"I'll take care of Keenan-there's a widow in the village who's quite keen to have him as a boarder."

"Right." Richard shrugged out of his coat. "We'll have to bring the roof down and push the walls in to make sure it burns well enough."

"We'd better get started." Gabriel glanced at the sky. "We'll need to make sure the fire's out before we leave." Honoria watched as they stripped off coats, waistcoats, and shirts, Devil and Vane included. Richard and Gabriel unearthed axes from the stable; Harry and Lucifer led the horses away, taking Charles's hired chestnut with them.

"Turn him loose in the fields closest to the Cambridge Road," Devil called after them. Harry nodded. "I'll do it this evening." Moments later, the sound of axes biting into seasoned timber filled the clearing. Devil and Vane each took one of Charles's hands; they dragged his body into the cottage. Honoria followed. From the threshold, she watched as they manhandled Charles onto the bare pallet on which Tolly had died.

"Most appropriate." Vane dusted his hands. Honoria stepped back-a woodchip went flying past her face.

"What The-!" Richard, axe in hand, glared at her, then raised his head. "Devil!"

He didn't need to explain what the problem was. Devil materialized and frowned at Honoria. "What the devil are you doing here? Sit down." He pointed to the log across the clearing-the same log he'd made her sit on six months before. "Over there-safe out of the way."

Six months had seen a lot of changes. Honoria stood her ground. She looked past his bare chest and saw Vane, with one blow, smash a rickety stool to pieces. "What are you doing with the furniture?"

Devil sighed. "We're going to bring this place down about Charles's body-we need lots of fuel so the fire burns hot enough to act as his pyre."

"But-" Honoria stepped back and looked at the cottage, at the wide half logs of the walls, the thick beams beneath the eaves. "You've got plenty of wood-you don't need to use Keenan's furniture."

"Honoria, the furniture's mine."

"How do you know he isn't attached to it by now?" Stubbornly, she held his gaze.

Devil pressed his lips together.

Honoria's chin firmed. "It'll take two minutes to carry it out. We can use the blankets to cover it, then Keenan can take it away later."

Devil threw up his hands and turned back into the cottage. "All right, all right-but we'll have to hurry."

Vane simply stared when Devil explained. He shook his head, but didn't argue. He and Devil shifted the heavier pieces; Honoria gathered the smaller items into baskets and pails. Harry and Lucifer returned-and couldn't believe their eyes. Honoria promptly conscripted Lucifer; Harry escaped on the pretext of fetching Devil's and Vane's horses and taking them upwind of the cottage.

While Richard and Gabriel weakened the joints, the pile of Keenan's possessions grew. Finally, Harry, whom Honoria had collared and sent to clear out the stable, came back with an old oilcloth and dusty lamp. He put the lamp on the pile, then flicked the oilcloth over the whole.

"There! Done." He looked at Honoria, not in challenge, not in irritation, but in hope. "Now you can sit down. Out of the way."

Before she could reply, Lucifer pulled the big carved chair out from under the oilcloth, picked up the tasseled cushion, and plumped it. Coughing furiously, he dropped it back down and made her a weak but extravagant bow. "Your chair, madam. Please be seated."

What could she say?

Her slight hesitation was too much for Gabriel, strolling up to hand his axe to his brother. "For God's sake, Honoria, sit down-before you drive us all demented."

Honoria favored him with a haughty stare, then, sweeping regally about, she sat. She could almost hear their sighs.

They ignored her thereafter, as long as she stayed in the chair. When she stood and strolled a few paces, just to stretch her legs, she was immediately assailed by frowning glances-until she sat down again.

Swiftly, efficiently, they pulled the cottage down. Honoria watched from her regal perch-the acreage of tanned male chests, all gleaming with honest sweat, muscles bunching and rippling as they strove with beams and rafters, was eye-opening, to say the least. She was intrigued to discover that her susceptibility to the sight was severely restricted.

Only her husband's bare chest affected her-that particular sight still held the power to transfix her, to make her mouth go suddenly dry. One thing that hadn't changed in six months.

Between them, little else was the same. The child growing within her would take the changes one stage further-the start of their branch of the family. The first of the next generation.

Devil came over once they'd got the fire started. Honoria looked up, smiling through her tears. "Just the smoke," she said, in reply to his look.

With a sudden "swhoosh," the flames broke through the collapsed roof. Honoria stood; Devil put the carved chair back under the oilcloth, then took her hand. "Time to go home."

Honoria let him lead her away. Richard and Lucifer remained to ensure the fire burned out. Harry rode off, Charles's hired horse in charge. The rest of them made their way back through the wood, riding through the lengthening shadows. In front of Devil, Honoria leaned back against his chest, and closed her eyes. They were safe-and they were heading home.

Hours later, chin-deep in the ducal bath, soothed by scented steam, Honoria heard sudden mouselike rustlings.

Cracking open her eyes, she saw Cassie scurry out, closing the door behind her.

She would have frowned, but it was too much effort. Minutes later, the mystery was solved. Devil climbed into the bath. It was more than big enough for both of them-he'd had it specially designed.

"Aarrghhh." Sinking into the water, Devil closed his eyes and leaned back against the bath's edge.

Honoria studied him-and saw the tiredness, the deep world-weariness, the last days had etched in his face. "It had to be," she murmured.

He sighed. "I know. But he was family. I'd rather the script had been otherwise."

"You did what had to be done. If Charles's deeds ever became known, Arthur's life, and Louise's, would be ruined, let alone Simon, the twins and the rest-the whispers would follow them all their lives. Society's never fair." She spoke quietly, letting the truth carry its own weight, its inherent reassurance. "This way, I presume Charles will simply disappear?"

