Free Devil's Bride by Stephanie Laurens

the Great Sphinx?” He could just imagine her on a camel—along with a hovering horde of Berber chieftains who looked remarkably like him and thought like him, too.
    â€œPrecisely. And I plan to explore the Ivory Coast as well—another exciting place so I’ve heard.” Barbary pirates and slave traders. Devil tossed aside the currying brush and dusted his hands on his breeches. “You’ll just have to make do with becoming a Cynster—no one’s ever suggested it’s a mundane existence.”
    â€œI am not going to marry you.” Her flashing eyes and the set of her chin declared her Anstruther-Wetherby mind was made up; Devil knew he was going to seriously enjoy every minute it took to make her change it. He walked toward her.
    Predictably, she backed not an inch, although he saw her muscles lock against the impulse. Without breaking stride, he closed his hands about her waist and lifted her, setting her down with her back against the stall wall. With commendable restraint, he removed his hands, locking one on the top of the half-closed door, bracing the other, palm flat, on the wall by her shoulder.
    Caged, she glared at him; he tried not to notice how her breasts rose as she drew in a deep breath. He spoke before she could. “What have you got against the proposition?”
    Honoria kept her eyes locked on his—standing as he was, her entire field of vision was filled with bare male. Once her heart had ceased to thud quite so loudly, she raised her brows haughtily. “I have no desire whatever to marry purely because of some antiquated social stricture.”
    â€œThat’s the sum of your objections?”
    â€œWell, there’s Africa, of course.”
    â€œForget Africa. Is there any reason other than my motives in offering for you that in your opinion constitutes an impediment to our marriage?”
    His arrogance, his high-handedness, his unrelenting authority—his chest. Honoria was tempted to start at the top of her list and work her way down. But not one of her caveats posed any serious impediment to their marriage. She searched his eyes for some clue as to her best answer, fascinated anew by their remarkable clarity. They were like crystal clear pools of pale green water, emotions, thoughts, flashing like quicksilver fish in their depths. “No.”
    â€œGood.”
    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.
    â€œYou 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 .”
    â€œBut . . . if that’s the case—and given your reputation I can readily believe it is—why insist on marrying me?”
    â€œBecause 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.
    â€œThat’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.
    â€œ Why ?”
    The glance he shot her was too brief for her to read. “It so happens I need a wife, and you’re the