To her chagrin, Devil strolled after them.

The Dowager looked up as they entered. With a brilliant smile, she laid aside her embroidery and held out her hand. "Mr. Anstruther-Wetherby-it is good to meet you at last. I trust your journey was without mishap?"

"Entirely, ma'am." Michael bowed over her hand. "It's indeed a pleasure to make your acquaintance."

"Bon!" The Dowager beamed at him. "And now we can be comfortable and talk, can we not?" Indicating the chaise beside her, she glanced at Devil, "Ring for tea, Sylvester. Now, Mr. Anstruther-Wetherby, you are with Carlisle, is that right? And how is the good Marguerite?"

Subsiding into an armchair, Honoria watched as her brother, who she could have sworn was impervious to all forms of flattery, fell under the Dowager's fire. Even more disturbing, time and again, she saw Michael exchange a glance with Devil; by the time Webster brought in the tea, it was clear that, somehow, Devil had succeeded in securing her brother's approval. Honoria bit into a cucumber sandwich and tried not to glower.

She dragged her brother from mother and son's seductive influence as soon as she possibly could.

"Let's go down by the lake." Tightening her hold on Michael's arm, she steered him along the terrace. "There's a seat, near the shore-it's peaceful and private there."

"It's a truly magnificent house," was Michael's only comment as they strolled down the lawn. They reached the seat, and she settled herself upon it; Michael hesitated, looking down at her, then sat beside her. "You could be very comfortable here, you know."

Honoria met his gaze levelly. "Just what has that devil told you?"

Michael grinned. "Not all that much-just the bare facts."

Honoria drew a relieved breath. "In that case, it should be clear that there's no need for any talk of marriage between myself and St. Ives."

Michael's brows rose. "Actually, that's not the impression I received."

"Oh?" Honoria made the syllable a challenge.

Michael tugged at his earlobe. "Perhaps we'd better retread events."

She was very ready to do so. While she recited her well-rehearsed version of events, Michael listened intently. "And then he left me with the Dowager," she concluded.

Michael met her eye. "That's what he told me."

Honoria had a premonition she'd just taken a wrong step.

Michael straightened, one hand clasping hers. "Honoria, you're an unmarried lady of twenty-four, of impeccable lineage and unblemished reputation. In this instance, I must agree with St. Ives-there's really no course open to you other than to accept his offer. He's behaved precisely as he should-no one could hold either of you to blame, yet the circumstances remain and require the prescribed response."

"No." Honoria made the word a statement. "You can't seriously imagine me happily married to Devil Cynster."

Michael raised his brows. "Actually, I find that easier to imagine than any other outcome."

"Michael! He's a tyrant! An unmitigatingly arrogant despot."

Michael shrugged. "You can't have everything, as Mama was wont to tell you."

Honoria narrowed her eyes; she let a pregnant moment pass before stating, categorically: "Michael, I do not wish to marry Devil Cynster."

Letting go of her hand, Michael leaned back against the seat. "So what do you see as an alternative?"

Honoria knew relief-at least they were discussing alternatives. "I'd thought to return to Hampshire-it's too late to get another post this year."

"You'll never get another post, not once this gets out. And it will. St. Ives is right about that-if you marry him, the only whispers will be jealous ones; without his ring on your finger, they'll be malicious. Destructively so."

Honoria shrugged. "That's hardly a disaster. As you know, I care little for society."

"True." Michael hesitated, then added: "You might, however, have a care for our name, and our parents' memory."

Slowly, Honoria turned to face him, her eyes very narrow. "That was uncalled for."

His expression stern, Michael shook his head. "No-it had to be said. You cannot simply walk away from who you are and the fact that you have family connections together with the responsibility that entails."

Honoria felt chilled inside, like a general informed he'd just lost his last ally. "So," she said, haughtily tilting her chin, "you would have me marry for the sake of the family-for the sake of a name I've never claimed?"

"I would see you wed first and foremost for your own sake. There's no future for you in Hampshire, or anywhere else for that matter. Look about you." He gestured to the sprawling bulk of the Place, displayed like a jewel in the grounds before them. "Here you could be what you were supposed to be. You could be what Papa and Mama always intended you to be."

Honoria pressed her lips tightly together. "I cannot live my life according to the precepts of ghosts."

"No-but you should consider the reasons behind their precepts. They may be dead, but the reasons remain."

When she said no more but sat mulishly looking down at her clasped hands, Michael continued, his tone more gentle: "I daresay this may sound pompous, but I've seen more of our world than you-that's why I'm so sure the course I urge you to is right."

Honoria shot him an irate glance. "I am not a child-"

"No." Michael grinned. "If you were, this situation wouldn't exist. But-!" he insisted, as she opened her mouth to retort, "just hold on to your temper and listen to what I have to say before you set your mind in stone." Honoria met his eyes. "I only have to listen?" Michael nodded. "To the proposition St. Ives put to me-and the reasons why I think you should agree to it." Honoria's jaw fell. "You discussed me with him?" Michael closed his eyes for an instant, then fixed her with a distinctly male look. "Honoria, it was necessary he and I talked. We've both lived in society much longer than you-you've never done more than stick a toe in society's sea. That's a point St. Ives, thank heavens, is aware of-it's that that's behind his proposition."

Honoria glared. "Proposition? I thought it was a proposal."

