His teeth flashed in his pirate's smile. "You've yet to experience my powers of persuasion."

Honoria shrugged; nose in the air, she shifted her gaze beyond his shoulder. "You may persuade away-I won't be marrying, you or anyone."

Again, silence was his ally, slowly stretching her nerves taut. She nearly jumped when hard fingertips slid beneath her chin, turning her face back to him.

Even in the dark she could sense the piercing quality of his gaze, feel its potency. "Women have been known, on occasion, to change their minds." He spoke slowly, softly, his tones deep and purring. "How much of a woman are you, Honoria Prudence?"

Honoria felt her eyes widen. His fingertips slid across the sensitive skin beneath her chin; sharp slivers of sensation shivered through her. Her lungs had seized; it took considerable effort to lift her chin free of his touch. Haughtily, she stated: "I'm too wise to play with fire, Your Grace."

"Indeed?" His lips curved. "I thought you wanted excitement in your life?"

"On my terms."

"In that case, my dear, we'll have to negotiate."

"Indeed?" Honoria tried for airy nonchalance. "Why so?"

"Because you're shortly to become my duchess-that's why."

The glance she bent on him held every ounce of exasperation she could summon, then, with a swish of her skirts, she turned and stepped out of his shadow, following the balustrade. "I've warned you-don't later say I haven't. I am not going to marry you at the end of three months." She paused, then, head rising; eyes widening, she swung back and waved a finger at him. "And I am not a challenge-don't you dare view me as such."

His laughter was that of a pirate-a buccaneer, a swash buckling rogue who should have been safely on a deck in the middle of some ocean-nowhere near her. The sound, deep, rolling, and far too sure, held a threat and a promise; it enveloped her, caught her up, and held her-then he was there, before her once more.

"You are challenge personified, Honoria Prudence."

"You are riding for a fall, Your Grace."

"I'll be riding you before Christmas."

The deliberate reference shocked Honoria, but she wasn't about to let it show. Keeping her chin high, she narrowed her eyes. "You aren't, by any chance, imagining you're going to seduce me into marriage?"

One arrogant black brow rose. "The thought had crossed my mind."

"Well it won't work." When his second brow joined the first, Honoria smiled, supremely confident. "I cut my eye-teeth long ago-I know perfectly well you won't press me while I'm residing under your roof, in your mother's care."

For a long moment, he held her gaze. Then he asked: "How much do you know of seduction?"

It was Honoria's turn to raise her brows. Taking another step along the terrace, she shrugged lightly. "You won't be the first to try it."

"Possibly not, but I'll be the first to succeed."

Honoria sighed. "You won't, you know." Glancing up, she saw him frown. She narrowed her eyes. "Succeed, I mean." The frown disappeared. He paced slowly beside her as she strolled the flags. "I know you won't force me-I'll simply call your bluff."

She felt his glance; oddly, it was less intense, less disturbing than before. When he spoke, she detected faint amusement in his tone. "No force, no bluff." He met her gaze as she glanced up. "There's a lot you have to learn about seduction, Honoria Prudence, and this time, you'll be dealing with a master."

Honoria shook her head despairingly. Well, she'd warned him. He was so arrogantly confident it would do him good to be taken down a peg or two-to learn that not all things on this earth would meekly bow to his rule.

The evening reached chill fingers through her gown; she shivered.

Devil's hand on her arm halted her. "We should go in."

Honoria half turned-and found herself facing him. As she watched, his expression hardened; abruptly, he leaned closer. With a stifled shriek, she backed-into the balustrade. He set his hands on the stone parapet, one on either side of her, caging her between his arms.

Breathless, her heart racing, she blinked into his eyes, now level with hers. "You promised not to bite."

His expression was graven. "I haven't-yet." His eyes searched hers. "As you've been so ingenuously frank, the least I can do is return the favor-so that we understand each other fully." He held her gaze steadily; Honoria felt the full weight of his will. "I will not permit you to turn your back on who you are, on the destiny that was always intended to be yours. I will not let you turn yourself into a governessing drudge, nor an eccentric to titillate the ton.

