He glanced her way, his expression mildly indulgent. "I'm generally considered a fast learner."

An unnerving suspicion leapt to mind. "Where are you taking me?"

This time his expression was innocence incarnate. "To St. Ives-to see the bridge-chapel."

Honoria looked into his eyes-they were crystal-clear. Twisting about, she looked behind-and saw a horse on a leading rein following the curricle. She turned back. "You're going to St. Ives to return the horse Tolly was riding the afternoon he was shot."

Devil's gaze turned sharp, his expression irritated. "I don't suppose I can persuade you to leave the matter in my hands?"

Honoria frowned. "Is it Tolly's horse-or could it be the murderer's?"

Devil's jaw firmed. "It must be the horse Tolly was riding-it was found fully saddled in a field near the wood the day after the storm. It's from the stables Tolly usually used. And the murderer presumably left the scene on horseback." A straight stretch lay before them; he slowed his matched bays and looked at Honoria. "Honoria Prudence, you might have come upon Tolly a few minutes before I did, but there's no reason you should take an active role in tracking down his killer."

Honoria put her nose in the air. "I take leave to disagree, Your Grace."

Devil scowled."For God's sake, stop 'Your Gracing' me-call me Devil. We are, after all, going to be man and wife."

"That," Honoria declared, her chin rising another notch, "is unlikely."

Devil eyed the tip of her chin, and debated the wisdom of arguing. Instead, he said, his tone edged but even: "Honoria, I'm the head of this family-my shoulders are broader than yours and my back is a good deal stronger. Finding Tolly's murderer is my responsibility-rest assured I'll fulfill it."

She looked at him. "You do realize you've just contradicted yourself? One minute, you declare I'm to be your bride-the next you forbid me to act as either your wife or your bride should."

"As far as I'm concerned my wife, prospective or actual, which is to say you, should refrain from all dangerous activities." Forced to look to his horses, Devil heard his own growl; his frown deepened. "Murder is violent; tracking a murderer is dangerous. You should not be involved."

"Entrenched opinion states that a wife should give her husband aid and succor in all his enterprises."

"Forget the aid-I'll settle for the succor."

"I'm afraid you cannot separate the two-they come as a package. Besides," Honoria added, her eyes widening, "if I'm to stay away from all danger, however could we wed?"

He glanced at her, his expression arrested; he searched her face, then narrowed his eyes. "You know you stand in no danger from me. You wouldn't be here if you did."

That, Honoria inwardly admitted, was true; he was far too potent a force to challenge without cast-iron assurances. But her position was unassailable-given he viewed her as his bride, he would uphold her honor, even against himself. She could have no more formidable protector. Secure in that knowledge, she smiled serenely. "Have your cousins learned anything yet?"

He muttered something and looked ahead-she didn't try too hard to catch his words. His jaw was set-granite would have been softer. He took the next turn at speed, then whipped up his horses. Unperturbed, she sat back, idly scanning the flat fields past which they flew.

Devil barely checked his team for Somersham,

Honoria glimpsed Mr. Postlethwaite by the vicarage. She waved; he blinked, then smiled and waved back. Had it really been only a week since she'd taken the lane through the wood?

Tolly's family had left the previous day, having spent the days since the funeral coming to terms with their grief. She had taken the twins in hand, encouraging them to turn their thoughts to the futures that lay before them. She had also broken one of her golden rules and taken the younger girls, Henrietta and little Mary, under her wing; there'd been no one else suited to the task. Supporting Tolly's sisters had only strengthened her resolution to ensure that his killer was brought to justice.

The roofs of St. Ives lay ahead before Devil finally spoke. "Vane sent a messenger yesterday-no one has unearthed the smallest clue or heard the slightest whisper. Nothing to suggest what sent Tolly this way or why he might have been killed."

Honoria studied his profile. "You were expecting more, weren't you?"

"I put off returning the horse, hoping to have a description of the man we're seeking. He must have got to the wood somehow. If he followed Tolly or came earlier from London, he may have hired a horse in St. Ives."

"Perhaps he drove?"

Devil shook his head. "If he had, he would have had to drive out of the wood away from Somersham. Otherwise, he would have encountered you. There was a group of my laborers in the fields below the wood-any carriage going that way would have passed them. None did."

"What about a horseman?"

"No, but the wood's riddled with bridle paths. There are any number a horseman could have taken."

"Is it possible to ride up from London?"

"Possible but not likely." Devil checked his pair; the first houses of St. Ives were before them. "A horse ridden that far at any reasonable speed could not have participated in any subsequent flight."

They'd reached the main street; Devil slowed the bays to a walk.

"So," Honoria concluded, "we're looking for a man, identity and description unknown, who hired a horse on the day of the shooting."

She felt Devil's gaze on her face-and heard the short, irritated, aggravated sigh he gave before saying: "We're looking for precisely that."

Five minutes later, sitting in the curricle, listening as he questioned the stablemaster, Honoria was still struggling with her triumph. She knew better than to let it show-the last thing she wanted was to bruise his masculine sensibilities and have him rescind his decision. Yet victory was so sweet it was hard to keep the smile from her lips-every time she was sure he couldn't see it, she gave in to the urge and smiled.

The curricle rocked as Devil climbed up. "You heard?"

"No horseman except Tolly. Are there other stables in town?"

