Devil's Bride by Stephanie Laurens Read Free Book Online Page A

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!”
    â€œAhem!” More observant than his lady, Lord Claypole plucked at her sleeve. “My dear—”
    â€œTo think that I’ve been so misled! Mrs. Acheson-Smythe will hear about—”
    â€œ 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.”
    â€œNo 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.”
    â€œHow 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?”
    â€œThe 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.”
    â€œI 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.”
    â€œYour 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.
    â€œ 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