“As he started down the last flight, Webster appeared, heading for the front door. “Your curricle should be waiting, Your Grace.” “Thank you.” Reaching the front door, Devil looked back. Hand on the latch, Webster paused. “Is anything amiss, Your Grace?” Devil turned as Webster opened the door—revealing his curricle drawn up before the steps, along with a figure in pale lilac. Devil smiled. “No, Webster—everything’s as I expected.” Strolling out, Devil paused in the shadows of the porch ...to relish the picture Honoria presented. His bride-to-be had a certain style, an innate elegance. Her hair was piled high in a fashionable knot, fine errant curls wreathing her face. A frilled parasol protected her complexion; her hands and feet were encased in tan leather. Her lilac carriage dress had been cut with skill, neatly fitting her slender waist, emphasizing the ripe swell of her hips and the generous curves of her breasts. It took conscious effort to wipe the wolfish smile from his face.MoreLessRead More Read Less
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