She turned to the barman: "I daresay you can imagine how their group got its name. And now they've learned that three of your patrons attacked one of them last night. They're coming for revenge, but when they get here, they're not going to waste time on identification."
Barman and patrons struggled through her words; Honoria inwardly sighed. "I think they're going to wreck this tavern-and everyone in it as well."
The navvies bristled; rebellious rumblings flew. "If it's a rough-house they're after, we'll give it 'em," one brawny salt declared.
"I'll complain to the magistrate," the barman bleated.
Honoria eyed the navvies measuringly. "Six of them-all rather large. And…" She looked at the barman. "Did I mention my husband's a duke?" The man's face blanked; she smiled. "His nickname's Devil. Lucifer and Demon will be with him." She peered out through the open door. "I didn't see the Watch out there."
The navvies exchanged glances. Tales of the forays mounted by the less civilized of society's males were commonplace; the poorer classes bore the brunt of such destructive routs. The crowd in the Anchor's Arms were too old to risk getting their skulls cracked unnecessarily.
The man who'd spoken first eyed her challengingly. "And just what might you be a-doing 'ere, then? A duchess an'all?"
Honoria looked down her nose at him. "My dear man, surely you've heard that duchesses are required to do charitable deeds? Saving the Anchor's Arms is my deed for today." She paused. "Provided, of course, that you tell me what I need to know."
The navvy glanced at his cronies-many nodded. Still suspicious, he turned back to her. "How d'we know if'n we help you, you'll be able to stop this 'ere Devil from laying waste anyway?"
"You don't." Honoria held his gaze. "You can only hope."
"What'd you want to know?" came from the back of the room.
Honoria lifted her head. "Three sailors met here recently. I need to talk to them. Carter-describe the two you saw."
Carter did; more than a few remembered them.
"In here yesterday evenin'-off the Rising Star."
"Rising Star upped anchor this mornin' for Rotterdam."
"You're sure?" Confirmation came from several points in the room.
Then silence fell. Dense, cold, it chilled the air. Even before she turned, Honoria knew Devil had arrived.
She swung to face him-and only just stopped her blink. She swallowed instead. It was him, but not the man she habitually saw. This man filled the space before the door with a menacing presence; barely restrained aggression poured from him in waves. His elegant attire did nothing to conceal his powerful frame, nor the fact that he was fully prepared to annihilate anything or anyone unwise enough to give him the slightest excuse. He fitted the image she'd created to perfection.
His eyes, cold and flat, left her, scanning the room, holding not challenge but a promise, an intent every man could feel. Vane stood at his shoulder; just the two of them made the tavern seem uncomfortably overcrowded.
As Devil's gaze fastened on the wide-eyed barman, Honoria conjured a smile and swept into the breach. "There you are, my lord. I fear the men you seek are not here-they sailed this morning."
Devil didn't blink. His gaze fastened on her face-flames replaced the chill in his eyes but they remained oddly flat. One brow rose fractionally. "Indeed?"
The single word, uttered in his deep voice, gave no hint of his thoughts. For one definable instant, me entire tavern held its breath. Then he nodded at the barman. "In that case, you must excuse us."
On the words, Devil turned, catching Honoria's arm, propelling her over the threshold, lifting her through the carriage door Sligo raced to open and into the safety beyond.
Vane swung out of the inn behind them; he loomed at Devil's shoulder as he paused, one boot on the carriage steps. "I'll take the hackney." Vane nodded to where the small carriage waited.
His expression beyond grim, Devil nodded-he followed Honoria into the carriage. Sligo slammed the door; John Coachman flicked the reins.
It took three tense, silent minutes before the coach maneuvered its way free of the narrow street. And a further, equally silent half-hour before it drew up in Grosvenor Square. Devil alighted. He waited until Sligo let down the steps, then held out his hand. Honoria placed hers in it; he helped her down and led her up the steps.
Webster opened the door, his relief so intense it showed in his face. Then he saw his master's face-immediately his expression leached to impassivity. Gliding into the hall, her fingers on an arm more like rock than human flesh, Honoria held her head high.
Devil halted in the hall. "If you'll excuse me, my dear, I must speak with Sligo." His tone was glacial, bleak, and not quite steady, the icy surface rippling with barely suppressed rage. "I'll join you shortly. Upstairs."
For the first time that evening, Honoria saw his face clearly, lit by the chandelier high above. It was paler than usual, each harsh plane starkly edged, the whole no more animated than a death mask in which his eyes burned oddly dark. She met that black gaze directly. "Sligo was acting on my orders."
Devil raised a brow, his expression cold. "Indeed?"
Honoria studied his eyes, then inclined her head. And turned for the stairs. In the mood he was in, saying anything further might be counterproductive.
Rigid, Devil watched her ascend. When she passed from sight, he switched his gaze to Sligo. "In the library."
Sligo scurried in; Devil followed more slowly. Crossing the threshold, he paused; a footman closed the door. Sligo stood at attention to one side of the desk. Devil let silence stretch before slowly closing the distance.
Normally, he would have sat at his desk; tonight, the rage consuming him would not let him rest. He halted before the long windows giving onto the dark courtyard.
Words filled his head, jostled for prominence on his tongue, a ranting rave of fury clamoring to spill free. Jaw clenched, he fought to hold it back. Never before could he recall such rage-so fraught he was chilled to the marrow, so powerful he could barely contain it.
He glanced at Sligo. "I was informed by a footman who chanced upon me in St. James that Her Grace was on her way to the Anchor's Arms. Before I could summon a hackney, three others of my household appeared, bearing like tidings. It appears that fully half my staff were scouring the streets for me, instead of obeying my orders and looking after my wife! How the devil did she even hear about the Anchor's Arms?"
Sligo flinched. "She asked-I told her."
"What in all the saints' names did you mean by taking her there?"
The door opened at the height of that roar. Devil glared balefully at Webster. "I do not wish to be disturbed."
"Indeed, Your Grace." Webster stepped around the door, held it open for Mrs. Hull, then closed it. "Mrs. Hull and I wished to make sure you were not laboring under any misapprehension."
"It is exceedingly difficult to misapprehend discovering my wife in a dockside tavern."
The words had an edge like cut glass; Webster paled but persevered. "I believe you wish to learn how that came about, my lord. Sligo did not act on his own. We were all, myself, Mrs. Hull, and Sligo, aware of Her Grace's intent. We all attempted to dissuade her, but, having heard her reasons, we couldn't legitimately stand in her way."
His fists clenched so tight they hurt, his jaw all but locked, Devil spoke through his teeth. "What reasons?"