Honoria's expression blanked.

Devil held her gaze ruthlessly. "You were born and bred to take a position at the head of the ton-that position now lies at your feet. You have three months to reconcile yourself to the reality. Don't imagine you can run from it."

Pale, inwardly quivering, Honoria wrenched her gaze from his. Turning, she yanked at his sleeve.

Letting go of the balustrade, Devil straightened, leaving her escape route clear. Honoria hesitated, then, her expression as stony as his, she turned and looked him straight in the eye. "You have no right to decree what my life is to be."

"I have every right." Devil's expression softened not at all; his gaze was mercilous. "You will be what you were meant to be-mine."

The emphasis he placed on that single word shook Honoria to her toes. Barely able to breathe, she walked quickly back to the drawing room, head high, skirts shushing furiously.

Chapter 10

Three days later, Devil stood at the library windows, his gaze, abstracted, fixed on the summerhouse. Behind him, open ledgers littered his desk; a pile of letters begged for attention. He had a lot of unfinished business on his plate.

No trace had been found of Tolly's killer, and the simple task of securing his bride was proving remarkably complicated. The latter was more bothersome than the former-he was sure they'd eventually track Tolly's murderer down. He was also unshakably convinced Honoria would be his bride-he was simply no longer so sanguine about what state he'd be in by the wedding.

She was driving him demented. What power had goaded him into declaring his hand so forcefully, there, on the terrace in the moonlight? It had been sheer madness to act the tyrant as he had-yet he could feel the same emotion, the urge to conquer, to seize, to hold, flaring even now, simply at the thought of her.

Luckily, her stubbornness, her defiance, her unquenchable pride had forbidden her to flee before his heavy-handed declaration. She'd let Michael depart alone. Now, with her nose in the air, wrapped in a cloak of chill civility, she held him at a distance.

After learning of her past, common sense suggested he at least reconsider. Common sense stood not a chance against the deep-seated conviction that she was his. Where she was concerned he felt like one of his conquering ancestors preparing to lay siege to a much-desired prize. Given what he now suspected, her surrender, when it came, would need to be proclaimed from the battlements.

He'd wondered how she'd reached a succulently ripe twenty-four still unwed. Even hidden away as a governess, not all men were blind. Some must have seen her and appreciated her worth. A determination on her part to remain a spinster, childless, could, in this case, explain the inexplicable. Her stubbornness was a tangible thing.

In this case, her stubbornness would need to surrender.

He wasn't going to let her go. Ever.

At least she couldn't later say that he hadn't warned her.

His gaze, still on the summerhouse, sharpened; Devil straightened and reached for the handle of the French doors.

Honoria saw him coming; her hand froze in midair, then she looked down and resumed her stitching. Devil climbed the steps two at a time; she looked up and met his gaze squarely. Slowly, she raised her brows.

He held her gaze, then glanced at the seat beside her.

She hesitated, then carefully gathered up her strewn silks. "Did your man learn anything in Chatteris?"

Devil stared at her.

Honoria laid the silks in her basket. "I saw him ride in."

Swallowing his irritation, Devil sat beside her, angling his shoulders so he faced her. "Nothing-no horseman came by way of Chatteris." Perhaps he should grow screening hedges about the summerhouse? She'd adopted it as her lair; he could see a number of pertinent advantages.

Honoria frowned. "So that's all the towns 'round about-and no gentleman hired a horse anywhere."

"Except for Charles, who came by way of Cambridge."

"Is there any other place-a tavern, or some such-where horses might be hired?"

"My people checked all the hedge-taverns within reach. Short of borrowing a horse, something we can't rule out, it seems likely the murderer rode away on his own horse."

"I thought you said that was unlikely?"

"Unlikely but not impossible."

"The storm came up shortly after. Wouldn't he have had to take shelter?"

"The others checked all the inns and taverns on their way back to London. No likely gentleman took refuge anywhere. Whoever shot Tolly was either exceedingly lucky or he covered his tracks exceptionally well."

"Riding his own horse, he could have come from anywhere, not just London. He might have been a hired assassin."