Michael closed his eyes tight. "His proposal's on the table and will remain there until you make your decision!" He opened his eyes. "His proposition concerns how we should go on until you do."

"Oh." Faced with his exasperation, Honoria shifted, then looked across the lake. "So what is this proposition?"

Michael drew a deep breath. "Because of his cousin's death, a wedding could not be held inside three months-the Dowager will be in full mourning for six weeks, then half-mourning for another six. As you have no suitable family with whom to reside, what would normally occur is that you would remain with the Dowager and she would introduce you to the ton as her son's fiancee."

"But I haven't agreed to marry him."

"No-so in this case, you'll simply remain under the Dowager's wing. She intends going to London in a few weeks-you'll go with her and she'll introduce you to the ton. That will give you a chance to see society from a perspective you've never had-if, after that, you still wish to refuse St. Ives's offer, he and I will accept your decision and try to come up with some acceptable alternative."

His emphasis made it clear he did not expect to find one. Honoria frowned. "What explanation will be given for my presence with the Dowager?"

"None-Cynsters don't need to tender explanations any more than Anstruther-Wetherbys."

Honoria looked skeptical. "Surely people will wonder?"

"People will know, of that you may be sure. However, given the Dowager's involvement, they'll imagine an announcement is in the offing and comport themselves appropriately." Michael grimaced. "I should warn you, the Dowager is something of a force to be reckoned with."

Honoria raised a questioning brow.

Michael waved at the house. "You saw her just now. She's a consummate manipulator."

Honoria's lips twitched. "I had wondered whether you'd noticed."

"I noticed, but there's precious little point trying to resist. You called St. Ives a tyrant-I don't doubt he is, but that's probably just as well. Within the ton, his mother's considered a holy terror-of inestimable help if her sympathies lie with you, an enemy to be feared if they don't. No one's going to invite her ire by circulating possibly groundless rumors concerning her son and the lady who might be his duchess. There's no safer place for you than under the Dowager's wing."

Honoria could see it; slowly, she nodded, then looked frowningly at Michael. "I still think it would be much simpler for me to retire to Hampshire until all this blows over, Even if I don't get another post, as you pointed out, I am twenty-four. It's time I started on my travel plans."

Michael sighed, and looked away. "You can't stay in Hampshire alone-we'll have to get Aunt Hattie down."

"Aunt Hattie?" Honoria wrinkled her nose. "She'll drive me distracted inside of a week."

Michael pursed his lips. "Can't think of anyone else, and you can't live alone, especially once your sojourn in the woods with Devil Cynster becomes public. You'll find your self dealing with all manner of unwanted visitors."

Honoria shot him a darkling glance, then frowned, very hard, at the lake. Michael preserved a stoic silence.

Minutes ticked past; eyes narrowed, Honoria reviewed her options. She had, indeed, regretted sending for Michael so precipitously; it was clearly going to take time to track Tolly's murderer down. Devil, initially a large hurdle to her plans, had been overcome; he now behaved as a reluctant but resigned coconspirator. The idea of them, together, unmasking Tolly's killer was attractive-quite aside from the compulsion she felt to see justice done, the situation looked set to provide the excitement she'd craved all her life. Leaving now would see all that lost.

There was also the small matter of her burgeoning desire to experience-just once-the pleasure Devil had alluded to. His words, his caresses, like Tolly's face, now haunted her. He'd made it clear physical possession and pleasure were independent events-although the thought was guaranteed to bring a blush to her cheek, she was aware of an increasing compulsion to learn what he could teach her. Of pleasure. Possession, in this case, was out of the question, beyond all possibility. Cynsters never let go anything that became theirs-she was far too wise to become his on any level.

Given she'd determined never to wed, her virtue would never be in question. It seemed wise to gain some experience of the pleasure possible between a man and a woman before she set off on her travels. And there was no denying the pleasure she'd thus far experienced at Devil Cynster's hands had held an excitement all its own.

With all that on offer, currently on her plate, but for Devil's matrimonial fixation, her present situation suited her admirably. She didn't want to go to Hampshire but with him so set on marriage, it hadn't seemed possible to stay.

Now, however, with his devilish proposition, the devil himself had cleared her path. She could remain in his household, in his mother's care, safe from him and any other gentleman, for three full months-surely, by that time, they would have laid Tolly's murderer by the heels? And she would have learned all she'd need to know of pleasure.

Which left only one quibble-was she strong enough, clever enough, to avoid any traps Devil might set for her?

Honoria straightened, and summoned a resigned grimace. "Very well." She turned and met Michael's eye. "I'll agree to remain under the Dowager's wing for three months." Michael grinned-Honoria narrowed her eyes. "After that, I'll go to Hampshire."

With a long-suffering groan, Michael rose and drew her to her feet. Arm in arm, they strolled back to the house.

Later that evening, Honoria was seated in an armchair in the drawing room, her lap full of embroidery silks, when a shadow fell across her. The Dowager was on the chaise, similarly occupied in sorting brilliant hanks. Michael, pleading tiredness, had retired early; Devil had retreated to the library. The tea trolley had come and gone; the evening had slipped silently into night.

Stymied in her attempt to discriminate between azure and turquoise, Honoria looked up-all the way up to Devil's face. He stood directly before her, his expression inscrutable. For a long moment, he simply held her gaze, his own shadowed, impossible to read. Then he held out his hand. "Come for a walk, Honoria Prudence."