behind."
The temptation was too great—Honoria lifted an
arrogant brow. "I thought Cynsters were invincible."
His smile flashed. "The trick is not to expose
oneself unnecessarily to the enemy's fire."
Struck by the force of that fleeting smile, Honoria
blinked—and abruptly faced forward. There was, after all, no reason she should
face
him
unnecessarily either. Then she realized she'd been
distracted. "I hate to destroy your defense, but I'll be gone in a few
days."
"I hesitate to contradict you," came in a
purring murmur just above her left ear, "but we're getting married. You
are, therefore, not going anywhere."
Honoria gritted her teeth against the shivery tingles
that coursed down her spine. Turning her head, she looked directly into his
mesmerizing eyes. "You only said that to spike Lady Claypole's guns."
When he didn't respond, just met her gaze levelly, she looked forward,
shrugging haughtily. "You're no gentleman to tease me so."
The silence that followed was precisely gauged to
stretch her nerves taut. She knew that when he spoke, his voice deep, low,
velvet dark. "I never tease—at least not verbally. And I'm not a
gentleman, I'm a nobleman, a distinction I suspect you understand very
well."
Honoria knew what she was meant to understand—her
insides were quaking in a thoroughly distracting way—but she was not about to
surrender. "I am not marrying you."
"If you think that, my dear Miss
Anstruther-Wetherby, I fear you've overlooked a number of pertinent
points."
"Such as?"
"Such as the past night, which we spent under the
same roof, in the same room, unchaperoned."
"Except by a dead man, your cousin, who everyone
must know you were fond of. With his body laid out upon the bed, no one will
imagine anything untoward occurred." Convinced she'd played a winning
card, Honoria wasn't surprised by the silence which followed.
They emerged from the trees into the brightness of a
late-summer morning. It was early; the crisp chill of the night had yet to
fade. The track followed a water-filled ditch. Ahead, a line of gnarled trees
lay across their path.
"I had intended to ask you not to mention how we
found Tolly. Except, of course, to the family and the magistrate."
Honoria frowned. "What do you mean?"
"I'd rather it was thought that we found him this
morning, already dead."
Honoria pursed her lips, and saw her defense
evaporate. But she could hardly deny the request, particularly as it really
mattered not at all. "Very well. But why?"
"The sensationalism will be bad enough when it
becomes known he was killed by a highwayman. I'd rather spare my aunt, and you,
as much of the consequent questioning as possible. If it's known he lived
afterward and we found him before he died, you'll be subjected to an
inquisition every time you appear in public."
She could hardly deny it—the
ton
thrived on
speculation. "Why can't we say he was already dead when we found him
yesterday?"
"Because if we do, it's rather difficult to
explain why I didn't simply leave you with the body and ride home, relieving
you of my dangerous presence."
"Given you appear impervious to the elements, why
didn't you leave after he died?"
"It was too late by then."
Because the damage to her reputation had already been
done? Honoria swallowed an impatient humph. Between the trees, she could see a
stone wall, presumably enclosing the park. Beyond, she glimpsed a large house,
the roof and the highest windows visible above tall hedges. "Anyway,"
she stated, "on one point Lady Claypole was entirely correct—there's no
need for any great fuss."
"Oh?"
"It's a simple matter—as Lady Claypole will not
give me a recommendation, perhaps your mother could do so?"
"I think that's unlikely."
"Why?" Honoria twisted around. "She'll
know who I am just as you did."
Pale green eyes met hers. "That's why."
She wished narrowing her eyes at him had some
effect—she tried it anyway. "In the circumstances, I would have thought
your mother would do all
The temptation was too great—Honoria lifted an
arrogant brow. "I thought Cynsters were invincible."
His smile flashed. "The trick is not to expose
oneself unnecessarily to the enemy's fire."
Struck by the force of that fleeting smile, Honoria
blinked—and abruptly faced forward. There was, after all, no reason she should
face
him
unnecessarily either. Then she realized she'd been
distracted. "I hate to destroy your defense, but I'll be gone in a few
days."
"I hesitate to contradict you," came in a
purring murmur just above her left ear, "but we're getting married. You
are, therefore, not going anywhere."
Honoria gritted her teeth against the shivery tingles
that coursed down her spine. Turning her head, she looked directly into his
mesmerizing eyes. "You only said that to spike Lady Claypole's guns."
When he didn't respond, just met her gaze levelly, she looked forward,
shrugging haughtily. "You're no gentleman to tease me so."
The silence that followed was precisely gauged to
stretch her nerves taut. She knew that when he spoke, his voice deep, low,
velvet dark. "I never tease—at least not verbally. And I'm not a
gentleman, I'm a nobleman, a distinction I suspect you understand very
well."
Honoria knew what she was meant to understand—her
insides were quaking in a thoroughly distracting way—but she was not about to
surrender. "I am not marrying you."
"If you think that, my dear Miss
Anstruther-Wetherby, I fear you've overlooked a number of pertinent
points."
"Such as?"
"Such as the past night, which we spent under the
same roof, in the same room, unchaperoned."
"Except by a dead man, your cousin, who everyone
must know you were fond of. With his body laid out upon the bed, no one will
imagine anything untoward occurred." Convinced she'd played a winning
card, Honoria wasn't surprised by the silence which followed.
They emerged from the trees into the brightness of a
late-summer morning. It was early; the crisp chill of the night had yet to
fade. The track followed a water-filled ditch. Ahead, a line of gnarled trees
lay across their path.
"I had intended to ask you not to mention how we
found Tolly. Except, of course, to the family and the magistrate."
Honoria frowned. "What do you mean?"
"I'd rather it was thought that we found him this
morning, already dead."
Honoria pursed her lips, and saw her defense
evaporate. But she could hardly deny the request, particularly as it really
mattered not at all. "Very well. But why?"
"The sensationalism will be bad enough when it
becomes known he was killed by a highwayman. I'd rather spare my aunt, and you,
as much of the consequent questioning as possible. If it's known he lived
afterward and we found him before he died, you'll be subjected to an
inquisition every time you appear in public."
She could hardly deny it—the
ton
thrived on
speculation. "Why can't we say he was already dead when we found him
yesterday?"
"Because if we do, it's rather difficult to
explain why I didn't simply leave you with the body and ride home, relieving
you of my dangerous presence."
"Given you appear impervious to the elements, why
didn't you leave after he died?"
"It was too late by then."
Because the damage to her reputation had already been
done? Honoria swallowed an impatient humph. Between the trees, she could see a
stone wall, presumably enclosing the park. Beyond, she glimpsed a large house,
the roof and the highest windows visible above tall hedges. "Anyway,"
she stated, "on one point Lady Claypole was entirely correct—there's no
need for any great fuss."
"Oh?"
"It's a simple matter—as Lady Claypole will not
give me a recommendation, perhaps your mother could do so?"
"I think that's unlikely."
"Why?" Honoria twisted around. "She'll
know who I am just as you did."
Pale green eyes met hers. "That's why."
She wished narrowing her eyes at him had some
effect—she tried it anyway. "In the circumstances, I would have thought
your mother would do all
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