Biting her tongue, Honoria inclined her head. Of all the Cynsters present, only Charles and his father still wore black armbands.

"But I believe congratulations are de rigueur."

Charles's odd phrasing had her regarding him in surprise. He nodded superciliously. "I'm sure you recall the substance of our earlier conversation-in light of the reservations I expressed to you then, I most sincerely hope you do not live to regret your new state." Honoria stiffened.

Scanning the crowd, Charles didn't notice. "But however that may be, I do wish you well-if knowing Sylvester all his life makes me hesitant as to his constancy, I ask you to believe that that circumstance in no way lessens the sincerity of my hopes for your happiness."

"Yet, if I understand you correctly, you don't believe such happiness likely." Honoria watched as her words sank in-slowly, Charles brought his gaze back to her face. His eyes were pale, cold, oddly expressionless.

"Your actions have been most unwise. You should not have married Sylvester."

Quite what she would have replied to such an outrageous assertion Honoria never discovered-Amelia and Amanda, both still in alt, came rushing up in a froth of muslin skirts.

"Aunt Helena says you should move to the door-some of the guests are starting to leave."

Honoria nodded. From the corner of her eye, she saw Charles draw back.

"By your leave, Your Grace." With a half-bow to her and a curt nod for his half sisters, he turned on his heel and walked off.

Amanda pulled a face at his back, then linked her arm in Honoria's. "He's such a stuffy old shirt-he never enjoys anything."

"Sententious," Amelia pronounced, taking Honoria's other arm. "Now-where should you stand, do you think?" The short December day drew swiftly to a close; when the clock on the stairs chimed five, it was full dark outside. Standing on the porch by Devil's side, waving the last of the carriages away, Honoria inwardly sighed. Meeting Devil's eyes, she smiled and turned back to the hall. He fell in beside her, capturing her hand, long fingers twining. Most of the family would remain until the next day; they'd retreated to the drawing room, leaving them to do the honors alone. Immediately before the door, Devil halted. Honoria perforce halted, too, and looked up. A slow smile greeted her. Raising her hand, Devil brushed a kiss across her knuckles. "Well, my dear duchess?" With his other hand, he tipped her chin up-and up; automatically she rose on her toes.

He bent his head and kissed her, gently at first, then more deeply. When he lifted his head, they were both heated once more.

Honoria blinked at him. "There's dinner yet."

His smile deepened. "They're not expecting us to show." He drew her across the threshold. "This is where we slip away."

Honoria's lips formed a silent "Oh"; the hall, empty but for Webster, busy closing the door, suggested that her husband, as usual, had the procedure right. When he raised a brow, she acquiesced with a nod; calmly serene, she climbed the stairs by his side. They'd retired together often enough in the past weeks for her to feel no qualms.

A state of affairs that lasted all the way to the top of the stairs. That was when she turned right, toward the corridor that led to her rooms.

Devil's hold on her hand brought her up short. She turned in surprise-only to see him lift one brow, his gaze very green. He shook his head. "Not anymore."

Realization hit. Honoria nodded. Head high, outwardly assured, she allowed him to lead her through the gallery, into the corridor leading to the ducal apartments. Inwardly, her nerves had come alive, fluttering in ever-decreasing spirals until they tensed into knots.

It was ridiculous, she told herself, and struggled to ignore the sensation.

She'd been to the duchess's apartments only once, to approve the new color scheme-all rich creams, soft topaz, and old gold, complementing the warm patina of polished oak. Opening her door, Devil ushered her in; Honoria blinked at the blaze that greeted her.

Lighted candelabra graced the dressing table, the mantelshelf, a chest of drawers, an escritoire against one wall, and a tantalus set before one window. In their glare, the room appeared much as she'd last seen it, with the huge, canopied bed in pride of place between the long windows. The only new items were the urn of flowers, all yellow and white, that sat upon one chest, her brushes, gleaming silver on the polished dressing table, and her nightgown of ivory silk with its matching peignoir, laid out upon the bed.

Cassie must have put it there; Honoria certainly hadn't thought of it. She wondered if the candelabra were Cassie's idea, too-then noticed Devil seemed unsurprised. Strolling into the room, drawing her with him, he stopped before the fireplace, and drew her smoothly into his arms.

Any doubt of his intent fled before his kiss, full of barely restrained hunger and an ardor to set her alight. She sank against him, his instantaneous response driving her to take the pleasure he offered and return it fullfold. Her head was swimming, her limbs turned to water, when he raised his head. "Come. Our children can be born in your bed-we'll beget them in mine."

He swung her into his arms; Honoria twined her arms about his neck. With impatient stride, he carried her to a paneled door, left ajar, shouldering it open, revealing the short corridor that led to his room. "What was that all about?" she asked. "The candelabra?"

Devil glanced down at her; the corridor was dim, but she saw his teeth gleam. "Diversionary tactics."

She would have asked for clarification, but all thoughts of candles went winging from her head as he carried her into his room.

His room in London was large-this room was immense. The bed that stood against the near wall was the biggest she'd ever seen. Long windows marched along both sides and filled the wall opposite the bed; this room was at the end of the wing-with the curtains open, it was flooded with moonlight, turning the pale greens of the furnishings to muted silver.

Devil carried her around the bed, setting her on her feet where the moon cast a shimmering swath across the floor. Her wedding gown, layer upon layer of wide Mechlin lace, sparkled and shivered. He straightened, his gaze drawn to where the lace rose and fell; he cupped one soft mound and felt it firm. His fingers searched, finding the tightening peak and caressing it to pebbled hardness.

