Devil's Bride by Stephanie Laurens Read Free Book Online

were imagining.
    Honoria looked past him—momentarily, she froze. Then
she straightened, cool grace dropping like a cloak about her. Not a glimmer of
consternation showed in her face. Devil's lips quirked—in approval, in
appreciation.
    "
Well
, miss!"
    Lady Claypole's strident tones overflowed with
indignant outrage. Devil fixed her with a clear, very direct glance that any
sane person would have read as a warning.
    Her ladyship was not so acute. "
A fine
broiling, indeed! Well, Miss Wetherby—if
this
is what you get up to
when you
say
you're visiting the vicar, you need not think to cross
the Claypole Hall threshold again!"
    "Ahem!" More observant than his lady, Lord
Claypole plucked at her sleeve. "My dear—"
    "To
think
that I've been so misled! Mrs.
Acheson-Smythe will hear about—"
    "
No
! Really, Margery—" One eye on
Devil's face, Lord Claypole fought to restrain his wife from committing social
suicide. "No need for any of that."
    "No
need
?" Lady Claypole stared at
him as if he'd taken leave of his senses. Shaking off his hand, she drew
herself up and haughtily declaimed: "If you will send word of your
direction, we'll send your boxes on."
    "How kind." Devil's purring murmur held
sufficient steel to succeed where Lord Claypole had failed. "You may send
Miss Anstruther-Wetherby's boxes to the Place."
    A long silence greeted his edict.
    Lady Claypole leaned forward. "
Anstruther-
Wetherby?"
    "The Place?" The soft echo came from Charles
Cynster; his horse shifted and stamped.
    Abruptly, Lady Claypole switched her gaze to Honoria.
"Is this true, miss? Or is it merely a piece of flummery you've succeeded
in coaxing His Grace to swallow?"
    His
Grace
? For one discrete instant,
Honoria's brain reeled. She glanced sideways at the devil beside her—his eyes,
cool green, fleetingly met hers. In that moment, she would have given all she
possessed to rid herself of everyone else and take to him as he deserved.
Instead, she lifted her chin and calmly regarded Lady Claypole. "As His
Grace," she invested the title with subtle emphasis, "has seen fit to
inform you, I am, indeed, one of the Anstruther-Wetherbys. I choose to make
little of the connection, to avoid unwarranted, ill-bred interest."
    The comment failed to rout her ladyship. "I
really don't know
how
I'm going to explain this to my daughters."
    "I suggest, madam,"—his gaze on Lady
Claypole's face, Devil caught Honoria's hand, squeezing her fingers warningly
as he raised them to his lips—"that you inform your daughters that they've
had the honor of being instructed, albeit for so short a time, by my
duchess."
    "Your
duchess
!" The exclamation
burst from three throats—of the gentry, only Vane Cynster remained silent.
    Honoria's brain reeled again; the grip on her fingers
tightened. Her expression serene, her lips gently curved, she glanced
affectionately at her supposed fiance's face; only he could see the fell
promise in her eyes.
    "
Really
, Your Grace! You
can't
have considered." Lady Claypole had paled. "This matter hardly
warrants such a sacrifice—I'm sure Miss Wetherby will be only too happy to
reach some agreement…"
    Her voice trailed away, finally silenced by the
expression on Devil's face. For one, long minute, he held her paralyzed, then
switched his chill gaze to Lord Claypole. "I had expected, my lord, that I
could count on you and your lady to welcome my duchess." The deep flat
tones held a definite menace.
    Lord Claypole swallowed. "Yes indeed! No doubt of
it—none whatever. Er…" Gathering his reins, he reached for his wife's.
"Felicitations and all that—daresay we should get on. If you'll excuse us,
Your Grace? Come, m'dear." With a yank, his lordship turned both his and
his wife's horses; with remarkable speed, his party quit the clearing.
    Relieved, Honoria studied the remaining horsemen. One
glance was enough to identify the one nearest as a relative of… the duke called
Devil. Her mind tripped on the thought, but she couldn't catch the