"You'd better speak with her tonight, then, for we leave tomorrow morning."
At the end of the dance, she would have gone with Richard, but others gathered about and she stopped to chat. Then she heard the first strains of the waltz.
She turned and found Martin beside her. He raised a brow. "My dance, I believe."
There was a wealth of warning in the deep words, no drawl to soften them. Inclining her head, she gave him her hand, regally let him lead her to the floor. Let him draw her into his arms and start them twirling.
The orchids that continued to be delivered every day-a spray of three pure white blooms-rested on his shoulder, all but glowed against the black of his coat. She considered them, then lifted her gaze to his face.
To his eyes, green as ever but turbulent, harder-more agate than moss.
"I am not yours."
His gaze only grew harder. "That is a matter of opinion."
"Regardless, even were we wed…" She let her gaze drift over those about them, then looked again at his face. "I would always insist on being my own person."
"I wasn't aware the designations were mutually exclusive." He bit the words off, clipped and hard.
She opened her eyes wide. "You mean I could be yours and still act independently? That, for instance, matters such as how to deal with anonymous notes addressed to me would be mine to decide? That you wouldn't simply interfere as your right?"
"It's my right to keep you safe."
She glared. "If I agreed to be yours, possibly."
"There's no 'possibly' about it."
"I do not accept that such a 'right' extends to shielding me from harm as if I were an incapable lackwit."
"The very last thing I consider you is lacking in wit."
Their aggravated gazes locked, then the end of the room arrived; they both looked away as they negotiated the tight turns. Realized they'd been arguing in the middle of a dance floor, and there were interested eyes aplenty. Then they were sweeping back up the long room.
"This is getting us nowhere." Martin's jaw was set; he briefly met her eyes. "Neither this discussion, nor your latest tack."
Her latest tack? "What do you mean?"
The muscles in his jaw tightened. "I mean that you're going to have to exercise your independence and make a decision-soon." He caught her gaze. "You know what I'm offering-I've laid my cards on the table."
She understood-read in his eyes exactly what he meant, that he'd declared his hand, offered all he would, and there was no more to be gained, no more that he would risk in this game.
"It's your call, your lead." His expression, his eyes, were granite hard.
She didn't answer, looked away, let the revolutions of the dance sweep them along, then the measure ended with a flourish. She curtsied, he bowed, and raised her.
She met his eyes. Let him see her resolution, as set in stone as his. "You've forgotten. I have another option."
He frowned. Smiling lightly, she half turned. "I could resign the hand." Her eyes on his, she stated clearly, deliberately, "I could throw my cards on the table, and walk away."
On the words, she turned and walked to the chaise where her Aunt Helena sat, along with Lady Osbaldestone and Honoria, Devil's duchess.
"Well!" Her ladyship shifted her bombazine-covered bulk sideways to create space for Amanda to sit. "What was that about?" She chuckled evilly and gestured with her cane at Martin's departing back. "If looks could kill… I take it he isn't getting his way."
"No. He isn't." Amanda struggled to shackle her temper.
"But he's pigheaded, and arrogant, and determined to win-"
Helena laughed and placed her hand over Amanda's, gripped comfortingly. "He's a male, one of our kind-you can expect no less."
"I'll vouch for that." From beyond Helena, Honoria smiled at Amanda. "If it's any consolation, you could try reminding yourself that Dexter's a mere earl. I had to cope with a duke-one who, for good reason, goes by the name of Devil."
Amanda had to smile. "But you eventually persuaded him to see the light."
Honoria raised her brows. "Truth to tell, I think he'd seen it from the first, but…" After a moment, she said, "You might be wise to decide just what form capitulation should take. There are other signs, other forms of communication that ultimately are more telling than words."
"Yes." Lady Osbaldestone nodded sagely. "You'd be well advised to consider that fact. However"-she transfixed Amanda with her sharp black gaze-"remember what I said. No matter what he says, no matter what he does, you must not weaken. He has to be brought to reopen old wounds and deal with that old scandal."
Amanda glanced at Helena, at Honoria, and saw them both nodding. Her temper had ebbed, the strength behind her resolution had gone with it. Looking across the ballroom, she saw Martin standing with Luc Ashford. She grimaced, inwardly sighed. "I'll try."
She was no longer so sure she would succeed.
His temper-an emotion he usually, with little effort, kept well reined-all but frizzlingly under his skin-Martin stalked from the dance floor. How much longer he could play the role of sophisticated, civilized male while she tweaked his baser instincts at every turn, he didn't know.
Not much longer was his guess.
At the side of the ballroom, he saw Luc and Edward Ashford standing with two of their sisters. His cousins. The girls saw him and beamed, then took in his expression; their smiles faltered.
Wiping the harsh expression from his face and eyes, he smiled back, and their smiles returned. Changing tack, he joined them. Let them curtsy and chatter at him for a few minutes; they were sweet and very young, and he was the head of a closely related house.
Two young gentlemen, the girls' partners for the next dance, approached with care. While Martin engaged the girls and their would-be consorts, Luc stood beside him, tossing barbed comments at the youthful sprigs, yet he was always ready with an encouraging word for his sisters. They clearly adored him.
Edward, however, stood back, features pinched in what appeared to be disapproval. It took Martin a moment to realize that it was he Edward most disapproved of.
Then the musicians struck up, and the girls and their cavaliers left for the dance floor. Martin turned to Edward.
Before he could speak, Edward asked, "I understand you have an interest in Amanda Cynster."
Edward had clearly not yet heard of his formal offer. Martin inclined his head. "I do have to marry."
"Ah, yes." Edward's lip all but curled. "The title, the estate."
Those had been the reasons Martin had been spared a trial; he again inclined his head. "As you say."
Edward tugged down his waistcoat; head high, he surveyed the crowd. "You should know that I, at least, have been upholding our family's name in the years you've been absent. I flatter myself that all know me as a man of unimpeachable honor and steadfast character. In due course, I will marry well, once I've seen my sisters suitably joined as befits the family."
As if suddenly remembering he was in the presence of both the head of his family and the head of a senior line, he flushed, threw a narrow-eyed glance at Luc, then stiffly nodded to Martin. "Now my watch over my sisters has ended, I believe I will circulate."
The implied message was: he did not wish to be seen with Martin, to give Martin the imprimatur of his presence.
Martin said nothing, merely watched him go, then glanced at Luc.
Who met his gaze. "No, he hasn't improved with the years."
"Obviously. Weren't you tempted to thrash it out of him?"
"Frequently. But he's such a bore, I couldn't stand the whining."