She didn't complete her thought, but fell to buttering a slice of toast. Crunching a corner, she meditatively chewed, then took a sip of tea. Glanced again at Amanda. "One thing you'd be wise to bear in mind."

Amanda looked up; Louise caught her eye.

"Whatever the emotion that's moved him to forsake his determined isolation, it won't be anything mild."

Louise's words rang in Amanda's ears as she stood on the verge in the park later that morning, and considered the large hand extended toward her.

Arrogant. Commanding. Impatient. Definitely not mild.

Also difficult, not to say dangerous.

Gripping her parasol, she laid her fingers in his, let him pull her up to the phaeton's seat. She settled her skirts. With a brief salute to Amelia and Reggie, left standing on the lawn, Martin clicked the reins and they were off.

"Tell me," she said, having determined to take the lion by the mane, "why have you decided to rejoin the ton?"

He flicked her a glance. "As I told Lady Matcham, it seemed to be decreed."

"Decreed?"

"By some higher authority."

She ruminated on that. "So you intend to reclaim your rightful place?"

The glance that gained her was somewhat harder. "If necessary." They were nearing the most popular section of the route, currently jam-packed with carriages. "Now you may tell me-who the devil are all these women?"

As "these women" were all nodding graciously, eyes avidly alight, and as their number included the majority of the principal hostesses, she considered it wise to oblige. "That's Lady Cowper-you must remember her?"

He nodded. "Is the one in green Lady Walford?"

She glanced at him. "Your memory's quite remarkable, but she's now Lady Merton." The lady had been an acknowledged beauty before her second marriage some years before.

His lips twitched, but he continued peppering her with questions, not all reflecting felicitously on their subjects. His recollections were erratic, sometimes devastatingly detailed; he'd last seen these people ten years before through the eyes of a youthful hellion. Some of his observations made her laugh; she learned a surprising amount she'd never known, yet equally, there was much he didn't know that she dutifully told him.

When they reached the end of the crowded section and he set the horses trotting, she slanted him a considering glance. She'd wanted to bring him back into this world, his world and hers; part of her rejoiced in his presence-her success. Another, more cautious part warned her not to count her chickens yet.

She'd lured him out of his lair, but he'd come for only one thing.

He was focused on getting it. That became clear as the days progressed. Every morning brought three white orchids; everywhere she went, he was there, waiting for her.

To claim her attention, her hand, the first waltz and if there was one, the supper waltz, too. Regardless of the nature of the entertainment, he would remain by her side, impossible to shift. His attentions, however, were perfectly gauged-socially acceptable, yet what those watching couldn't see was the sensuality behind every look, every touch. They couldn't see the net he wove, link by link about her. She knew, but could do nothing to prevent it, to deny the hold he already had over her senses and her heart.

He had indeed changed the rules of their game. Between them, there was no longer any pretence that desire didn't burn just beneath their skin, waiting to flare into passion. That they wouldn't much rather be alone, by the fire in his library or anywhere else, rather than whirling about countless dance floors. But he was after her submission, after her agreement to marry him as he now was, to accept him as he had thus far revealed himself to be. To place her hand in his, to give herself up to him, without further promises. He'd shifted the field to the ton, changed the rules to those society played by, but what he was after hadn't changed.

Day by day, night by night, he continued to stalk her. Through ballrooms, drawing rooms, at the opera house, in the park. He never, not once, stepped over the line, yet he continued to single her out, not simply as above all others, but to the exclusion of all others. He was uninterested in any other lady; he hadn't shied from making that brutally plain.

To her astonishment, amazement-to her increasing consternation-he proved adept at bending society's dictates to his own advantage. And worse. She hadn't thought it possible that on this field-one where she was so much more experienced than he-he could run her to earth.

Yet he was winning.

The hostesses were starting to come around, to lean his way.

She could barely believe her ears when at the Castlereaghs' ball she overheard Emily Cowper, kindly as ever, murmur to Martin before she moved on, "An excellent choice, my boy-she'll do very well as your countess."

Glancing around, ceasing to hear the story Mr. Cole was relating, she saw Martin smile, incline his head and reply, "Indeed. So I think."

Lady Cowper smiled sweetly, patted his arm and drifted away.

Martin met her gaze-and smiled, lionishly. Just how dangerous the shift in sentiment threatened to be was brought home when Countess Lieven tapped her on the wrist with her fan. She nodded regally at Martin, engaged with Lord Woolley. "I am pleased that you have finally settled your interest. Flitting forever through the ton's gentlemen might be acceptable at eighteen, but at twenty-three…" She raised her brows haughtily. "Suffice it to say that an alliance with Dexter would find general favor. There is, of course, the old scandal, but…" With a shrug, she continued, "One would expect you to see that buried, one way or another."

With a stiff nod, the countess swanned off, leaving Amanda staring in her wake. One way or another?

She knew what that meant-that she should marry Martin, keep her head high and bear him an heir or three, and make sure neither he nor she caused another scandal. Redemption through association; if she remained as pure as the driven snow, his supposed transgressions would be overlooked.

The thought horrified her. She turned back to Martin to find him frowning at her, then he transferred his frown to Countess Lieven's back. "What did that harridan say?"

She could almost see his hackles rising. "Nothing, nothing. There are the violins-come and dance."

