Read Online Devil's Bride by Stephanie Laurens - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Stephanie Laurens
Tags: Romance
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depths. "No."
"Good."
She glimpsed some emotion—was it relief?—flash through
his eyes before his heavy lids hid them from view. Straightening, he caught her
hand and headed for the stable door. Stifling a curse, she grabbed up her
skirts and lengthened her stride. He made for the main archway; beyond lay his
house, peaceful in the morning sunshine.
"You may set your mind at rest, Miss
Anstruther-Wetherby." He glanced down, the planes of his face
granite-hard. "I'm not marrying you because of any social stricture. That,
if you consider it, is a nonsensical idea. Cynsters, as you well know, do not
give a damn about social strictures. Society, as far as we're concerned, can
think what it pleases—
it
does not rule
us
."
"But… if that's the case—and given your
reputation I can readily believe it is—why insist on marrying me?"
"Because I want to."
The words were delivered as the most patently obvious
answer to a simple question. Honoria held on to her temper. "Because you
want
to?"
He nodded.
"That's it? Just because you want to?"
The look he sent her was calculated to quell.
"For a Cynster, that's a perfectly adequate reason. In fact, for a
Cynster, there is no better reason."
He looked ahead again; Honoria glared at his profile.
"
This
is ridiculous. You only set eyes on me yesterday, and now
you want to marry me?"
Again he nodded.
"Why?"
The glance he shot her was too brief for her to read.
"It so happens I need a wife, and you're the perfect candidate." With
that, he altered their direction and lengthened his stride even more.
"I am
not
a racehorse."
His lips thinned, but he slowed—just enough so she
didn't have to run. They'd gained the graveled walk that circled the house. It
took her a moment to replay his words, another to see their weakness.
"That's still ridiculous. You must have half the female population of the
ton
waiting to catch your handkerchief every time you blow your nose."
He didn't even glance her way. "At least
half."
"So why me?"
Devil considered telling her—in graphic detail.
Instead, he gritted his teeth and growled: "Because you're unique."
"
Unique
?"
Unique in that she was arguing. He halted, raised his
eyes to the heavens in an appeal for sufficient strength to deal with an
Anstruther-Wetherby, then looked down and trapped her gaze. "Let me put it
this way—
you
are an attractive Anstruther-Wetherby female with whom
I've spent an entire night in private—and I've yet to bed you." He smiled.
"I assume you would prefer we married before I do?"
The stunned shock in her eyes was balm to his soul.
The grey orbs, locked on his, widened—then widened even more. He knew what she
was seeing—the sheer lust that blazed through him had to be lighting his eyes.
He fully expected her to dissolve into incoherent,
ineffectual, disjointed gibberings—instead, she suddenly snapped free of his
visual hold, blinked, drew a quick breath—and narrowed her eyes at him.
"I am
not
marrying you just so I can go
to bed with you. I mean—" She caught herself up and breathlessly amended,
"So that you can go to bed with me."
Devil watched the telltale color rise in her cheeks.
Grimly, he nodded. "Fine." Tightening his grip on her hand, he turned
and stalked on.
All the way from the cottage, she'd shifted and
wriggled against him; by the time they'd reached the stable, he'd been
agonizingly aroused. How he'd managed not to throw her down in the straw and
ease his pain, he had no idea. But he now had a roaring headache, and if he
didn't keep moving—keep her moving—temptation might yet get the upper hand.
"You," he stated, as they rounded the corner of the house, "can
marry me for a host of sensible, socially acceptable reasons.
I'll
marry you to get you into my bed."
He felt her dagger glance. "That is—
Good God
!"
Honoria stopped; stock-still, she stared. Somersham
Place lay spread before her, basking in the morning sunshine. Immense, built of
honey-colored stone at least a
"Good."
She glimpsed some emotion—was it relief?—flash through
his eyes before his heavy lids hid them from view. Straightening, he caught her
hand and headed for the stable door. Stifling a curse, she grabbed up her
skirts and lengthened her stride. He made for the main archway; beyond lay his
house, peaceful in the morning sunshine.
"You may set your mind at rest, Miss
Anstruther-Wetherby." He glanced down, the planes of his face
granite-hard. "I'm not marrying you because of any social stricture. That,
if you consider it, is a nonsensical idea. Cynsters, as you well know, do not
give a damn about social strictures. Society, as far as we're concerned, can
think what it pleases—
it
does not rule
us
."
"But… if that's the case—and given your
reputation I can readily believe it is—why insist on marrying me?"
"Because I want to."
The words were delivered as the most patently obvious
answer to a simple question. Honoria held on to her temper. "Because you
want
to?"
He nodded.
"That's it? Just because you want to?"
The look he sent her was calculated to quell.
"For a Cynster, that's a perfectly adequate reason. In fact, for a
Cynster, there is no better reason."
He looked ahead again; Honoria glared at his profile.
"
This
is ridiculous. You only set eyes on me yesterday, and now
you want to marry me?"
Again he nodded.
"Why?"
The glance he shot her was too brief for her to read.
"It so happens I need a wife, and you're the perfect candidate." With
that, he altered their direction and lengthened his stride even more.
"I am
not
a racehorse."
His lips thinned, but he slowed—just enough so she
didn't have to run. They'd gained the graveled walk that circled the house. It
took her a moment to replay his words, another to see their weakness.
"That's still ridiculous. You must have half the female population of the
ton
waiting to catch your handkerchief every time you blow your nose."
He didn't even glance her way. "At least
half."
"So why me?"
Devil considered telling her—in graphic detail.
Instead, he gritted his teeth and growled: "Because you're unique."
"
Unique
?"
Unique in that she was arguing. He halted, raised his
eyes to the heavens in an appeal for sufficient strength to deal with an
Anstruther-Wetherby, then looked down and trapped her gaze. "Let me put it
this way—
you
are an attractive Anstruther-Wetherby female with whom
I've spent an entire night in private—and I've yet to bed you." He smiled.
"I assume you would prefer we married before I do?"
The stunned shock in her eyes was balm to his soul.
The grey orbs, locked on his, widened—then widened even more. He knew what she
was seeing—the sheer lust that blazed through him had to be lighting his eyes.
He fully expected her to dissolve into incoherent,
ineffectual, disjointed gibberings—instead, she suddenly snapped free of his
visual hold, blinked, drew a quick breath—and narrowed her eyes at him.
"I am
not
marrying you just so I can go
to bed with you. I mean—" She caught herself up and breathlessly amended,
"So that you can go to bed with me."
Devil watched the telltale color rise in her cheeks.
Grimly, he nodded. "Fine." Tightening his grip on her hand, he turned
and stalked on.
All the way from the cottage, she'd shifted and
wriggled against him; by the time they'd reached the stable, he'd been
agonizingly aroused. How he'd managed not to throw her down in the straw and
ease his pain, he had no idea. But he now had a roaring headache, and if he
didn't keep moving—keep her moving—temptation might yet get the upper hand.
"You," he stated, as they rounded the corner of the house, "can
marry me for a host of sensible, socially acceptable reasons.
I'll
marry you to get you into my bed."
He felt her dagger glance. "That is—
Good God
!"
Honoria stopped; stock-still, she stared. Somersham
Place lay spread before her, basking in the morning sunshine. Immense, built of
honey-colored stone at least a
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