Devil's Bride by Stephanie Laurens Page A

Devil was not mild or unassuming. He was a first-class tyrant. And as for Lady Claypole’s claim that he was caught in her coils, her ladyship was dreaming.
    But at least she’d met her duke, even if she had yet to learn his name. She was, however, having increasing difficulty believing that the notion of introducing himself had not, at some point in the past fifteen hours, passed through his mind. Which was a thought to ponder.
    Honoria wriggled, ruing the loss of her petticoat. The log was rough and wrinkly; it was making painful indentations in her flesh. She could see the stable entrance; from the shifting shadows, she surmised Devil was saddling his demon horse. Presumably he would ride to the Place and send conveyances for her and his cousin’s body.
    With the end of her unexpected adventure in sight, she allowed herself a moment’s reflection. Somewhat to her surprise, it was filled with thoughts of Devil. He was overbearing, arrogant, domineering—the list went on. And on. But he was also strikingly handsome, could be charming when he wished and, she suspected, possessed a suitably devilish sense of humor. She’d seen enough of the duke to accord him her respect and enough of the man to feel an empathetic tug. Nevertheless, she had no desire to spend overmuch time in the company of a tyrant called Devil. Gentlemen such as he were all very well—as long as they weren’t related to you and kept a respectful distance.
    She’d reached that firm conclusion when he reappeared, leading Sulieman. The stallion was skittish, the man somber. Honoria stood as he neared.
    Stopping in front of her, he halted Sulieman beside him; with the log immediately behind her, Honoria couldn’t step back. Before she could execute a sideways sidle, Devil looped the reins about one fist—and reached for her.
    By the time she realized his intention, she was perched precariously sidesaddle on Sulieman’s back. She gasped, and locked her hands about the pommel. “What on earth . . . ?” Unlooping the reins, Devil threw her an impatient frown. “I’m taking you home.” Honoria blinked—he had a way with words she wasn’t sure she appreciated. “You’re taking me to your home—the Place?”
    â€œSomersham Place.” The reins free, Devil reached for the pommel. With Honoria riding before him, he wasn’t intending to use the stirrups.
    Honoria’s eyes widened. “ Wait! ”
    The look Devil cast her could only be achieved by an impatient man. “What?”
    â€œYou’ve forgotten your jacket—it’s in the cottage.” Honoria fought to contain her panic, occasioned by the thought of his chest—bare—pressed against her back. Even within a foot of her back. Within a foot of any of her.
    â€œVane’ll bring it.”
    â€œ No! Well—whoever heard of a duke riding about the countryside bare-chested? You might catch cold—I mean . . .” Aghast, Honoria realized she was looking into pale green eyes that saw far more than she’d thought.
    Devil held her gaze steadily. “Get used to it,” he advised. Then he vaulted into the saddle behind her.

Chapter 4

    T he only benefit Honoria could discover in her position on Sulieman’s back was that her tormentor, behind her, could not see her face. Unfortunately, he could see the blush staining not only her cheeks but her neck. He could also feel the rigidity that had gripped her—hardly surprising—the instant he’d landed in the saddle behind her, he’d wrapped a muscled arm about her and pulled her against him.
    She’d shut her eyes the instant he’d touched her; panic had cut off her shriek. For the first time in her life she thought she might actually faint. The steely strength surrounding her was overwhelming; by the time she subdued her flaring reactions and could function rationally again, they were turning