Lady Osbaldestone snorted. "Very well-the real tale, then, as you seem to have a need to know. What the ton heard was that Dexter seduced a local girl-the family estate is in the Peak district. The gel fell pregnant, but rather than send to Dexter, she told her father, a religious sort. The father hounded her-she ended taking her own life. Dexter heard of it on his next visit home. He set out to look for the gel's father, and, so we heard, murdered him, then stupidly stood around until the villagers found him.

"Old Dexter-the present one's father-was horrifed. He would have disowned his son, but the title and estate would have reverted to the crown. Add to that, the countess doted on her son-her one and only chick-and Dexter doted on his countess. Letting the lad stand his trial was out of the question, at least, it was in those days. So he was banished while his father lived. That was what we in London heard." Lady Osbaldestone folded her hands over her ample waist. "What we believed… that's another matter."

"The ton didn't believe he-the present earl-was the murderer?"

Lady Osbaldestone frowned. "More accurate to say that judgment was reserved. Dexter, the present one, might have been a hothead, a wild and tempestuous youth, but he'd never struck any of us as a bad apple."

Her ladyship looked at Amanda; her tone was softer when she said, "There's often one bad apple among a good crop, and no one's the wiser until it comes to the crunch-the point of seeing what each apple is made of. While Dexter might be capable of killing, what didn't sit well with many of us was that he didn't have the black heart for murder. He was a colorful young lordling, forceful and alive, devil-may-care and the doubters be damned. He'd only been on the town for some months, but we'd seen enough to judge."

Lady Osbaldestone paused, then continued, "And there was the undeniable fact that his father was a martinet. A good man, but righteously so and very stiff about it. The idea that his son had committed murder, let alone the other, would have scored his pride as well as his soul. Decisions were made and acted on in a matter of hours. In such circumstances, with emotions running high, mistakes could have been made."

Amanda struggled to take it all in. Eventually, she asked, "So the ton's present view of Dexter is…?"

Her ladyship snorted. "With his fortune? Let alone his looks, or so I've heard. Naturally, there are any number of mamas who would marry their daughters to him in a blink, murderer or no." Her eyes bored into Amanda's. "Your mother isn't one of them."

Amanda forced herself not to react.

Lady Osbaldestone sat back, gaze shrewd. "The present situation could best be described as undecided. When Dexter comes to his senses and re-enters the ton, he won't be ostracized-there are enough of us who remember to ensure that. However, unless the matter of that old murder is settled, there will always be a question mark over his name."

Amanda nodded. "Thank you." She went to rise, then stopped. "I meant to ask-what's the connection between Dexter and the Ashfords?"

"A blood tie-Luc Ashford is Martin Fulbridge's first cousin. Their mothers were sisters." Lady Osbaldestone paused, then added, "They were inseparable as boys, as I recall. They look alike, don't they?"

Amanda nodded.

Lady Osbaldestone crowed. "Aha! So you have met the elusive earl. Well, my gel, let me give you a piece of advice." Closing a clawlike hand on Amanda's wrist, her ladyship leaned near. "If you want something badly and you're convinced it's the right thing for you, if it takes a fight to get it-fight!"

Releasing Amanda, she watched her stand. "Remember what I said. If it's the right thing, don't give up, no matter the resistance."

Amanda met her ladyship's eyes, so dark, so old, so wise. She bobbed a curtsy. "I'll remember."

It took her two full days to convince Reggie that it was vital she return to Lady Hennessy's. Three nights after she'd walked in Green Park, she once again entered Number 19, Gloucester Street. Again, the drawing room was fashionably full; Lady Hennessy arched a brow but made them welcome.

Amanda patted Reggie's arm. "Remember what you promised."

Reggie was scanning the throng. "I don't like it. What if some other gentleman approaches you?"

"I'll come scurrying back to your side." As she stepped away, she caught his eye. "Just don't disappear altogether."

Reggie snorted. "As if I would."

Mindful of her instructions, he ambled away, heading for the side of the room. Amanda looked about her, but could see no shapely head sporting locks burnished by the sun. Praying Dexter would appear soon, she put on her smile and started strolling the room.

