She broke off, following some line of thought he couldn't for the life of him see. Eyes narrowing, she smiled, thin lipped. "It won't work."

Refocusing on him, she nodded. "Very well. You may take that tack if you wish, if you deem it necessary. However"-head high, she stepped past him, her eyes holding his-"my father has left London. He'll be traveling through the west country on business for the next week."

With a regal nod, she glided out of the bay. Frowning, Martin watched as she disappeared into the at-last-thinning crowd.

Six yards away, one hand resting on the back of the chaise on which his wife, Catriona, sat talking to Lady Forsythe, Richard Cynster, his expression impassive, watched Martin.

"We should string him up by his-"

"I'm not sure that's warranted."

Cut off in mid-tirade, Demon stared at Richard. "Not warranted? You say he was pressuring her-"

"Yes." From the armchair facing Devil's desk, Richard continued, "But not in the way you're imagining."

Demon frowned, then sank into a straightbacked chair facing the large desk. "What the hell's going on?"

All six of them exchanged glances. Sitting behind his desk, Devil sighed. "Knowing Amanda, it won't be straightforward."

"As far as I could see," Richard put in, "it wasn't."

"Their…"-shoulders propped against the bookshelves behind Devil, Vane gestured-"interaction is apparently the talk of the ton."

From his place on the chaise before the fireplace, Gabriel asked, "Tell us-what exactly did you see?"

"I saw them first," Vane said. "They were strolling, then stopped a little apart from the crowd. They spoke, then he kissed her wrist-not innocently. It looked like he'd have been perfectly happy to devour her on the spot, and she, silly nitwit, would have urged him on. Then they moved on." He shifted. "Patience said Amanda's managing perfectly well, and although that old scandal needs to be addressed, there's no reason for us to interfere."

The others looked at Vane, then, as one, they all turned to Richard.

"I saw them briefly, during the last waltz," Devil said. "I'm fairly certain Dexter saw me."

"But did he recognize you?" Richard raised his brows, then continued, "What I saw occurred shortly after, more or less on the heels of that waltz." He described all he'd seen. "In short, it appeared Dexter was calmly talking-it was Amanda who was more forceful. And given the way she swanned off at the end, nose in the air, and the way he watched her go, as if he was trying to figure it all out…" Richard sighed, "Truth to tell, I felt sympathetic."

Demon humphed. "The man's a certified wolf of the worst sort."

"Just as we once were," Devil murmured.

"Which is precisely my point. We know what he's thinking…" Demon let his words die.

"And that's my point," Richard stated. "Do you remember when you stood there, in a ballroom or wherever, and watched her stalk off-and wondered what the hell was going on?"

Devil's lips twitched. "I don't have to exercise my memory for that."

There were smiles and grins all around, then Devil sobered. "All right. Let's accept the fact that Dexter appears, on the face of it, to be wooing Amanda. I can't see any reason he'd go to the lengths he has to seduce her. For whatever reason, he's playing by society's rules. So, what do we know of him? I don't remember him personally." Devil glanced at Vane, who shook his head. "He was much younger than us."

"Younger than me, too," Demon said, "but I remember he was a hellion. But he was only on the town for a brief time."

"Up until the scandal." Briefly, Richard filled in all he knew of that, ending with, "The grandes dames and many others felt it was an overreaction on his father's part-basically, few believed Dexter, the present earl, could be guilty, but no one was asked for their opinion. The thing was done, decided by his father up north, and he was hustled out of England before anyone knew."

Devil asked, "What's the current feeling?"

Richard shrugged. "Innocent until known to be guilty, but still in the dock."

"I've dealt with him once." Gabriel leaned forward. "In the City, he's a legend among the nabobs. He led a syndicate we took an interest in, and he knew his business. We made a nice profit from that venture. The areas he deals in are exotic, occasionally esoteric, but always, always highly profitable. His reputation is formidable; he's known as a man of his word, a trader who deals squarely and straightforwardly, and who does not suffer either fools or rogues gladly."

