Sligo relayed her orders. The hackney drew up; Sligo leapt down and helped her out. Beside the hackney, screened from Number 17 on the other side of the road, Honoria fixed Sligo with a commanding look. "Wait for me here-inside the carriage."
Sligo blinked. "Shouldn't I walk you to the door?"
"Sligo, this is Green Street, not Billingsgate. You will stay in the carriage."
Mournfully, Sligo nodded; Honoria waited until he resumed his seat, then turned on her heel, walked back a short distance, and swiftly crossed the road. Briskly determined, she climbed the steps of Number 17. Reaching for the knocker, she froze, her hand in midair. The brass knocker was a sylph-a naked sylph. Honoria frowned, then closed her gloved hand about the indiscreet figure and beat an imperious tattoo.
She waited, clutching her reticule, trying not to think of the expletives her husband would utter when he read her letter-she hoped the committee of White's would understand. Then footsteps approached on the other side of the door. Not the measured tread of a well-trained butler but a slow, familiar, prowling gait. Even before the door opened, Honoria knew she would not be facing a butler.
When she saw who held the door wide, her jaw dropped.
The earl of Chillingworth's jaw dropped, too.
For one instant, they stood stock-still, staring at each other. Honoria mentally reeled, possibilities and conjectures whirling wildly.
Then Chillingworth scowled. "For God's sake, don't just stand there! Someone might see you."
Honoria blinked dazedly and remained rooted to his front step. Smothering a growl, Chillingworth grabbed her arm and hauled her inside. He shut the door, then faced her.
Although he was not as tall as Devil, Chillingworth was not a small man. In the narrow hall, Honoria was acutely conscious of that fact. Straightening, without a clue as to what was going on, she fixed him with an imperious look. "Where's your butler?"
Chillingworth returned her look with one she found unreadable. "My butler is out. As are the rest of my staff." Honoria's eyes widened; grimly, Chillingworth shook his head. "I can't believe you're serious." He searched her face, her eyes.
Honoria tilted her chin defiantly. "Of course I'm serious."
Chillingworth's expression showed a medley of disbelief and disillusionment, then hardened into a mask very like his greatest rival's. Fluidly, he shrugged. "If you insist."
Without further ado, he bent his head to Honoria's.
Uttering a strangled shriek, she jerked back and hit him.
Just before two o'clock, Devil had absentmindedly climbed the steps of White's. On the threshold, he'd literally run into Vane.
"There you are!" Vane had dropped back. "Where in all hell have you been? I've been looking all over."
Devil had grinned. "Surprising you didn't find me then, for that's where I've been. All over."
Frowning, Vane opened his lips-Devil waved the question aside. "Have you eaten?"
Still frowning, Vane nodded. Devil handed his cane to the doorkeeper; Vane did the same. "I'll talk while you eat."
The dining room was companionably crowded with gentlemen lingering over their brandies. Served with remarkable promptness, Devil started on the sole-and lifted an inquiring brow.
Vane grimaced at the bodies about them. "I'll tell you later."
Devil nodded and applied himself to his meal, pleased to have an excuse not to talk. Explaining why he'd spent the whole morning roaming the town, exercising the two grooms Sligo had set to tail him, was beyond him. He suspected it would always be beyond him-his affliction wasn't improving with time. And he could hardly tell Vane he was avoiding his wife because she'd said she loved him.
Said it, declared it, in unequivocal terms, with absolute conviction. Pausing, Devil quaffed half his glass of wine.
It was heady stuff, to know your wife felt that way. About you. That she would face danger without a blink, and refuse to back down, even when faced with sufficient intimidation to break a troop sergeant-all because she loved you.
There was only one snag, one fly in the ointment.
Taking another sip of wine, he returned to his sole. And the dilemma with which he'd spent all morning wrestling. If he told Honoria how he felt about her loving him, if he even acknowledged her declaration, he would simultaneously acknowledge the validity of her "justification" for going into danger. Which was something he could never do.
In times of trouble, as far as he and, he was quite sure, all his ancestors were concerned, Cynster wives were supposed to retreat to the donjon, there to remain in safety while their husbands manned the walls. Honoria's vision was apparently different-she wanted to be on the walls with him.
He understood her point-he simply couldn't accept it.
Explaining that was not going to be easy, not even after he'd made the confession he'd convinced himself he was honor-bound to make.
Feeling vulnerable was bad enough-admitting to vulnerability, out loud, in words, was infinitely worse. And, once said, the words couldn't be taken back. He would, in essence, be handing her a carte blanche of a kind he'd never used before. Given how she reacted to his being in danger, he wasn't at all sure that was wise.
Whether she suspected his state he did not know-he did know he couldn't count on her remaining in blissful ignorance for long. Not his Honoria Prudence. Which meant that the only way he could keep her out of danger was to remove the danger-by laying Tolly's killer by the heels.
Pushing aside his plate, he looked at Vane. "What have you learned?"
Vane grimaced. "Let's go into the smoking room."
They found a deserted nook and settled in; Vane began without preamble. "Basically, I was right. My source has checked every-"
"Excuse me, Your Grace."
They both looked up; one of the club's footmen stood at Devil's elbow, proffering a salver bearing a folded note. "This arrived a moment ago, Your Grace. The man was most insistent it be delivered to you immediately."
"Thank you." Taking the letter, Devil broke the seal, absentmindedly nodding a dismissal. Unfolding the letter, he scanned it-Vane saw his face harden. Devil's eyes flicked back up to the start of the letter, his face unreadable, he read it through again.
"Well?" Vane asked, when Devil looked up.
Devil's brows rose. "Something's come up." He didn't meet Vane's eyes. "An unexpected development." Refolding the letter, he rose. "You'll have to excuse me-I'll send for you as soon as I'm free."
With that, he turned and, putting the letter in one pocket, walked out.
Stunned, Vane stared after him. Then his face hardened. "Honoria Prudence-what the devil have you got up to now?"
"No! Wait! You can't just walk out the door."
"Why not?" Honoria swung around.
Holding a cold compress to the bridge of his nose, Chillingworth followed her up the hall. "Because there's no sense in taking unnecessary chances. Your husband's not going to appreciate this as it is-there's no sense in making things worse." Setting the compress down on the hall table, he looked her over. "Your bonnet's not straight."
Lips compressed, Honoria swung to face the mirror. Adjusting her bonnet, she studied Chillingworth's reflection. He was still very pale; she wasn't sure it was wise to leave him-his servants had not yet returned. On the other hand, she could understand his insistence that she leave without delay. "There!" She turned. "Does that meet with your approval?"
Chillingworth narrowed his eyes. "You'll pass." He met her gaze. "And don't forget-show that note to Devil as soon as you see him. Don't wait for him to ask."
Honoria lifted her chin.