"It is clearly my duty to save you from yourself." Percival started to tow her to the door. Despite his soft head, he was stronger than she; she jerked back, looking for a weapon-her eye fell on a pewter jug standing on the table in the center of the hall.

With her free hand, she grabbed it, hefted it-realized it held liquid. Gave Percival, eyes fixed on the door, one last chance. "Let me go."

"No."

She flung the water at him-right at his head. It splashed, then cascaded down.

Percival stopped, shook his head, but his grip on her wrist only tightened. He turned to her.

She set her chin stubbornly. "Let me go."

"No."

Her temper erupted. She hit him on the side of the head with the jug-it gave a hugely satisfying clang. He staggered; his grip eased and she twisted her wrist free.

"You foolish woman! You have to come with me-" Percival lunged for her.

She hit him again. "No!" She waited until his eyes focused. "Get this through your thick skull: I do not want to marry you. I never did. I am not going to marry you. I've chosen a far better man. Now, go!" She pointed to the door.

He stepped toward her.

She clobbered him again. "Out!"

He reeled in that direction; she helped him along with a thud on his shoulder.

"Go away!" She kept swinging the jug and he was forced to retreat. Joseph, eyes shining with admiration, held the door wide. Percival tried to make a stand on the threshold. Amanda thumped him again, then shoved him out. He stumbled down the steps.

She stood in the doorway and glared. "I would never marry a dolt who even imagined I didn't know my own mind!"

Slamming the door, she turned, nodded regally to Joseph and handed him the jug. "Mop up the water before someone slips." She stalked toward the corridor to the library, and realized Martin had been standing in the shadows.

She narrowed her eyes at him. "Why didn't you help?"

He opened his eyes wide as he moved to let her pass. "I would have if you'd needed it, but you seemed to be managing perfectly well on your own."

Inwardly astounded, she merely humphed and swept on. The man had actually learned that lesson? Gracious Heaven! Would wonders never cease.

She walked into the library to find Reggie and Luc doubled over with laughter. Her lips twitched, but she maintained her dignity.

Luc lifted his head and looked at her with more approval than he usually showed. "What the devil did you hit him with?"

"The jug on the hall table."

That set them both off again. Resuming her position on the chaise, she glanced at the clock. Twenty minutes past the hour; the diary would have reached London and be on its way to them in Jules' care.

Luc considered her, then asked Martin what had happened in Lady Arbuthnot's courtyard. Martin suggested he mind his own business.

The diary would arrive before six. Sometime between then and now-

Voices reached them, muffled, but from inside the house. Mystified, they exchanged glances, then heard a barked order, and footsteps, bootsteps-more than one set-striding down the corridor-

Joseph was first through the door. "My lord-" He gestured helplessly and held open the door.

Martin and Luc were on their feet.

Lady Osbaldestone swept in.

"Aha!" Her black gaze swept them. "As I thought. Well enough, but you haven't adequately covered your rear."

Martin stared, then lifted his gaze to the two gentlemen who entered in her wake-Devil and Vane Cynster.

Devil nodded, his gaze also taking in those present. "Much as it pains me to concur, I believe her ladyship's right." He met Martin's gaze. "You need disinterested witnesses unconnected with your family."

"We have Reggie," Amanda pointed out.

Devil glanced at Reggie. "Judging by that bandage about his head, he can hardly be disinterested in bringing the man who wounded him to justice."

Martin dismissed Joseph, then turned to the others. "What do you have in mind?" He glanced at the clock. "We have very little time, and if the villain is who we believe, he'll know this for a trap the instant he sets eyes on any of you."

"Which is why we came via the back door." Lady Osbaldestone had been examining the furnishings. "What a treasure trove you have here. However"-she looked down the room-"that is precisely what we need."

With her cane, she pointed to a carved wooden screen of four hinged panels. Then she waved the cane at Devil and Vane, who promptly stepped back out of range. "You two-fetch it and set it just there." The cane indicated a line angled away from the library windows. "The fool won't be coming via the courtyard, so he won't see us behind it. You may set that armchair behind the screen for me, and both of you may stand on either side."

They all leapt to do her bidding-there was no time left to argue.

Luc set the chair in place, Martin helped her into it. Devil and Vane wrestled the heavy screen into place, then took up their positions behind it.

"Perfect!" Lady Osbaldestone's disembodied voice rose from behind the screen. "We can see the whole area before the fireplace through these tiny holes. Wonderfully sensible, those oriental pashas."

Turning away, Martin and Luc exchanged glances. They returned to their positions and sat.

The front door bell pealed again.

Chapter 23

The sound jangled through the house, jangled over their nerves. They didn't look at each other but listened intently, straining to hear.

A man spoke, his voice reduced to a rumble by the walls. Joseph answered, then, faintly at first, growing more definite, they heard footsteps approaching down the long corridor. Joseph, and one other.

Like a troupe of actors with the curtain swishing up, they masked their tension, relaxing against the chaise, in the chair, assuming expressions of calm anticipation.

The door opened; Joseph appeared. Amanda held her breath.

"Mr. Edward Ashford, my lord."

Martin's expression showed nothing more than mild surprise as he rose from the chaise beside her. "Edward?" Martin extended a hand as Edward came forward, grasped Edward's without a glimmer of revulsion. "What can I do for you?"