This time, she was careful not to encourage any gentleman to pay court to her; she joined this group, then that, using the skills honed by her years in the ton to flit without giving offence. All the while she was conscious of steadily increasing tension, of her nerves, notch by notch, drawing tight.

She had no idea how Dexter would react to seeing her once more gracing such a venue. It had been his principal condition in fulfilling her desired adventures-that she would not seek further excitement in this sphere for the rest of this Season. He'd delivered on their bargain-now here she was, apparently reneging on her vow. He wouldn't be impressed, but she was ready to defend her actions. What worried her more was that he would view her presence as a stupidly defiant gesture, a deliberate courting of trouble, and decide she and her actions were beneath his notice.

If, instead of reacting hotly-possessively and protectively-he viewed her coldly and turned his back… she wasn't sure what she would do then.

She needn't have worried-he appeared like an avenging angel, all black frown and narrowed eyes, tight lips and burning gaze. In evening black, he stepped directly in front of her, cutting her off, towering over her. "What the devil are you doing back here?"

"Oh!" She'd jumped; her hand had instinctively risen to her breast-beneath it, her heart thumped. Then relief flooded her. "Good-you're here."

His eyes narrowed even more.

She stepped closer, clutching his lapel, hoping no one noticed. "We can't meet in the park anymore-the sun's rising so early there are others out by six. And I'm having to attend multiple balls every night, so earlier than six is impossible." Searching his face, she detected no softening in his stony expression. "I need to speak with you."

A wary frown appeared in his eyes, dispelling the thunderclouds. "You are speaking with me."

"Yes." She glanced about. "But I can't discuss the matter I wish to speak of here." In public was her clear message. "Is there somewhere…?"

After a pregnant pause, she thought she heard him sigh.

"Where's Carmarthen?" Lifting his head, he looked around. "I assume he escorted you here?"

"He's waiting by the wall. He knows I came here to speak with you."

Martin looked into her eager, trusting face, into cornflower blue eyes that held none of the defiance he'd expected to see. Every instinct he possessed was screaming that whatever it was she wished to say to him, he would be better off not hearing. Yet, if he didn't, he'd always wonder…

Just the sight of her had been enough to make him forget all the rational, logical arguments for staying away from her.

"Very well." Lips compressing, he took her arm. "This way."

He steered her past the fireplace to a pair of French doors curtained with lace. Reaching between the curtains, he set one door swinging wide. Without hesitation, Amanda slipped through and out; he followed, closing the door, leaving them isolated on a narrow balcony overlooking the garden. Totally private, yet not private enough to cause a scandal.

"What did you wish to discuss?"

She glanced at him; he could almost see her girding her loins as she faced him. "You told me of your past. You made it clear it-or rather its consequences-stand between us. I've quietly investigated how people view what happened, how the ton views you now." Her eyes searched his. "There are many who do not and never have accepted your guilt as a given."

He let his brows rise fractionally; he'd never really considered what the ton at large thought. The ton had never, of itself, been important to him. "How…" How what? Heartening? Hardly that. Interesting? The last thing he wished was to encourage her. He shrugged. "It matters little."

Her head rose. "On the contrary-it matters a great deal."

Her tone, the determined light in her eyes, the defiant tilt of her chin, alerted him to her direction. If he were resurrected in the ton's eyes…

The vision she was seeing, the impossible dream she was determined to pursue, broke across his mind. Acceptance, his true position… her. All that and so much more, all he'd blocked from his mind for the past ten years-

Wrenching his mind away, cutting off the thoughts, drowning the vision, took an effort that left his gut knotted, his lungs tight. "No."

She frowned, opened her lips-

"It won't work." He had to stop her from raising the spectre, stop it from gaining further flesh. "It's not that I haven't considered clearing my name." All too frequently during the past week. "But it happened ten years ago, and even at the time there was not a whisper of proof to support my tale-no one able to bear me witness."

Her frown deepened. After a moment, she said, "You do see, don't you, what could be… all that you could have?"

He held her gaze, succinctly replied, "Yes." He saw all too well. Knew how much he longed to seize, to possess. Knew that in this case, trying and failing would be infinitely worse than not trying at all.