The power gently ebbed, leaving them floating on a golden sea.

Martin woke before dawn as he had once before with Amanda's soft weight snuggled against him. This time, he closed his eyes and let contentment wash over him.

After wallowing for some moments, he sighed, turned on his side, and ran his hands slowly down her body. She murmured sleepily, arched, turned to him and wound her arms about his neck. He kissed her lingeringly, then murmured, "We'll have to separate when we get back to town."

"Hmm… but not for long… and… not yet." Eyes still closed, she drew him to her. He closed his arms about her, rolled her beneath him, and left tomorrow to take care of itself.

It took them most of the day to drive back to London. Onslow's arm wasn't healed sufficiently for him to drive; they left him recuperating under Allie's eagle eye, and drove down in Martin's curricle. Martin handled the reins with Amanda beside him; Reggie sat behind in the tiger's seat.

As the curricle sped south, Martin and Amanda outlined all they'd learned, all they'd concluded-all they suspected. Reggie listened, then soberly said, "He won't stop, y'know. If he was prepared to kill to see the matter left alone, when you appear again, he won't just let be."

Expression grim, Martin nodded. "The question now is, should we let him know who he shot-or should we let him worry about that, too?"

Reggie voted to increase the pressure. "In that case"-Martin flicked his whip and urged the horses on-"we'll have to hide you."

They accomplished that by taking a roundabout route once they reached London's outskirts; they approached the fashionable district along the south side of the park as the last of the daylight faded, slipped into the drive of Fulbridge House, and quickly rattled around into the coach-yard behind it.

"No one saw us." Amanda scrambled down.

"Not a soul who would recognize us, anyway." Reggie climbed down from his perch more slowly.

Martin handed the reins to a groom, then turned to Reggie. "How's your head?"

Straightening from stretching his back, Reggie thought, then replied, "Not as bad as it was-the fresh air seems to have helped."

"Good. We'll have Jules, my henchman, take a look at the wound. He has tried-and-true remedies for all injuries."

Amanda slipped her arm supportively through Reggie's and turned him to the house. "Presumably Jules knows how to make tea."

Later, when Jules had redressed Reggie's wound after announcing it was healing well, then supplied them with a sustaining if somewhat exotic dinner, they took refuge in the library and settled to plan.

On the drive down they'd agreed that the one other person they needed to involve was Luc Ashford. Martin wrote a note and sent it off to Ashford House, then they turned their minds to more immediate concerns.

"Reggie can stay here, which will keep him out of sight and also mean there's always one of us here-at the center of operations, so to speak."

Reggie had been wandering the room, looking at this and that; he considered, then nodded. "Everyone will know I left with Amanda." He looked at her, curled up in one corner of the fantastically draped daybed. "If you say I went to visit friends in the north, no one will expect to see me."

"Except your mother," Amanda reminded him, "who won't believe me. And I don't think you'll want me to tell her you've a hole in your head."

Reggie blanched. "Good God, no! I'll write a note. Tell her I'm going to see those friends. She'll accept that."

Martin looked at Amanda. "I'll take you home later tonight. Will your father have returned from his trip?"

She counted, then nodded. "But why do you want him?"

"Because he needs to know the truth." When she frowned, he raised his brows. "I'm going to marry you, and I haven't even spoken to him yet."

She knew better than to argue, but made a mental note to be present at any discussion between her sire-a Cynster born and bred-and her soon-to-be husband, another rigidly protective male. She had no wish to find herself somehow excluded from the pending excitement.

Martin made three copies of their list of suspects. He was blotting the last when the front doorbell pealed. Picking up the lists, he rose, crossed to the daybed and handed a copy to Amanda; Reggie came up and took another.

The door opened; Jules stepped in. "Viscount Calverton," he intoned in his heavily accented English.

Luc walked in, his gaze swiftly roving the room before coming to rest on them, gathered before the hearth. Jules stepped back and quietly shut the door. Luc blinked, surprised to see Amanda and Reggie-even more surprised as he took in the bandage swathing Reggie's head.

"Good God! What happened to you?"

Reggie frowned. "Some relative of yours shot me."