Honoria's breath caught; her lids fell as she swayed toward him. Devil supported her against his chest, his hand still at her breast, gently kneading. She shifted restlessly, turning so he could reach her back. "The laces are hidden beneath the lace."

Devil grinned and set to work, one hand caressing first one breast then the other, lips trailing kisses along the side of her throat. When the last knotted lace fell free and the gown, with his help, slithered to the floor, Honoria was soft and supple in his arms, arching back against him. He loved her like this, soft and womanly, abandoned but knowingly so-later, she'd be even more abandoned, but by then she would be beyond knowing anything other than the fever singing in her veins. Reaching around her, he filled both hands with her breasts, covered by a single layer of filmy silk-a low murmur of appreciation escaped her. When he rubbed the niched peaks between thumb and forefinger, she shifted her hips suggestively against him.

"Not yet," he murmured. "Tonight should be an experience you'll never forget."

"Oh?" The single syllable was breathless. She turned and, twining her arms about his neck, pressed herself against him. "What are you intending to do?"

He smiled, slowly. "Extend your horizons."

She tried to look haughty, but only succeeded in looking fascinated. Devil stepped back, shrugging out of his coat and waistcoat. He let them fall and reached for her. She came into his arms like the siren she was-the siren he'd spent the past weeks releasing from the shackles of convention. She was still wildly innocent in so many ways, yet whatever he taught her she mastered with a wholehearted enthusiasm that sometimes left him weak. From where he now stood, his view colored by experience, the years ahead looked rosy indeed.

He was looking forward to every one of them. Right now, he was looking forward to tonight.

Her lips were open under his, her tongue twining, inciting, enticing. She stretched against him, on her toes, her body shielded only by her fine chemise. Letting desire have its way, he molded her to him, allowing his hands to know her curves again. When he slipped his palms under the back of her chemise, her skin was dewed.

Two heated minutes later, the chemise floated to the ground to puddle, ignored, in the moonlight.

Devil deepened their kiss-Honoria met him, urging and urgent. Her hands slipped from his nape and started to roam, splaying across his chest, then searching through the folds of his shirt to knead the muscles of his back, then firming about his waist, his hips, dropping lower.

Abruptly, Devil shifted, capturing her hands, forcing them to her back, locking them there in one of his. Their kiss unbroken, he drew her hard against him, letting her feel his strength, letting her know the seductive quality of her own vulnerability. He bent her back slightly, over the arm at her waist, her hips pressed hard to his. She moaned, the sound trapped in their kiss, and wriggled-not to win free but to get closer.

The restless shifting of her hips against him was more than he could stand. Breaking their kiss, he scooped her up and deposited her on the silk sheets. She stretched, her eyes on him, her hands questing.

Quickly he drew back, out of her reach. "If you love me, keep your hands to yourself." He'd fantasized about tonight for the past week; if he let her enthusiasm get the better of him-as it had on more than one occasion-he would have no chance of converting fantasy to reality.

Stretching luxuriously, draping her arms above her head, Honoria fixed him with a sultry gaze. "I only want to touch you." She watched as he stripped off his cravat. "You liked it last night."

"Tonight is going to be different."

His eyes left her only momentarily as he pulled off his shirt. Honoria smiled, shifting seductively under the heat of his gaze, relishing the sense of power his fascination with her naked form gave her. He'd made it very plain that he liked seeing her naked, totally nude, without any hint of modesty. Being that naked had been difficult at first, but familiarity and his abiding obsession had built her confidence so that now, being wantonly, wickedly naked with him seemed natural-how it should be-at least between them.

"How?" she inquired, as he sat on the bed to remove his boots.

He flicked her a glance, his gaze sliding over her breasts, then down over her stomach and thighs. "Tonight it's going to be my pleasure to lavish pleasure upon you."

Honoria eyed him consideringly. He could make her scream-scream and moan and sob with pleasure. She was the novice-he the master. "Just what are you planning?"

He grinned and stood, unbuttoning his trousers. "You'll see-or rather," he amended, his voice deepening, "you'll feel."

The anticipation simmering in her veins abruptly heightened; Honoria's nerves flickered. That familar tension had hold of her again, a sweet vise locking tight. A second later, as naked as she, he came onto the bed in a prowling crawl. Elementally male, fully aroused, on hands and knees he straddled her, then lowered his body to hers.

Honoria's breath fled. Eyes wide, she studied his, glittering in the weak light. Then his lids fell and he lowered his head; his lips found hers.

His searching kiss reached deep-deep to where her wanton self dwelled. He called her forth and she came, eagerly seeking his pleasure. She opened to him, enticing him in, her body softening beneath his; she murmured his name and shifted beneath him, but he made no move to claim her. His hands locked about hers, one on either side of her head; as the kiss went on, her skin burned for his touch. Driven, she arched beneath him but his weight held her trapped; his legs outside hers, he held her immobile, granting her no relief from the heat building between them.

Then his lips left hers, trailing hot kisses down the column of her throat. Panting, Honoria pressed her head back into the pillows, eager for much more. He shifted and his lips traced her collarbone, then returned by way of her shoulder and upper breast. He repeated the maneuver, this time following the curve of her arm to her elbow, then on to her wrist, eventually ending with her fingertips.