The horseman's gaze traveled rapidly over her-one comprehensive glance-then, lips curving in a subtle smile, he looked at Devil. "I take it you don't need rescuing?"

Voice and manner confirmed their relationship beyond question.

"Not rescuing-there's been an accident. Come inside."

The horseman's gaze sharpened; Honoria could have sworn some unspoken communication passed between him and Devil. Without another word, the horseman swung down from his saddle.

Revealing his companion, still atop his horse. An older man with pale thinning hair, he was heavily built, his face round, his features more fleshy than the aquiline planes of the other two men. He, too, met Devil's eye, then he hauled in a breath and dismounted. "Who are they?" Honoria whispered, as the first man, having secured his horse, started toward them.

"Two other cousins. The one approaching is Vane. At least, that's what we call him. The other is Charles. Tolly's brother."

"Brother?" Honoria juggled the image of the heavyset man against that of the dead youth.

"Half brother," Devil amended. Grasping her elbow, he stepped out of the cottage, drawing her with him.

It had been some time since anyone had physically compelled Honoria to do anything-it was certainly the first time any man had dared. His sheer presumption left her speechless; his sheer power rendered noncompliance impossible. Her heart, having finally slowed after the jolt he'd given it by kissing her fingers, started racing again.

Five paces from the door, he halted and, releasing her, faced her. "Wait over there-you can sit on that log. This might take a while."

For one pregnant instant, Honoria hovered on the brink of open rebellion. There was something implacable behind the crystal green, something that issued commands in the absolute certainty of being obeyed. She ached to challenge it, to challenge him, to take exception to his peremptory dictates. But she knew what he faced in the cottage.

Lips compressed, she inclined her head. "Very well."

She turned, skirts swirling; Devil watched as she started toward the log, set on stumps to one side of the clearing. Then she paused; without looking back, she inclined her head again. "Your Grace."

His gaze fixed on her swaying hips, Devil watched as she continued on her way. His interest in her had just dramatically increased; no woman before had so much as thought of throwing his commands-he knew perfectly well they were autocratic-back in his teeth. She'd not only thought of it-she'd nearly done it. If it hadn't been for Tolly's body in the cottage, she would have.

She reached the log. Satisfied, Devil turned; Vane was waiting at the cottage door.

"What?"

Devil's face hardened. "Tolly's dead. Shot."

Vane stilled, his eyes fixed on Devil's. "Who by?"

"That," Devil said softly, glancing at Charles as he neared, "I don't yet know. Come inside."

They stopped in a semicircle at the foot of the rude pallet, looking down on Tolly's body. Vane had been Devil's lieutenant at Waterloo; Charles had served as an adjutant. They'd seen death many times; familiarity didn't soften the blow. In a voice devoid of emotion, Devil recounted all he knew. He related Tolly's last words; Charles, his expression blank, hung on every syllable. Then came a long silence; in the bright light spilling through the open door, Tolly's corpse looked even more obscenely wrong than it had the night before.

"My God. Tolly!" Charles's words were broken. His features crumpled. Covering his face with one hand, he sank to the edge of the pallet.

Devil clenched his jaw, his fists. Death no longer possessed the power to shock him. Grief remained, but that he would handle privately. He was the head of his family-his first duty was to lead. They'd expect it of him-he expected it of himself. And he had Honoria Prudence to protect.

The thought anchored him, helping him pull free of the vortex of grief that dragged at his mind. He hauled in a deep breath, then quietly stepped back, retreating to the clear space before the hearth.

A few minutes later, Vane joined him; he glanced through the open door. "She found him?"

Devil nodded. "Thankfully, she's not the hysterical sort." They spoke quietly, their tones subdued. Glancing at the bed, Devil frowned. "What's Charles doing here?"

"He was at the Place when I arrived. Says he chased Tolly up here over some business matter. He called at Tolly's rooms-Old Mick told him Tolly had left for here."

Devil grimaced. "I suppose it's as well that he's here."

Vane was studying his bare chest. "Where's your shirt?"

"It's the bandage." After a moment, Devil sighed and straightened. "I'll take Miss Anstruther-Wetherby to the Place and send a cart."

"And I'll stay and watch over the body." A fleeting smile touched Vane's lips. "You always get the best roles."

Devil's answering smile was equally brief. "This one comes with a ball and chain."

Vane's eyes locked on his. "You're serious?"

"Never more so." Devil glanced at the pallet. "Keep an eye on Charles."

Vane nodded.

The sunshine outside nearly blinded him. Devil blinked and squinted at the log. It was empty. He cursed and looked again-a terrible thought occurred. What if she'd tried to take Sulieman?

His reaction was instantaneous-the rush of blood, the sudden pounding of his heart. His muscles had already tensed to send him racing to the stable when a flicker of movement caught his eye.

She hadn't gone to the stable. Eyes adjusting to the glare, Devil watched her pace back and forth, a few steps to the side of the log. Her dun-colored gown had blended with the boles of the trees, momentarily camouflaging her. His panic subsiding, he focused his gaze.

Honoria felt it-she looked up and saw him, bare-chested still, the very image of a buccaneer, watching her, unmoving, irritation in every line. Their gazes locked-a second later, she broke the contact. Nose in the air, she stepped gracefully to her right-and sat primly on the log.

He waited, sharp green gaze steady, then, apparently satisfied that she'd remain where she'd been put, he headed for the stable.

Honoria ground her teeth, and told herself that he didn't matter. He was an expert in manipulation-and in intimidation-but why should that bother her? She would go to this Place of his, wait for her boxes, and then be on her way. She could spend the time meeting the Dowager Duchess.

At least she'd solved one part of the mystery plaguing her-she'd met her elusive duke. The image she'd carried for the past three days-the image Lady Claypole had painted-of a mild, unassuming, reclusive peer, rose in her mind. The image didn't fit the reality-the duke called 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…?"

Unloosing 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?"

"Somersham 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?"

"You'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.

"Vane'll bring it."

"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.