"What?" Luc glanced at Martin; reserve infused his expression. "I received your… summons, Dexter." He gestured. "So here I am."

Martin grimaced, and waved him to the chaise. "My apologies for the phrasing-I needed you here."

Luc's brows rose. When Martin said no more, he came forward and sat, effortlessly graceful as ever, opposite Amanda. He shot her a hard, considering glance, then looked at Martin. "Why?"

Martin met his gaze. "I've just returned from Hathersage."

Concisely, Martin related all they'd learned. Luc listened, his concentration absolute. He didn't interrupt; Martin seemed to anticipate his questions, digressing here and there to fill in details. He ended his recitation at the point where he'd discovered his parents had realized the truth, and tried without success to find him. He concluded with his resolution to discover which of their joint relatives had committed the dastardly deed.

Martin fell silent, waited. Luc dragged in a huge breath. "My apologies. I should have known better, but… at the time, I honestly didn't know what to think."

Martin's lips lifted wrily. "As it happens, I can say the same to you."

Luc thought, then stared. "You thought / did it?"

"Well, I knew I hadn't. And I didn't know until yesterday that Sarah had been forced. If not me, then the most likely to have swept her off her feet was you."

Luc pulled a face. "I thought of her as you did-like a younger sister. To do that… it would be like casting covetous eyes on Emily or Anne." He shuddered.

"Quite." Martin sat on the daybed, stretching one arm along its back so his fingertips touched Amanda's frothing curls. He set the remaining two copies of their list on his knee, gestured to them. "We've made a start at defining the field-the murderer, presumably also Sarah's defiler and Reggie's attacker, must be one of these men."

He explained about his father's ledger; Luc remembered it. Taking one list, Luc scanned the names. "It can't be Giles or Cameron." He glanced at Martin. "I'd stopped at the Millikens' near Derby, so I reached Hathersage mid-morning. I didn't make it to the house. As I was crossing the yard, Giles and Cameron came out carting guns and a hamper; they challenged me to join them and I did. I was with them all day. We didn't get back until dusk." He grimaced. "When the commotion was over and the decisions made. We were told not to attempt to speak with you. They took you away an hour later."

His face impassive, Martin nodded, and considered the list. "That leaves nine."

Luc rescanned the list. "All were at the house when we got back that day." He glanced at Martin. "It's not going to be easy checking where people were, who remembers what, ten years after the fact."

"True, but we have something more recent to check. Who was on the Great North Road three nights ago?"

Luc looked at Reggie, perched on an ottoman. "They actually shot you?"

Reggie looked at him. "Would you like to see the furrow in my skull?"

Luc winced. "I'll take your word for it." He looked at Martin. "But why?"

"My guess is that he assumed I would be the man in the coach. Amanda and I were back down the road, before the curve before the turn-off, discussing matters. Reggie took the coach around the bend, intending to halt and wait for us. When the coach slowed, the murderer no doubt assumed it was turning for Hathersage. You know the place-it's an ideal ambush."

Luc nodded. He looked down at the list.

Amanda steeled herself to insist that Edward's name remain on the list, but instead of arguing that point, Luc nodded again. "Right. I can check these names more easily than you. I'll have to ask Mama"-he held up his hand to stay their protests-"without telling her, to get the directions of Oliver and Bruce, who I haven't seen in years. I should be able to run most of them to earth at their clubs."

Martin nodded. "If we can place people at a ball or any public function three nights ago, we can cross them off the list."

"You're sure it's the same man-the murderer and the man who shot Reggie?"

"For the sake of the family, I sincerely hope so." When Luc looked his question, Martin explained, "We have witnesses who'll swear they both 'looked just like me.'"

Luc eyed Martin's face, then grimaced. "I'll start tonight." He rose.

Martin rose, too. "Reggie's staying here, out of sight. Whoever he is, if the murderer isn't already wondering if it really was me he shot, he'll certainly be wondering who he hit once I reappear."

"And when will that be?" Luc asked.

"At the Duchess of St. Ives' ball." Amanda smiled as Martin turned to her. "Tomorrow night."

"Well, my dear." Her father shut the drawing room door having seen Martin out. "I thoroughly approve of your choice."