There were two, but the answers there were the same as at the first. No man had hired a horse on that day-no one had noticed any horseman riding through. "What now?" Honoria asked as Devil headed his team back up the main street.

"I'll send men to check at Huntingdon, Godmanchester, and Ely. Chatteris as well, though that's even less likely."

"What about Cambridge?'

"That," Devil stated, "is the main chance. It's closer to town, and the coaches are more frequent on that route."

Honoria nodded. "So when are we going there?"

Devil flicked her a glance. "We aren't-any more than we're going to the other towns."

Honoria narrowed her eyes at him-only to see his lips twitch.

"I'm too well known to ask questions without inviting comment. St. Ives is different-it's the family town and has few other major families living close. And you can't ask either. But my grooms can chat up the ostlers over a pint or two and learn all we need without anyone being the wiser."

"Hmm." Honoria eyed him suspiciously.

"I'll send Melton to Cambridge."

"Your head stableman?"

"So to speak."

Honoria had yet to sight the man. "He doesn't seem to be much about."

"Melton is never around when I need him. It's a point of honor with him."

Honoria stared. "Why do you put up with him?"

Devil shrugged. "He's old."

"That's it? Because he's old?"

"No."

Intrigued, Honoria watched the hard face soften, not a great deal, but enough to show.

"Melton put me on my first pony-you could say he taught me to ride. He's been at the Place all his life, and no one knows more about horses-not even Demon. I couldn't turn him out to grass, not after a lifetime in the position. Luckily, his son-in-law, Hersey, is a sensible man-he's my understableman and actually does all the work. Other than on special occasions-and with handling Sulieman-Melton's position is purely titular."

"But he never turns up when you bring Sulieman in."

"Or when I take him out. As I said, it's a point of honor with him." Devil glanced at Honoria, his lips twisting wryly. "To make sure I don't forget all he's taught me. According to him, just because I'm a duke doesn't excuse me from currying my horse."

Honoria choked, then gave up and laughed unrestrainedly.

Devil cast her a disgusted glance-and drove on.

She was wiping her eyes, still racked by the occasional giggle, when he checked his team. They were a mile or so short of Somersham; Honoria sobered when Devil turned the horses off the road, eased them along a narrow lane, then swung onto a wide grassy patch and reined in.

"Behold-north Cambridgeshire."

She could hardly miss it-the county lay spread before her, a tapestry of greens and golds, edged with the darker hues of woods and hedgerows.

"This is the closest we come to a lookout in these parts."

Honoria studied the landscape-while her wariness escalated in leaps and bounds. They were on a grassy plateau, a stand of trees screening them from the road. Essentially private.

"Over there," Devil pointed to the right, "you can see the roofs of Chatteris. The first dark green line beyond is the Forty-Foot Drain, the second is the Old Nene."

Honoria nodded; she recalled the names from his earlier lecture on the fens.

"And now…" Devil secured the reins. "It's time for lunch."

"Lunch?" Honoria swung around, but he'd already leapt down from the curricle. An instant later, she heard him rummaging in the boot. He reappeared, a rug in one hand, a picnic basket in the other.

"Here." He tossed the rug at her. Reflexively, she caught it-then caught her breath as his free arm snaked about her waist and he swung her to the ground. He smiled down at her, pure wolf in his eyes. "Why don't you chose a suitable place to spread the rug?"

Honoria glared-she couldn't speak; her heart was blocking her throat, her breathing had seized. She barely had enough strength to whisk herself free of his encircling arm. Marching across the grass as determindedly as her suddenly shaky limbs allowed, all too aware he prowled close behind, she spread the rug over the first reasonable patch, then, remembering her parasol, returned to the safety of the curricle to retrieve it.

The move gave her time to calm her senses, to take a firm grip on her wayward wits-to remind herself of how safe she really was. As long as she didn't allow him to kiss her again, all would be well.

She could hardly be held responsible for the previous kisses he'd stolen-like the buccaneer he reminded her of, he'd surprised her, captured her and taken what he wished. This time, however, while she might unwittingly have walked into his trap, she did know it was a trap. He hadn't sprung it yet-as a virtuous lady it was clearly her duty to ensure his planning came to nought.

His kisses, and the desire behind them, were far from innocent; she could not, in all conscience, indulge in such scandalous dalliance.

Which made her role very clear-circumspection, caution, and unassailable virtue. She headed back to the rug, repeating that litany. The sight of the repast he'd unpacked-the two wineglasses, the champagne, cool in a white linen shroud, the delicacies designed to tempt a lady's palate-all bore testimony to his intent. She narrowed her eyes at him. "You planned this."

Lounging on the rug, Devil raised his brows. "Of course-what else?"

He caught her hand and gently tugged; she had no choice but to sink, gracefully, onto the other half of the rug. She was careful to keep the basket between them. "You didn't even know I was going to join you."

His answer was a single raised brow and a look so outrageously patronizing she was literally lost for words.

He grinned. "Here." He reached into the basket. "Have a chicken leg."

Honoria drew in a deep breath. She looked at the portion he held out, the bone wrapped neatly in a napkin-then reached out, took it, and sank her teeth into it.

To her relief, he made no effort to converse. She shot a glance his way. He lay stretched on the rug, propped on one elbow as he worked steadily through the basket. Honoria took a long draft of champagne-and focused on distracting them both.