Harry promptly held up his hand. "I swear by all that's holy that I will never marry by special license."

"Humph!" Horatia nodded. "Good."

Harry smiled-and completed his vow in silence. Or any other way.

He was determined to be the first Cynster in history to escape fate's decree. The notion of tying himself up to some chit-of restricting himself to one woman-was ludicrous. He wasn't getting married-ever.

"Think I'll go see how Gabriel's doing." With a sweeping, ineffably elegant bow, he escaped his mother's orbit, and went in search of less scarifying company. People who weren't fixated on weddings.

The afternoon passed; the shadows slowly lengthened. Guests started to take their leave, then the bulk left in a rush. The long day drew to a close with Vane and Patience on the front porch of the Place, waving the last of the guests away. Even the family had departed. Only Devil and Honoria remained at the Place-and they'd retired to their apartments to play with Sebastian, who'd spent much of the afternoon with his nurse.

As the last carriage rumbled away down the drive, Vane glanced at Patience, close by his side.

His wife.

The four-letter word no longer shook him, at least, not in the same way. Now, in his head, it rang with posses-siveness, a possessiveness that satisfied, that sat well with his conqueror's soul. He'd found her, he'd seized her-now he could enjoy her.

He studied her face, then raised one brow. And turned her back into the house.

"Did I tell you this place has an extremely interesting conservatory?"