The planes of Devil’s face shifted; he caught her hand.
‘‘Come for a drive.’’
‘‘One more point . . .’’ Honoria held firm. She met the aggravation in his eyes, and tried not to feel the warmth, the seductive strength in the fingers and palm clasping hers.
‘‘Tolly’s murder.’’
Devil’s jaw firmed. ‘‘I will not let you involve yourself in the search for his killer.’’
Honoria met his gaze directly; again, she sensed their wills locking, this time without heat. ‘‘I wouldn’t need to actively search for clues if you told me what you and your cousins discover as soon as you discover it.’’ She’d exhausted all avenues open to her; she needed his cooperation to go on.
He frowned, then looked away; she’d started to wonder what he was thinking before he looked back. ‘‘I’ll agree on one condition.’’
Honoria raised her brows.
‘‘That you promise that under no circumstances whatever will you personally go searching for Tolly’s killer.’’
Honoria promptly nodded. Her ability to come up with any male felon was severely limited by the social code; her contribution to the investigation would have to be primarily deductive. ‘‘So what did Lucifer learn?’’
Devil’s lips thinned. ‘‘I can’t tell you.’’
Honoria stiffened.
‘‘No!’’ He squeezed her hand. ‘‘Don’t ripupat me—I said ‘can’t,’ not ‘won’t. ’ ’’
Honoria narrowed her eyes. ‘‘Why ‘can’t’?’’
Devil searched her face, then looked down at their linked hands. ‘‘Because what Lucifer learned casts a far from flat- tering light on one of the family, probably Tolly. Unfortu- nately, Lucifer’s information was rumor—we’ve yet to establish the facts.’’ He studied her slim digits entwined with his, then tightened his gripand looked up. ‘‘However, if Tolly was involved, then it suggests a possible scenario whereby someone—someone capable of the act or of pro- curing the same—might have wanted him dead.’’
Honoria noted the fastidiousness that had crept into his expression. ‘‘It’s something disreputable, isn’t it?’’ She thought of Louise Cynster.
Slowly, Devil nodded. ‘‘Exceedingly disreputable.’’
Honoria drew in a long breath—then gasped as a tug set her on course for the door.
‘‘You need some air,’’ Devil decreed. He shot her a glance, then admitted through clenched teeth: ‘‘So do I.’’
Towed in his wake, Honoria grinned. Her gown was too thin, but she could don her pelisse at the front door. She had won a host of concessions; she could afford to be magnan- imous. The day was fine; her heart was light. And her wolf had reached the end of his tether.
188
Chapter 13
nm
‘‘I
make it 334.’’ Honoria restacked the lists in her lap and started counting again.His gaze on her profile, Devil raised his brows. They were in the morning room, Honoria at one end of thechaisewhile he sprawled elegantly at the other; she was adding up the acceptances for the grand ball his aunt Horatia was to host in Berkeley Square the next night, to declare the family out of mourning. Smiling, Devil retrieved a list from the floor.
‘‘That’s a goodly number for this time of year. The weather’s put back the shooting, so many have stayed in town. Like Chillingworth—it appears my aunt has seen fit to invite him.’’
‘‘He is an earl.’’ Honoria glanced up, frowned, then reached over and tugged at the list. ‘‘But I gather you’ve known him forever.’’
‘‘It certainly seems like forever. We were at Eton to- gether.’’
‘‘Rivals from your earliest years?’’
‘‘I wouldn’t class Chillingworth as a rival—more like a nuisance.’’
Honoria looked down, hiding her grin. Devil had taken to joining her in the morning room in the post-luncheon hour during which the Dowager habitually rested. He would stay for half an hour, long limbs disposed in the opposite corner of the chaise, his presence filling the room, dominating her senses. They would chat; if he had information from his
cousins, he would tell her, simply and straightforwardly, without evasion.
From her own efforts, she’d learned nothing more. The Dowager had fulfilled her stated intention of introducing her to theton; through a mind-numbing round of morning calls,
‘‘at-homes,’’ and afternoon teas, she had met all the major hostesses and been accepted as one of their circle. But in all the gossipand scandalmongering abounding amongst the fe- male half of the ton, not a single scraphad she heard re- garding Tolly.
She looked up. ‘‘Have you heard anything?’’
‘‘As it happens, I have.’’ Honoria opened her eyes wide;
Devil’s lips quirked wryly. ‘‘Don’t get your hopes up, but Demon’s back.’’
‘‘Did he find Tolly’s man?’’
‘‘Yes. Mick remembered that last night clearly—Tolly, to use Mick’s words, was ‘in a right spate’ when he came in.
Unfortunately, Tolly refused to tell him anything concerning the who, the why, or the what.’’
Honoria frowned. ‘‘Refused?’’
‘‘Mick—being Mick—asked.’’
‘‘And?’’
‘‘Uncharacteristically got told, in no uncertain terms, to mind his own business.’’
‘‘That was odd?’’
Devil nodded. ‘‘Mick had been with Tolly since Tolly was in shortcoats. If he was troubled over something, the most likely occurrence is that Tolly would have talked it over, without reservation, with Mick.’’
‘‘So.’’ Honoria considered. ‘‘What sort of secret would Tolly refuse to discuss with Mick?’’
‘‘That, indeed, is the question.’’ His gaze on her face, on the slight frown disturbing the sweeping arch of her brows, Devil added: ‘‘Along with the puzzle of the time.’’
‘‘The time?’’
‘‘That night, Tolly got in less than an hour after he left Mount Street.’’
They’d assumed Tolly had been out half the night, at some function at which he’d learned the secret that led to his death.
Honoria’s frown deepened. ‘‘Is Mick sure?’’