Devil's Bride Read Online Free PDF Page B

wonderful match, just to show Grandfather no one else shared his antiquated notions.”
    â€œBut your parents were killed before you were brought out?”
    Honoria nodded. “Lady Harwell, an old friend of Mama’s, had a daughter two years younger than I. After putting off black gloves, I broached my idea to her—I thought with my background, my preparation, I could teach other girls how to go on. Lady Harwell agreed to a trial. After I finished coaching Miranda, she landed an earl. After that, of course, I never wanted for positions.”
    â€œThe matchmaking mama’s delight.” An undercurrent of cynicism had crept into the deep voice. “And who are you coaching around Somersham?”
    The question returned Honoria to reality with a thump. “Melissa Claypole.”
    Her rescuer frowned. “Is she the dark one or the fair one?”
    â€œThe fair one.” Propping her chin in her hand, Honoria gazed into the flames. “An insipid miss with no conversation—God knows how I’m supposed to render her attractive. I was booked to go to Lady Oxley but her six-year old caught chicken pox, and then old Lady Oxley died. I’d declined all my other offers by then, but the Claypoles’ letter arrived late, and I hadn’t yet replied. So I accepted without doing my usual checks.”
    â€œChecks?”
    â€œI don’t work for just anyone.” Stifling a yawn, Honoria settled more comfortably. “I make sure the family is good ton , well connected enough to get the right invitations and sufficiently beforehand not to make a fuss over the milliner’s bills.”
    â€œNot to mention those from the modistes.”
    â€œPrecisely. Well”—she gestured briefly—“no girl is going to snare a duke if she dresses like a dowd.”
    â€œIndubitably. Am I to understand the Claypoles fail to meet your stringent requirements?”
    Honoria frowned. “I’ve only been with them since Sun-day, but I’ve a nasty suspicion . . .” She let her words trail away, then shrugged. “Luckily, it appears Melissa is all but spoken for—by a duke, no less.”
    A pause followed, then her rescuer prompted: “A duke?”
    â€œSo it seems. If you live about here you must know of him—sober, reserved, rather reclusive, I think. Already tangled in Lady Claypole’s web, if her ladyship speaks true.” Recollecting her burning question, Honoria twisted around. “Do you know him?”
    Clear green eyes blinked back at her; slowly, her rescuer shook his head. “I can’t say I’ve had the pleasure.”
    â€œHumph!” Honoria sank back in her chair. “I’m beginning to think he’s a hermit. Are you sure—”
    But he was no longer listening to her. Then she heard what had caught his attention—the rattly breathing of the wounded youth. The next instant, he was striding back to the bed. He sat on the edge, taking one of the youth’s hands in his. From the chair, Honoria listened as the youth’s breathing grew more ragged, more rasping.
    Fifteen painful minutes later, the dry rattle ceased.
    An unearthly silence filled the cottage; even the storm was still. Honoria closed her eyes and silently uttered a prayer. Then the wind rose, mournfully keening, nature’s chant for the dead.
    Opening her eyes, Honoria watched as Devil laid his cousin’s hands across his chest. Then he sat on the pallet’s edge, eyes fixed on the pale features that would not move again. He was seeing his cousin alive and well, laughing, talking. Honoria knew how the mind dealt with death. Her heart twisted, but there was nothing she could do. Sinking back in the chair, she left him to his memories.
    She must have dozed off. When next she opened her eyes, he was crouched before the hearth. The candle had guttered; the only light in the room was that thrown by the flames. Half-asleep, she