Edward had noted them-Luc sprawled in the chair facing the hearth, Reggie on the chaise opposite Amanda. He looked at Martin. "Actually, I thought to be of some assistance here. Am I too late, then?"

It was Luc who answered, swiveling to look up at his brother. "Too late for what, Edward?"

Edward looked down at Luc; Amanda prayed Luc's dark eyes would conceal his true feelings.

Edward's expression remained supercilious. "I came to bear witness, of course." His glance swept them again. "I would have thought it obvious, in light of the gravity of the crimes in question, old though they may be, that there ought to be… disinterested spectators here when Martin receives this diary."

His tone carried his implication, the insinuation that the diary was a hoax, that Martin's innocence was a joke. Neither Martin nor Luc reacted; their faces remained impassive. Amanda bit her cheek against the urge to defend Martin; she forced herself to remain still.

It was Reggie who stiffened in outrage; she glanced at him as he shifted, disguising the reaction in a querulous movement.

Edward's gaze had gone to him; it lingered on his bandage. "You've met with an accident, Carmarthen."

Stiffly, Reggie inclined his head.

"Sit down." Resuming his position beside her, Martin waved Edward to the chaise next to Reggie-the only available seat, facing Martin, next to Luc.

"If you don't mind, I'll warm myself by the fire for a moment." Edward stepped past Reggie to stand before the hearth. "It's deuced chilly outside."

On the words, the doorbell rang. Voices sounded in the hall, then footsteps neared. A knock fell on the door. When Martin called, "Enter," Jules came in, carrying a brown-paper-wrapped package done up with string.

Martin rose; Jules presented the package to him. "The old lady wished you well."

Jules bowed, then withdrew.

Martin looked at the package, then tugged at the string. His face unreadable, he spread opened the paper, revealing the girlish diary with its fraying ribbons and faded roses. He let the paper fall, in so doing turning the book so the word "Sarah's" on the cover was visible to Edward.

Amanda glanced fleetingly at Edward; he was putting on a convincing performance of being merely-distantly-interested.

Facing the group before the hearth, Martin opened the diary, read the first page, then started turning pages, flicking to the later entries-

Edward stepped forward, wrenched the diary from Martin's grasp, and flung it facedown on the fire.

The flames flared. Amanda leapt up with a cry. Luc was on his feet, as was Reggie. Martin hadn't moved.

Amanda sank back, half kneeling on the chaise, her gaze on Edward's face. One thing to imagine, another to know. She glanced at the diary; the fire was greedily consuming the old, dry pages, turning them brown, then black.

"Edward?" Martin's voice was level, calm but cold. "Why did you do that?"

"It's obvious." Facing them, standing squarely across the hearth, Edward lifted his chin haughtily; Amanda all but gaped at his dismissive, contemptuous stance. "You two-you never think of anyone but yourselves. Have you considered what pain you'll cause others by raking up this old matter-a crime that's been judged, paid for, the case long closed? The families-the Fulbridges, Ashfords and all our connections-finished with the scandal years ago. There's no purpose in pursuing the matter now. What can you hope to gain?"

His lip curled. "You"-with his chin he indicated Martin-"were judged and found wanting ten years ago. Regardless of whether you'd committed the crime, they all believed you had, so you paid, then, for your wildness. It was your own doing." Edward shrugged. "You were deemed the right one to carry the burden of guilt." His gaze raked their surrounds, the sumptuous, expensive decor. "You've managed. No reason you can't continue to bear the load. It'll be the best thing for the family." Edward glanced at Amanda. "Even if it means you won't be able to have everything you want."

Amanda knew just how a rabbit felt when facing a snake. She'd known Edward all her life; she could barely credit the coldness in his eyes.

"So," Martin said. Edward looked back at him and Amanda breathed again. "You burned the diary because you believe I should continue to bear the odium for a crime I didn't commit to spare the family further scandal."

Edward's expression hardened. He nodded. "It's for the best."

"Whose best, brother dear?" Luc ranged alongside Martin, blocking access, to the door. "Are you sure you don't want the old scandal left alone because any thorough investigation will implicate you?"

Edward sneered. "Of course not. Everyone knows-"

"That when riding you invariably carry a crop." Luc nodded. "Indeed. Just as we now know it was you who murdered Buxton-you who found him up on Froggatt Edge, who struggled with him and drove him to the lip, wielding your crop."

For a moment, Edward's face blanked.

Luc's lips curved but his blue eyes were cold as the grave. "That's right, brother dear. The crop. Martin never had one, never needed one. You couldn't manage a horse without one. And that, all the family knows."

Edward jerked as if Luc had struck him. His lips twisted oddly, then he refocused. "Nonsense! Anyone could have picked up a crop." He glanced back at the diary, nearly reduced to ashes.

"Sarah never kept a diary, Edward."

"Heh?" Edward jerked upright, blinked at Martin, then glanced back at the burnt book.

Amanda seized the moment to edge around the chaise.

Edward saw her, but looked at Martin. "What are you saying?"

"That there never was any real diary. We let it be known there was one, and that it identified the man who raped Sarah, the same man who killed Buxton to ensure he was never brought to answer for it-"

"To ensure his reputation, which even then was all he had, wasn't harmed," Luc put in.

Martin waited, then said, "It was you, Edward, wasn't it? You who hurt Sarah…" For the first time, emotion glimmered in Martin's voice; rage glowed in his eyes. He stepped forward. Edward backed away-his boot hit the hearth.