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

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 connection. The horseman in question turned his head; hands negligently crossed on the pommel, he was strikingly handsome. His coloring—brown hair, brown brows—was less dramatic than Devil’s, but he seemed of similar height and nearly as large as the man beside her. They shared one, definitive characteristic—the simple act of turning his head had been invested with the same fluid elegance that characterized all Devil’s movements, a masculine grace that titillated the senses.
    The horseman’s gaze traveled rapidly over her—one comprehensive glance—then, lips curving in a subtle smile, he looked at Devil. “I take it you don’t need rescuing?”
    Voice and manner confirmed their relationship beyond question.
    â€œNot rescuing—there’s been an accident. Come inside.”
    The horseman’s gaze sharpened; Honoria could have sworn some unspoken communication passed between him and Devil. Without another word, the horseman swung down from his saddle.
    Revealing his companion, still atop his horse. An older man with pale thinning hair, he was heavily built, his face round, his features more fleshy than the aquiline planes of the other two men. He, too, met Devil’s eye, then he hauled in a breath and dismounted. “Who are they?” Honoria whispered, as the first man, having secured his horse, started toward them.
    â€œTwo other cousins. The one approaching is Vane. At least, that’s what we call him. The other is Charles. Tolly’s brother.”
    â€œBrother?” Honoria juggled the image of the heavyset man against that of the dead youth.
    â€œHalf brother,” Devil amended. Grasping her elbow, he stepped out of the cottage, drawing her with him.
    It had been some time since anyone had physically compelled Honoria to do anything—it was certainly the first time any man had dared. His sheer presumption left her speechless; his sheer power rendered noncompliance impossible. Her heart, having finally slowed after the jolt he’d given it by kissing her fingers, started racing again.
    Five paces from the door, he halted and, releasing her, faced her. “Wait over there—you can sit on that log. This might take a while.”
    For one pregnant instant, Honoria hovered on the brink of open rebellion. There was something implacable behind the crystal green, something that issued commands in the absolute certainty of being obeyed. She ached to challenge it, to challenge him, to take exception to his peremptory dictates. But she knew what he faced in the cottage.
    Lips compressed, she inclined her head. “Very well.”
    She turned, skirts swirling; Devil watched as she started toward the log, set on stumps to one side of the clearing. Then she paused; without looking back, she inclined her head again. “Your Grace.”
    His gaze fixed on her swaying hips, Devil watched as she continued on her way. His interest in her had just dramatically increased; no woman before had so much as thought of throwing his commands—he knew perfectly well they were autocratic—back in his teeth. She’d not only thought of it—she’d nearly done it. If it hadn’t been for Tolly’s body in the cottage, she would have.
    She reached the log. Satisfied, Devil turned; Vane was waiting at the cottage door.
    â€œWhat?”
    Devil’s face hardened. “Tolly’s dead. Shot.”
    Vane stilled, his eyes fixed on Devil’s. “Who by?”
    â€œThat,” Devil said softly, glancing at Charles as he neared, “I don’t yet know. Come inside.”
    They stopped in a semicircle at the foot of the rude pallet, looking down on Tolly’s body. Vane had been Devil’s lieutenant at Waterloo; Charles had served