Honoria stared at his back until the door hid it from view, then took another sip of her tea.
The St. Ives town carriage had just rumbled around the corner, bearing the Dowager and Honoria to Bruton Street, when Vane Cynster strolled into Grosvenor Square. His stride long and ranging, he crossed the pavements; cane swinging, he climbed the steps to his cousin's imposing door. He was about to beat an imperious tattoo when the door swung inward. Sligo rushed out.
"Oh! Sorry, sir." Sligo flattened himself against the doorjamb. "Didn't see you there, sir."
Vane smiled. "That's quite all right, Sligo."
"Cap'n's orders. An urgent dispatch." Sligo tapped his breast-rustling parchment testified to his cause. "If you'll excuse me, sir?"
Released by Vane's bemused nod, Sligo hurried down the steps and ran to the corner. He flagged down a hackney and climbed aboard. Vane shook his head, then turned to the still-open door. Webster stood beside it.
"The master is in the library, sir. I believe he's expecting you. Do you wish to be announced?"
"No need." Surrendering his cane, hat and gloves, Vane headed for Devil's sanctum. He opened the door, instantly coming under his cousin's green gaze.
Devil sat in a leather chair behind a large desk, an open letter in one hand. "You're the first."
Vane grinned. "And you're impatient."
"You're not?"
Vane raised his brows. "Until a second ago, I didn't know you had no news." He crossed the room and dropped into a chair facing the desk.
"I take it you have no insights to offer either?"
Vane grimaced. "In a word-no."
Devil grimaced back; refolding his letter, he laid it aside. "I just hope the others have turned up something."
"What's Sligo up to?" When Devil looked up, Vane elaborated: "I bumped into him on the steps-he seemed in a tearing hurry."
Devil waved dismissively. "A small matter of forward strategy."
"Speaking of which, have you managed to convince your bride-to-be that investigating murder is not a suitable hobby for a gentlewoman?"
Devil smiled. "Maman can always be counted on to visit the modistes within forty-eight hours of arriving in town."
Vane raised his brows. "So you haven't succeeded in striking murder from Miss Anstruther-Wetherby's agenda?"
Devil's smile turned feral. "I'm directing my fire at a different target. Once that falls, her agenda will no longer apply."
Vane grinned. "Poor Honoria Prudence-does she know what she's up against?"
"She'll learn."
"Too late?"
"That's the general idea."
A brief rap on the door heralded the appearance of Richard "Scandal" Cynster; he was followed by Gabriel and Demon Harry, Vane's brother. The comfortably spacious room was suddenly very full of very large men.
"Why the delay?" Harry asked, lowering his long frame to the chaise. "I expected to be summoned yesterday."
"Devil had to make sure the coast was clear," Vane replied-and earned a hard look from Devil.
"Lucifer sends his regrets," Gabriel informed the room at large. "He's exhausted from his efforts to discover any news of Tolly's peccadilloes-which efforts have thus far been completely unrewarding."
"That," Harry returned, "I find exceedingly hard to believe."
"Unrewarding in terms of our investigation," Gabriel amended.
"As to that," Harry continued, "I know exactly how he feels."
Despite considerable effort in their delegated spheres, none had uncovered any evidence that Tolly had been in trouble. Devil put forward the idea that Tolly might not personally have been in trouble at all. "He may have unwittingly stumbled on something he wasn't supposed to know-he might unsuspectingly have become a threat to someone."
Gabriel was nodding. "That scenario sounds a lot more like Tolly."
Harry snorted. "Silly beggar would have got all fired up with innocent zeal and hared off to lay the evidence at your feet."
"Before demanding that you fix it." Richard's smile went slightly awry. "That plot rings truer than any other."
His eyes on Richard's, Devil said, "The very fact that he was coming to see me may have been what led to his death."
Vane nodded. "That would explain why he was killed at Somersham."
"We'll have to recanvass all Tolly's friends." Under Devil's direction, Gabriel, Harry, and Richard agreed to take on the task.
"And me?" Vane raised his brows. "What fascinating piece of detecting am I to undertake?"
"You get to wring out Old Mick."
"Old Mick?!" Vane groaned. "The man drinks like a fish."
"You've the hardest head of the lot of us, and someone's got to speak to him. As Tolly's man, he's our most likely lead."
Vane grumbled, but no one paid him any heed.
"We'll meet here again in two days." Devil stood; the others followed suit. Gabriel, Harry, and Richard headed for the door.
"It's occurred to me," Vane said, as he strolled after the others, "that the latest addition to the family might not be so amenable to bowing to your authority."
Devil arched a brow. "She'll learn."
"So you keep saying." At the door, Vane glanced back. "But you know what they say-beware of loose cannon."
The look Devil sent him embodied arrogance supreme; Vane chuckled and left, closing the door behind him.
Wringing information from a devil was not an easy task, especially when he evinced no interest in her company. Poised at the top of the stairs, Honoria debated her next move.
She'd taken Devil's advice and visited Celestine's salon. Her suspicious nature had reared its head when a note, directed in bold black script and carrying a red seal, had arrived for Celestine hard on their heels. While Honoria tried on subtly understated morning gowns, fashionable carriage dresses, and delectably exquisite evening gowns, the modiste, in constant attendance from the instant she'd read the note, had made comments enough on monsieur le duc's partialities to confirm her suspicions. But by then she'd seen too many of Celestine's creations to contemplate cutting off her nose to spite her face.
Instead, she'd bought an entire wardrobe, all for the express purpose of setting monsieur le duc back on his heels. Celestine's evening gowns, while unquestionably acceptable, were subtly scandalous-her height and age allowed her to wear them to advantage. Nightgowns, peignoirs, and chemises, all in silks and satins, were similarly stunning. Everything, naturally, was shockingly expensive-luckily, her pocket was more than deep enough to stand the nonsense.
She'd spent the ride back to Grosvenor Square imagining the look on Devil's face when he saw her in a particularly provoking nightgown-only as the carriage reached St. Ives House did the anomaly in her thinking strike her. When would Devil see her in her nightgown?
Never if she was wise. She'd bundled the thought from her mind.
For the past two mornings, she'd entered the breakfast-parlor wearing an encouraging smile and one of Celestine's more fetching creations; while the devil had noticed her, other than a certain glint in his green eyes, he'd shown no inclination to commit himself beyond an absentminded nod. On both mornings, in an unflatteringly short space of time, he'd excused himself and taken refuge in his study.
She could imagine that he might be busy; she was not prepared to accept that as an excuse to ignore her, particularly as he must by now have learned something about his cousin's death.
Drawing a determined breath, she started down the stairs. Direct action was called for-she would beard the lion in his den. Or was that the devil in his lair? Luckily, his lair was also the library. Hand on the doorknob, she paused; no sound came from within. Mentally girding her loins, she plastered a breezily unconscious smile on her face, opened the door, and walked briskly in.