"He's also a legend in collecting circles." Beside his brother on the chaise, Lucifer stretched out his long legs. "I'd pay to get into that old tomb on Park Lane. Hardly anyone has, but those who have set eyes on his library have come away with stars in their eyes. Absolutely lost for words. It's not the books alone, although they're apparently amazing, but all the oriental art he's collected over the years. Seems he has a real eye for beauty."

Demon softly snorted.

Devil tapped his blotter with his pen. "So… there's no reason to oppose a match, provided that old scandal is laid to rest."

"And provided he's thinking in such terms." Vane pushed away from the bookshelves.

"Indeed." Devil's face hardened. "Regardless of our ladies' fond imaginings, I believe I should demand some straight answers from the earl."

"I'll come with you," came from five other throats.

A tap on the door had them all glancing that way. The door opened; Sligo, Devil's majordomo, slipped in. "The Earl of Dexter has called, Your Grace. He's asked to speak with you privately."

Devil stared. "Dexter?"

Sligo proffered his salver on which a card lay. Devil took it, studied it, then asked, "Where is he?"

"I left him in the drawing room."

"Where's Her Grace?"

"Out."

Devil's lips curved. "Very good. Show his lordship in."

Martin stepped into His Grace of St. Ives' study-every self-protective instinct he possessed immediately snapped to full alert. Six pairs of eyes had locked on him; no prizes for guessing the most recent topic of conversation.

Strolling into the large room, he seized the moment to study the other occupants-far more than he'd expected, yet he wasn't all that surprised. He'd heard they operated as a pack.

Led by the man who came slowly to his feet behind the desk and nodded. "Dexter." He held out a hand.

Martin returned the nod. "St. Ives." He gripped the proffered hand.

"Do you have any reservations over speaking before my cousins?"

Martin let his gaze briefly touch the stony faces. "None."

"In that case…" Devil introduced them, using their nicknames, then waved to a straightbacked chair before the desk. "Sit down."

Martin looked at the chair, then picked it up and set it down to one side of the desk, so he wouldn't be sitting with four Cynsters at his back.

Demon scowled as he sat. Martin looked at Devil, without preamble stated, "I've just come from Upper Brook Street where I learned that your uncle, Lord Arthur Cynster, is presently from home and not expected to return for a week. I'd wished to apply for permission to pay my addresses to his daughter Amanda. In the circumstances, as you're the head of the family and currently in town, I'm here to apply to you in Lord Arthur's stead."

Absolute silence greeted his pronouncement, confirming his supposition of what they'd been discussing before he'd walked in.

His pale green gaze steady on Martin's face, Devil murmured, "A week isn't a long time."

Martin returned that unwavering regard; he was not prepared to endure another week of inaction. "Much could occur in a week, as I'm sure you'll agree."

Two of the others stirred at his deliberate words; Martin didn't shift his gaze from Devil.

Who sat back, eyes narrowing. "Why?"

Martin didn't bother to misunderstand. "Because it's time." He paused, selecting his words, then continued, "In my view, matters have progressed to a point where a wedding is in order. Hence… here I am."

There wasn't one of them who didn't immediately comprehend what particular matters had progressed, and to where; muffled oaths and none-too-thinly veiled threats, including one to hang him by a sensitive part of his anatomy, rose around him.

Devil waved the others to silence, his gaze locked on Martin's face. "You've only recently returned to the ton-stalking Amanda. I take it that was after those matters had progressed. Where did you meet her in the first place?"

Martin held Devil's gaze. "At Mellors."

"What?"

"That den?" and various other mutterings came from the sidelines.

Martin glanced down, straightened his cuff. "She'd just accepted a wager to play whist. Against Connor. She didn't have a partner."

The silence that greeted that was one of abject-positively scandalized-disbelief.

"The second time I saw her was in Helen Hennessy's salon."

Chapter 15

The room erupted. Various epithets were heaped on Amanda's head. Numerous questions were flung at him; recognizing them as rhetorical, Martin kept silent. Eventually, at a sign from Devil, now seriously displeased, the others quieted.

"Very well." Devil's eyes were hard. "What happened then?"

"She had a list of outings she wished to experience, beyond the ton but not of themselves scandalous. A moonlight drive in Richmond Park, boating on the Thames by night, a visit to Vauxhall in non-approved company, and attending a Covent Garden masquerade."