A form of magic held them fast; how many minutes they spent in that soul-stealing kiss neither could have said. The click of heels on the hall tiles brought it to an end.
Devil raised his head and looked at the door; Honoria waited, but he did not step away. His only concession as the door swung wide and his mother appeared in the doorway, was to remove his hand from her hip and, with the hand at her back, gently turn her to the door. Not by word nor, it was clear, even by deed, did he intend concealing the fact he'd been kissing her.
Honoria blinked. She was slow in following Devil's lead; when the Dowager's gaze reached them, she was still half-stretched on her toes, one hand lying on his chest. The Dowager, grande dame that she was, pretended not to notice. "If you are ready, my dears, I suggest we leave. There's no point waiting in this drawing room."
Inclining his head, Devil offered Honoria his arm; she placed her fingertips upon it. A great deal warmer than when she had entered, she left the room by his side.
The journey to Lord George Cynster's house in Berkeley Square took a bare five minutes. Another five saw Honoria, with Devil by her side, surrounded by Cynsters. The drawing room was full of them; tall, commandingly arrogant gentlemen and briskly imperious ladies, they threw the other members of the haut ton invited to dinner into the proverbial shade.
Her gown caused a stir-she hadn't been sure what to expect. What she received were wide smiles and nods of encouragement from the other Cynster ladies-and arrested looks from all the Cynster males. It was Lucifer who translated those looks into words. He shook his dark head at her. "You do realize, don't you, that if Devil hadn't snapped you up, you'd be facing a concerted siege?"
Honoria tried to look innocent.
Dinner had been moved forward to seven; the ball would start at nine. Across the sound of twenty conversations, Webster, borrowed for the occasion, announced that the meal was served.
Devil led his aunt into the dining room, leaving Honoria to be escorted thence by Vane. Remembering a like occasion, Tolly's funeral, Honoria glanced at Vane. "Do you always stand in for him?"
The look he sent her was startled, then his lips lifted. "It would," he murmured, with the cool hauteur that was his most notable characteristic, "be more accurate to say that we cover each other's backs. Devil's only a few months older than I am-we've known each other all our lives."
Honoria heard the devotion beneath the smooth tones and inwardly approved. Vane led her to the chair next to Devil's, taking the chair beside hers. Flanked by such partners, she looked forward to the dinner with unalloyed anticipation.
The conversation about her revolved about politics and the issues of the day; Honoria listened with an interest she hadn't previously known, registering Devil's views, reconciling them with what she knew of His Grace of St. Ives. While the second course was being served, she idly glanced around
the table. And noticed the black strip about the arm of each of the Cynster cousins. Devil's left arm was by her side; she turned her head-the black band, barely noticeable against his black coat, was level with her chin.
Looking down at her plate, she swallowed a curse.
She bided her time until they were strolling the huge ballroom, ostensibly admiring the decorative wreaths. They were sufficiently private; the ball guests were only just arriving in the hall below. As they neared the ballroom's end, she slipped one finger beneath the black band and tugged. Devil looked down-and raised a brow.
"Why are you still wearing this?"
He met her gaze; she sensed his hesitation. Then he sighed and looked forward. "Because we haven't yet caught Tolly's murderer."
Given the dearth of clues, they might never catch Tolly's murderer; Honoria kept that thought to herself. "Is it really necessary?" She glanced at his stern profile. "Surely one little waltz won't addle your wits?"
His lips twisted as he glanced down, but he shook his head. "I just feel…" His words trailed away; frowning, he looked ahead. "I'm sure I've forgotten something-some key-some vital clue."
His tone made it clear he'd changed tack; Honoria followed without quibble. She could understand that he felt guilty over his inability to bring Tolly's killer to justice; she didn't need to hear him admit it. "Do you remember anything about this clue?"
"No-it's the most damnable thing. I'm sure there's something I've seen, something I've already learned, but I simply can't fasten on it. It's like a phantom at the edge of my vision-I keep turning my head to look but can never bring it into view."
Frustration rang clearly in his tone; Honoria decided to change the subject. "Tell me, is Lady Osbaldestone a Cynster connection?"
Devil glanced to where her ladyship, gimlet gaze fixed on them, sat ensconced in one corner of a nearby chaise. "An exceedingly distant one." He shrugged. "But that description covers half the ton."
They strolled, chatting with those they came upon, their perambulation slowing as the ton rolled up, all eager to be seen at the only Cynster ball of the season. In a short half hour, the ballroom was awash with silks and satins; perfume hung heavy on the air. The sheen of curls was fractured by the sparkle and glint of jewels; hundreds of tongues contributed to the polite hum. Being on Devil's arm guaranteed Honoria space enough to breathe; none were game to crowd her. There were, however, a definite number who, sighting her, were impelled to pay their compliments. Some, indeed, looked set to worship at her feet, even in the teeth of the very real threat of receiving a swift and well-aimed kick from her escort.
Fixed by Honoria's side, compelled to witness her effect on other males, Devil set his jaw, and tried not to let it show. His mood was steadily turning black-not a good sign, given what he had yet to endure. He'd toyed with the idea of asking her not to dance, but she was not yet his wife. He'd transgressed once; she had, by some benign stroke of fate, consented to forgive him. He was not about to try for twice.
And she liked to dance. He knew that without asking; her attention to the music was proof enough. How he would force himself to let her waltz with some other gentleman, he did not know. He'd planned to get his cousins to stand in his place; instead, like him, they'd held to their resolution. Which left him wrestling with a rampant possessiveness he didn't at all wish to tame.
To his disgust, the musicians appeared early. Through the inevitable squeaks and plunks, Lord Ainsworth declaimed: "My dear Miss Anstruther-Wetherby, I would be most honored, indeed, overcome with gratification, should you consent to favor me with your hand and allow me to partner you in this measure." His lordship capped his period with a flourishing bow, then looked earnestly, with almost reverent devotion, at Honoria.
Devil tensed, ruthlessly denying the urge to plant his fist in Ainsworth's vacuous face. Tightening his hold on every wayward impulse, he steeled himself to hear Honoria's acceptance-and to let her go without causing a scene. Honoria held out her hand; Devil felt his control quake.
"Thank you, my lord." Her smile serene, Honoria barely touched fingers with Ainsworth. "But I won't be dancing tonight."
"My dear Miss Anstruther-Wetherby, your actions bear testimony to your exquisite sensibilities. Forgive me, dear lady, for being so gauche as to even suggest…"