Devil pressed his lips together.
Honoria's chin firmed. "It'll take two minutes to carry it out. We can use the blankets to cover it, then Keenan can take it away later."
Devil threw up his hands and turned back into the cottage. "All right, all right-but we'll have to hurry."
Vane simply stared when Devil explained. He shook his head, but didn't argue. He and Devil shifted the heavier pieces; Honoria gathered the smaller items into baskets and pails. Harry and Lucifer returned-and couldn't believe their eyes. Honoria promptly conscripted Lucifer; Harry escaped on the pretext of fetching Devil's and Vane's horses and taking them upwind of the cottage.
While Richard and Gabriel weakened the joints, the pile of Keenan's possessions grew. Finally, Harry, whom Honoria had collared and sent to clear out the stable, came back with an old oilcloth and dusty lamp. He put the lamp on the pile, then flicked the oilcloth over the whole.
"There! Done." He looked at Honoria, not in challenge, not in irritation, but in hope. "Now you can sit down. Out of the way."
Before she could reply, Lucifer pulled the big carved chair out from under the oilcloth, picked up the tasseled cushion, and plumped it. Coughing furiously, he dropped it back down and made her a weak but extravagant bow. "Your chair, madam. Please be seated."
What could she say?
Her slight hesitation was too much for Gabriel, strolling up to hand his axe to his brother. "For God's sake, Honoria, sit down-before you drive us all demented."
Honoria favored him with a haughty stare, then, sweeping regally about, she sat. She could almost hear their sighs.
They ignored her thereafter, as long as she stayed in the chair. When she stood and strolled a few paces, just to stretch her legs, she was immediately assailed by frowning glances-until she sat down again.
Swiftly, efficiently, they pulled the cottage down. Honoria watched from her regal perch-the acreage of tanned male chests, all gleaming with honest sweat, muscles bunching and rippling as they strove with beams and rafters, was eye-opening, to say the least. She was intrigued to discover that her susceptibility to the sight was severely restricted.
Only her husband's bare chest affected her-that particular sight still held the power to transfix her, to make her mouth go suddenly dry. One thing that hadn't changed in six months.
Between them, little else was the same. The child growing within her would take the changes one stage further-the start of their branch of the family. The first of the next generation.
Devil came over once they'd got the fire started. Honoria looked up, smiling through her tears. "Just the smoke," she said, in reply to his look.
With a sudden "swhoosh," the flames broke through the collapsed roof. Honoria stood; Devil put the carved chair back under the oilcloth, then took her hand. "Time to go home."
Honoria let him lead her away. Richard and Lucifer remained to ensure the fire burned out. Harry rode off, Charles's hired horse in charge. The rest of them made their way back through the wood, riding through the lengthening shadows. In front of Devil, Honoria leaned back against his chest, and closed her eyes. They were safe-and they were heading home.
Hours later, chin-deep in the ducal bath, soothed by scented steam, Honoria heard sudden mouselike rustlings.
Cracking open her eyes, she saw Cassie scurry out, closing the door behind her.
She would have frowned, but it was too much effort. Minutes later, the mystery was solved. Devil climbed into the bath. It was more than big enough for both of them-he'd had it specially designed.
"Aarrghhh." Sinking into the water, Devil closed his eyes and leaned back against the bath's edge.
Honoria studied him-and saw the tiredness, the deep world-weariness, the last days had etched in his face. "It had to be," she murmured.
He sighed. "I know. But he was family. I'd rather the script had been otherwise."
"You did what had to be done. If Charles's deeds ever became known, Arthur's life, and Louise's, would be ruined, let alone Simon, the twins and the rest-the whispers would follow them all their lives. Society's never fair." She spoke quietly, letting the truth carry its own weight, its inherent reassurance. "This way, I presume Charles will simply disappear?"
"Inexplicably." After a moment, Devil added: "Vane will wait a few days, then sort out Smiggs-the family as a whole will be mystified. Charles's disappearance will become an unsolved mystery. His soul can find what peace it can, buried in the woods where Tolly died."
Honoria frowned. "We'll have to tell Arthur and Louise the truth."
"Hmm." Devil's eyes gleamed from beneath his lashes. "Later." Lifting his arm, he reached for the soap, then held it out to Honoria.
Opening her eyes, she blinked, then took it. Softly smiling, she came up onto her knees between his bent legs. This ranked as one of her favorite pastimes-soaping his chest, washing his magnificent body. Quickly raising a lather in the crisp mat of hair on his chest, she splayed her hands, caressing each heavy muscle band, lovingly sculpting each shoulder, each arm.
I love you, I love you. The refrain sang in her head; she let her hands say the words, give voice to the music, infusing every touch, every caress, with her love. His hands rose in answer, roaming her curves, unhurriedly possessing every one, orchestrating an accompaniment to her song.
She'd only let him use the soap on her once; the room had ended up completely flooded. To her abiding delight, his control was stronger than hers.
One large palm splayed over her gently rounded belly. Looking up, Honoria caught the gleam of green eyes beneath his lashes; she frowned. "You knew."
One brow lifted in his usual arrogant way; his lips slowly curved. "I was waiting for you to tell me."
She raised her brows haughtily. "Tomorrow's St. Valentine's Day-I'll tell you then."
He grinned-his pirate's grin. "We'll have to devise a suitable ceremony."
Honoria caught his eye-and struggled not to grin back. She humphed and clambered over one rock-hard thigh. "Turn around."
She soaped his back, then lathered his hair and made him duck to rinse it. She'd returned to sit before him, between his thighs, her back to him, soaping one long leg, when Devil leaned forward, his arms closing around her. He nuzzled her ear. "Are you sure you're all right?"
"I'm perfectly well, and so's your son. Stop worrying." "Me stop worrying?" He snorted. "That's a fine thing coming from you."
Dropping his leg, Honoria smiled and leaned back, luxuriating in the feel of the warm, hard, wet wall of his chest against her shoulders and back. "Oh, I've given up worrying about you."
Devil gave vent to an excessively skeptical sound. "Well-just consider." Honoria gestured with the soap. "In recent times alone, you've been thrown from a disintegrating phaeton, poisoned, attacked with swords, and now shot through the heart. And you're still here." Dramatically, she spread her arms wide. "In the face of such trenchant invincibility, it's obviously wasted effort to worry about you. Fate, as I've been told often enough, quite clearly takes care of the Cynsters."
Behind her, Devil grinned. She would stop worrying about him on the same day he stopped worrying about her. Closing his hands about her waist, he rifted her, drawing her hips back against him. "I told you you were fated to be a Cynster wife-an invincible husband was obviously required." He underscored his emphasis by nudging the softness between her thighs, his erection sinking a tantalizing inch into that familiar haven.
Dropping the soap over the edge of the tub, Honoria arched-and drew him deeper. "I warn you, the staff are going to start wondering if we have to paint the downstairs ceiling again."