"Place?"
"The palace itself."
Vane frowned. "You'll go?"
Devil shrugged. "I can see why she'd want it that way."
"It could be a trap."
"Unlikely-she's got more to lose by siding against me rather than with me. And Bromley's too enamored of his comforts to encourage any double-dealing."
Vane didn't look convinced. "I don't like any of this."
Draining his tankard, Devil shook his head. "No-but I'd rather not miss any clue for want of looking." He glanced at Vane. "I still haven't remembered that something I've forgotten about Tolly's murder."
"You're still positive it's something vital?"
"Oh, yes." His expression grim, Devil rose. "It was something so vital I noticed it particularly, but Tolly dying wiped it from my mind."
Vane grimaced. "It'll come back."
Devil met his eyes. "But will it come back in time?"
Firm footsteps approached the morning room; Honoria left the window and sat on the chaise. She'd spent the day methodically analyzing the attempts on Devil's life. And had reached the only logical conclusion. While her immediate impulse was to lay her findings before Devil, further consideration had suggested he might not, in this case, accept her conclusion readily. After considerable cogitation, she'd sent a message to the one person she knew he trusted without question.
Her "Come in" coincided with a peremptory knock. The door opened; Vane strolled in. His gaze found her; closing the door, he strolled forward, his gait reminiscent of Devil's prowl. "How are you?"
Honoria grimaced. "Distracted."
He nodded and sat in the chair facing her. "How can I help?" One brown brow rose. "Your note said the matter was urgent."
Lips compressed, Honoria studied his face. "I've been thinking over all that's happened. There has to be a reason someone's trying to kill Devil."
His gaze on her face, Vane nodded. "Go on."
"There's only one compelling reason I know of connecting Devil and a person who would know enough to tamper with his phaeton and put poison in his brandy. The inheritance-which, after all, is more than considerable. That might also explain why the attacks only started after it became obvious we would wed."
Light dawned in Vane's face. "Of course. I've been concentrating on Tolly-I didn't think of that angle."
"You agree?" Honoria leaned forward. "You agree it must be Richard?"
Vane stared in blank astonishment. "Richard?"
Honoria frowned. "Devil's heir."
"Ah." Swiftly, Vane searched her face. "Honoria, your logic's impeccable-unfortunately, Devil's neglected to give you all the details necessary to arrive at the correct outcome." He hesitated, then shook his head. "I'm sorry, but it's not my place to explain-you'll have to ask Devil."
Honoria eyed him straitly. "Ask him what?"
Vane's eyes turned hard. "Ask him who his heir is."
"It's not Richard?"
Lips compressed, Vane rose. "I must go-but promise me you'll tell Devil your conclusions."
Honoria's eyes flashed. "I can give you an absolute assurrance on that point."
"Good." Vane met her gaze. "If it makes it any easier, I'd wager he's already followed the same train of thought."
"You think he knows?" Honoria held out her hand.
"He knows, but, as he does with such matters, he won't say until he's sure-until he has proof." Vane released Honoria's hand. "By your leave, I've an idea to pursue-the sooner we get your husband the proof he requires, the sooner we'll be free of this murderer."
Unwilling to do anything to delay that outcome, Honoria nodded and let him go. Long after the door had closed behind him, she sat staring at the panels, unable to make head or tail of what was going on.
Cynsters-a law unto themselves. With a disgusted humph, she stood and headed upstairs to change.
His Grace of St. Ives dined at home that evening. Honoria waited until they retired, then stripped off her gown, donned her nightgown, scurried like an eager chambermaid into the ducal chamber, dropped her peignoir, kicked off her slippers, and scrambled beneath the covers.
From the other side of the room, engaged in untying his cravat, Devil watched her performance with interest-an interest she ignored. Propped against the pillows, she fixed her gaze on his face. "I've been thinking."
Devil's hands stilled, then he drew the white linen from about his throat. Unbuttoning his waistcoat, he approached the bed. "What about?"
"About who would want you dead."
He shrugged out of his waistcoat, then sat on the bed to pull off his boots. "Did you reach any conclusion?"
"Yes-but Vane told me my conclusion wasn't right."
Devil looked up. "Vane?"
Honoria explained. "Naturally, I thought your heir was Richard."
"Ah." Devil dropped his second boot. He stood, stripped off his shirt and trousers, then slid beneath the covers. Honoria tumbled against him; he settled her beside him. "I suppose I should have told you about that."
Honoria squinted through the shadows; she was almost sure he was grinning. "I suspect you should have. What is it I don't know?"
Devil lay back against the pillows. "You know Richard's nickname?"
"Scandal?"
Devil nodded. "Like mine being a shortened form of 'That Devil Cynster,' Richard's is also a truncation. His full sobriquet is 'The Scandal That Never Was.'"
"He's a scandal?"
"Richard's my brother, but he's not my mother's son."
Honoria blinked. "Ah." Then she frowned. "But you look so alike."
"We look like my father-you've seen his portrait. Only our coloring, and in my case my eyes, come from our respective mothers-Richard's was also dark-haired."
This was scandal on a major scale-Richard was younger than Devil. Yet Honoria had detected not the slightest whiff of disapprobation in any of the ton's dealings with Richard Cynster. "I don't understand." She looked up in time to see Devil's teeth gleam.
"The truth of Richard's birth has been an open secret for three decades-it's very old news. Maman, of course, is the key."
Honoria crossed her arms on his chest and fixed her gaze on his face. "Tell me."
Devil settled his arms about her. "When I was three, my father was asked to undertake a diplomatic mission to the Highlands. There'd been an outbreak of dissaffection and the Court boffins wanted to rattle sabers without sending troops. Sending a Cynster was considered the next best thing. Maman decided not to accompany him. She was told at my birth that she wouldn't be able to have more children, so she was hideously overprotective of me, much to my disgust. So m'father went north alone. The laird he was sent to…" He paused, searching for words.
"Intimidate?" Honoria suggested.
Devil nodded. "This laird, a redhead, had recently married-an arranged marriage with a lowlands beauty."
"She would be a beauty," Honoria muttered.
Devil glanced at her. "We Cynsters have standards, you know."
Honoria humphed and poked his chest. "What happened next."
"Strangely enough, we're not entirely sure. We do know my father's mission was a success; he was home within four weeks. Richard appeared twelve months later."
"Twelve months?"
"His mother died a few months after his birth. Whether she confessed or whether her husband simply assumed from his coloring that Richard was none of his, we don't know. But there was no doubt, even then, that Richard was my father's-he looked exactly like me at the same age, and there were enough about who remembered. Whatever, Richard's fate was sealed when Webster picked him up from before the front door-a carriage had driven up, the wrapped bundle deposited, and the horses whipped up immediately. No message-just Richard. Webster carried him in and Richard immediately started squalling."