; Honoria glimpsed triumph in his eyes. "She'll be staying-her boxes should arrive this morning."
Webster bowed low. "I'll have your things taken to your room, miss."
Stiffly, Honoria inclined her head-her heart was still fluttering in her throat; her skin felt hot and cold in the strangest places. She couldn't fault the butler's demeanor; he seemed unsurprised by his master's lack of attire. Was she the only one who found his bare chest at all remarkable? Stifling an urge to sniff disbelievingly, she elevated her nose another inch and looked about the hall.
The impression created by the exterior extended within doors. A sense of graciousness pervaded the high-ceilinged hall, lit by sunlight pouring through the fanlight and the windows flanking the front doors. The walls were papered-blue fleur-de-lis on an ivory ground; the paneling, all light oak, glowed softly. Together with the blue-and-white tiles, the decor imparted an airy, uncluttered atmosphere. Stairs of polished oak, their baluster ornately carved, led upward in a long, straight sweep, then divided into two, both arms leading to the gallery above.
Webster had been informing his master of the presence of his cousins. Devil nodded curtly. "Where's the Dowager?"
"In the morning room, Your Grace."
"I'll take Miss Anstruther-Wetherby to her. Wait for me."
Webster bowed.
The devil glanced down at her. With a languid grace that set her nerves on end, he gestured for her to accompany him. She was still quivering inside-she told herself it was due to indignation. Head high, she swept down the hall.
His instruction to his butler to wait had recalled what their sparring had driven from her mind. As they neared the morning-room door, it occurred to Honoria that she might have been arguing for no real reason. Devil reached for the doorknob, his fingers closing about hers-she tugged. He looked up, incipient impatience in his eyes.
She smiled understandingly. "I'm sorry-I'd forgotten. You must be quite distracted by your cousin's death." She spoke softly, soothingly. "We can discuss all this later, but there's really no reason for us to wed. I daresay, once the trauma has passed, you'll see things as I do."
He held her gaze, his eyes as blank as his expression. Then his features hardened. "Don't count on it." With that, he set the door wide and handed her through. He followed, closing the door behind him.
A petite woman, black hair streaked with grey, was seated in a chair before the hearth, a hoop filled with embroidery on her lap. She looked up, then smiled-the most gloriously welcoming smile Honoria had ever seen-and held out her hand. "There you are, Sylvester. I'd wondered where you'd got to. And who is this?"
His mother's French background rang clearly in her accent; it also showed in her coloring, in the hair that had once been as black as her son's combined with an alabaster complexion, in the quick, graceful movements of her hands, her animated features and the candid, appraising glance that swept Honoria.
Inwardly ruing her hideously creased skirts, Honoria kept her head high as she was towed across the room. The Dowager hadn't so much as blinked at her son's bare chest.
"Maman." To her surprise, her devilish captor bent and kissed his mother's cheek. She accepted the tribute as her due; as he straightened, she fixed him with a questioning glance every bit as imperious as he was arrogant. He met it blandly. "You told me to bring you your successor the instant I found her. Allow me to present Miss Honoria Prudence Anstruther-Wetherby." Briefly, he glanced at Honoria. "The Dowager Duchess of St. Ives." Turning back to his mother, he added: "Miss Anstruther-Wetherby was residing with the Claypoles-her boxes will arrive shortly. I'll leave you to get acquainted."
With the briefest of nods, he proceeded to do just that, closing the door firmly behind him. Stunned, Honoria glanced at the Dowager, and was pleased to see she wasn't the only one left staring.
Then the Dowager looked up and smiled-warmly, welcomingly, much as she had smiled at her son. Honoria felt the glow touch her heart. The Dowager's expression was understanding, encouraging. "Come, my dear. Sit down." The Dowager waved to the chaise beside her chair. "If you have been dealing with Sylvester, you will need the rest. He is often very trying."
Resisting the temptation to agree emphatically, Honoria sank onto the chintz.
"You must excuse my son. He is somewhat…" The Dowager paused, clearly searching for the right word. She grimaced. "Detresse."
"I believe he has a number of matters on his mind."
The Dowager's fine brows rose. "His mind?" Then she smiled, eyes twinkling as they rested once more on Honoria's face. "But now, my dear, as my so-detresse son has decreed, we will get acquainted. And as you are to be my daughter-in-law, I will call you Honoria." Again, her brows rose. "Is that not right?"
Her name became " 'Onoria"-the Dowager couldn't manage the "H." Honoria returned her smile, and sidestepped the leading question. "If you wish it, ma'am."
The Dowager's smile grew radiant. "My dear, I wish it with all my heart."
Chapter 5
After an hour of subtle interrogation, Honoria escaped the Dowager, pleased that, while she'd parted with her life history, she'd successfully avoided all mention of Tolly's death. Shown to an elegant suite, she washed and changed; her self-confidence renewed, she descended-into mayhem.
The magistrate had arrived; while Devil dealt with him, Vane had broken the news to the Dowager. When Honoria entered the drawing room, the Dowager was in full histrionic spate. While grief was certainly present, it had been overtaken by indignant fury.
Instantly, the Dowager appealed to her for details. "You need not apologize for not telling me before. I know just how it was-that oh-so-male son of mine sought to keep the matter from me, Cynster that he is."
Waved to a chair, Honoria dutifully complied. She'd barely finished her tale when the scrunch of wheels on gravel heralded Devil's reappearance.
"What's the verdict?" Vane asked.
Devil met his gaze levelly. "Death through shooting by some person unknown. Possibly a highwayman."
"A highwayman?" Honoria stared at him.
Devil shrugged. "Either that or a poacher." He turned to the Dowager. "I've sent for Arthur and Louise."
Lord Arthur Cynster and his wife Louise proved to be Tolly's parents.
There followed a detailed discussion of who to notify, the appropriate arrangements, and how to accommodate the expected crowd, which encompassed a goodly proportion of the ton. While Devil undertook the first two aspects, organizing rooms and sustenance fell to the Dowager.
Despite her firm intention to remain aloof from Devil's family, Honoria simply could not stand by and allow such a weight to descend on the Dowager's fragile shoulders. Especially not when she was more than well qualified to lighten the load. As, however reluctantly, an Anstruther-Wetherby who had been present when Tolly had died, she would be expected to attend the funeral; she would need to remain at the Place at least until after that. That being so, there was no reason not to offer her aid. Besides which, to sit idly in her room while about her the household ran frantic, would be entirely beyond her.