"Inexplicably." After a moment, Devil added: "Vane will wait a few days, then sort out Smiggs-the family as a whole will be mystified. Charles's disappearance will become an unsolved mystery. His soul can find what peace it can, buried in the woods where Tolly died."

Honoria frowned. "We'll have to tell Arthur and Louise the truth."

"Hmm." Devil's eyes gleamed from beneath his lashes. "Later." Lifting his arm, he reached for the soap, then held it out to Honoria.

Opening her eyes, she blinked, then took it. Softly smiling, she came up onto her knees between his bent legs. This ranked as one of her favorite pastimes-soaping his chest, washing his magnificent body. Quickly raising a lather in the crisp mat of hair on his chest, she splayed her hands, caressing each heavy muscle band, lovingly sculpting each shoulder, each arm.

I love you, I love you. The refrain sang in her head; she let her hands say the words, give voice to the music, infusing every touch, every caress, with her love. His hands rose in answer, roaming her curves, unhurriedly possessing every one, orchestrating an accompaniment to her song.

She'd only let him use the soap on her once; the room had ended up completely flooded. To her abiding delight, his control was stronger than hers.

One large palm splayed over her gently rounded belly. Looking up, Honoria caught the gleam of green eyes beneath his lashes; she frowned. "You knew."

One brow lifted in his usual arrogant way; his lips slowly curved. "I was waiting for you to tell me."

She raised her brows haughtily. "Tomorrow's St. Valentine's Day-I'll tell you then."

He grinned-his pirate's grin. "We'll have to devise a suitable ceremony."

Honoria caught his eye-and struggled not to grin back. She humphed and clambered over one rock-hard thigh. "Turn around."

She soaped his back, then lathered his hair and made him duck to rinse it. She'd returned to sit before him, between his thighs, her back to him, soaping one long leg, when Devil leaned forward, his arms closing around her. He nuzzled her ear. "Are you sure you're all right?"

"I'm perfectly well, and so's your son. Stop worrying." "Me stop worrying?" He snorted. "That's a fine thing coming from you."

Dropping his leg, Honoria smiled and leaned back, luxuriating in the feel of the warm, hard, wet wall of his chest against her shoulders and back. "Oh, I've given up worrying about you."

Devil gave vent to an excessively skeptical sound. "Well-just consider." Honoria gestured with the soap. "In recent times alone, you've been thrown from a disintegrating phaeton, poisoned, attacked with swords, and now shot through the heart. And you're still here." Dramatically, she spread her arms wide. "In the face of such trenchant invincibility, it's obviously wasted effort to worry about you. Fate, as I've been told often enough, quite clearly takes care of the Cynsters."

Behind her, Devil grinned. She would stop worrying about him on the same day he stopped worrying about her. Closing his hands about her waist, he rifted her, drawing her hips back against him. "I told you you were fated to be a Cynster wife-an invincible husband was obviously required." He underscored his emphasis by nudging the softness between her thighs, his erection sinking a tantalizing inch into that familiar haven.

Dropping the soap over the edge of the tub, Honoria arched-and drew him deeper. "I warn you, the staff are going to start wondering if we have to paint the downstairs ceiling again."

"Is that a challenge?"

She grinned. "Yes."

He chuckled, the sound so deep she felt it in her bones.

"Not a single splash," she warned him.

"Your desire is my command."

It was; he rose to her challenge-in every way-rocking her in the cradle of his hips until she thought she'd go mad. His hands roamed, fondling her swollen breasts, teasing her aching nipples. The slight ripples caused by their movement lapped at the sensitive peaks, a subtle, thoroughly excruciating sensation. Sweet fever blossomed, heating her skin, making the cooling water seem colder, impressing her with her own nakedness, sensitizing her skin to the crisp abrasion of his hair-dusted body rubbing so intimately against her.

Steadily, the fever built; Honoria shifted her knees to the outside of his. She tried to rise higher-he held her down, his hands firming about her hips. "No splashing-remember?"

She could only gasp as he pulled her lower, his hot hardness pressing deeper. Three restricted yet forceful thrusts later her fever exploded. She gasped his name as her senses soared; eyes shut, she savored the flight, hung briefly in the selfless void at the peak, then drifted gently back to earth.

He hadn't joined her; his arms came around her, holding her safe as her senses returned. Blissfully content, Honoria smiled and inwardly embraced him as possessively as he embraced her. He hadn't said he loved her, but after all that had happened, she didn't need to hear the words. He'd said enough, and, like any Cynster, his actions spoke loudest.

She was his; he was hers-she needed nothing more. What had grown between them, what was growing within her, was theirs-their life from now on. As her mental feet touched earth, she concentrated and caressed him, expertly, intimately-encouragingly.

And felt his muscles lock. Abruptly, he lifted her from him; the next instant, he stood and scooped her into his arms. As he stepped from the bath and headed for their bedroom, Honoria's eyes flew wide. "We're still wet!"

"We'll dry fast enough," replied her thoroughly aroused spouse.

They did, rolling, twisting, tangling amidst their silken sheets in a glorious affirmation of life, and the love they shared. Later, as he lay flat on his back, Honoria slumped fast asleep on his chest, Devil's lips quirked. True Cynsters-all the male ones-died in their beds. Stifling a chuckle, he peered down at his wife. He couldn't see her face. Gently, he shifted her to the side, settling her against him; she snuggled closer, her hand sliding across his chest. He touched his lips to her temple, and closed his arms about her.