She succeeded in dragging him onto the dance floor; he allowed her to distract him but was not deceived. As she whirled in his arms, some part of her whispered that perhaps she should give in. He'd come into the ton after her, braved the bright lights and the hostesses to win her-did she need more declaration than that?

The answer was an unequivocal yes. She wanted a clear acknowledgment that he loved her, and she'd seen nothing resembling that. And there was a bigger hurdle yet-one that wouldn't bend to either her will or his. Not even society's. Her family was not convinced-at least, not convinced enough to agree to her marrying him.

She'd only recently realized, only recently seen the frown in her mother's eyes, noticed the whispered conferences between her mother and her aunts. As the music died, she felt a strong urge to rub her forehead. Her straightforward, easy-to-navigate world had suddenly developed unexpected reefs and shoals.

"Here! Gel!"

Amanda turned. Lady Osbaldestone was sitting on a chaise nearby.

"Yes, you!" Her ladyship beckoned with her cane. "I want to speak with you."

Martin by her side, she crossed to the chaise.

"Sit down." Lady Osbaldestone indicated the chaise beside her. Then she looked at Martin and smiled. Evilly. "You can fetch me a glass of orgeat, and a glass of water for Miss Cynster. She'll be grateful for it later."

Impossible to refuse. Martin accepted the commission with good grace, bowed, and headed for the refreshment room.

"So nice to know I guessed right." Facing Amanda, Lady Osbaldestone studied her. "Well? Have you decided yet?"

Meeting those black, bottomless eyes, Amanda sighed. "I've decided-and so has he, obviously-but…"

"In my experience, there usually is a but. What's it in this case? And for God's sake, cut line-he won't be long."

Amanda dragged in a breath. "There's two buts. The first is, not if he loves me-I'm as sure as I can be that he does but if he knows he loves me. The second might be more serious, more insurmountable. The scandal is still there. I know the ton will gloss over it, but I don't think my family will."

Lady Osbaldestone nodded. "You're right. They won't. You may trust me on that. However, you're wrong about what's serious and what's not." She caught Amanda's gaze and leaned nearer. "Listen, and listen well. You're absolutely right in digging in your heels and demanding an acknowledgment, at least between the pair of you, that he loves you. I presume that's what this week's been about? That he's followed you into the ton to force your hand?"

Amanda nodded. "Exactly."

"A good sign, but whatever you do, don't waver. Don't let him, or anyone or anything, turn you from your purpose."

Her ladyship glanced up; Amanda followed her gaze and saw Martin wending his way back to them.

Lady Osbaldestone spoke quickly. "As for the scandal, you'll have to trust my reading of him and his family, but the scandal will only be resolved if he wishes it, and he'll only wish it for a reason more compelling than all the reasons to let dead scandals lie, and for him there will be a few of those."

Martin was nearing; Lady Osbaldestone's black eyes bored into Amanda's. "Do you follow, gel?" Her clawlike hand tightened on Amanda's wrist. "There's only one reason I can see that will ever be important enough to make him seek to clear his name."

Easing back, Lady Osbaldestone smiled and accepted her glass of orgeat. Martin looked at her, then at Amanda. He offered the glass of water he'd brought.

Amanda accepted it with a vague nod, and drained it.

Chapter 14

In the days and evenings that followed, Amanda increasingly felt like an antelope cut out from the herd by a lion. A lionized lion-even worse. That fact dealt him far too many aces, which he was never slow to use.

She'd taken to urging her mother and sister to arrive early at every major event so she could assemble a useful circle of gentlemen to serve as a screen. She accepted that she had to deal with Martin, that she could do nothing other than to wait him out, holding steadfast in her requirement for "something more."

If he was the rock, she was the tide, and so on.

If she understood Lady Osbaldestone correctly, then the nature of their future hinged on her stubbornness.

Lady Musselford's ball was certain to be a crush. The Mussleford girls were ravishing and both were making their formal bow to the ton that night. Amanda prayed one or other would do something to keep the ton's collective eye on them-away from her and her determined would-be consort.

She was growing rather tired of having her every move remarked.

"Miss Cynster! I had great hopes you would attend tonight."

Amanda started; she blinked as Percival Lytton-Smythe bowed before her. "Ah… good evening, sir."

"I daresay"-Percival beamed delightedly at her-"that you've been wondering where I've been these past two weeks."

She hadn't even noticed his absence. "Have you been in the country?" She continued to watch for Martin's arrival.

"I travelled to Shropshire-one of my maternal aunts is aging. She wished to make her will, confirming me as her heir."

Amanda caught a glimpse of burnished locks at the far end of the ballroom. "How fortunate."

"Fortunate, indeed! Miss Cynster-my dear Amanda, if I might make so bold-"

Percival grasped her hand, jerking her attention from approaching danger. "Mr. Lytton-Smythe!" She tried to pull free, but he stubbornly held on.

"No, no-my apologies, dear lady. The violence of my feelings has startled you, but you must make allowances for my natural enthusiasm at the prospect that, courtesy of my aunt's generosity, now lies before us."

"Us?" Aghast, Amanda stared.

Percival patted her hand. "My dearest Amanda, only the disparity of our fortunes, the idea that some might consider our match too uneven in standing, has prevented me from speaking 'ere now, yet you cannot be unaware that a match between us will confer great benefits upon us both."