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.

"Can you even begin to imagine how she died?" Martin's voice steadily gained strength. "Or the pain Buxton must have suffered-before you finished him off." He stepped closer. "Let alone the anguish you caused my mother, and my father, before they, too, died?" His tone lashed as he asked, "How many lives were ruined, Edward-all by you?"

Edward gasped, looked down. Amanda saw his chest swell.

Then he vaulted the chaise, landing beside her-he shoved the chaise into Martin and Luc. She screamed and turned to flee.

Edward grabbed a hank of her hair, cruelly yanked her back, twisted his hand until she whimpered in pain. He hauled her up to her toes against him.

Click! From the corner of her eye, she glimpsed a sliver flash, then felt cold steel against her throat.

"Stand back!" Edward yelled as Martin and Luc surged to their feet. They teetered on the brink of lunging across the chaise, but stopped. Their faces, and that of Reggie behind them, registered their shock.

"That's right."

She felt Edward nod.

"Stay where you are. You don't want your latest love to die, too, do you?"

Crash!

The sound was so startling it made them all jump-the boom echoed around the room.

"You dreadful boy! Your mother wouldn't believe her eyes could she see you now. How dare you, sirrah!" Lady Osbaldestone surged forward, the tap-tap of her cane loud on the boards. The screen behind which she'd been sitting lay rocking to one side; Devil and Vane were close on her heels.

Edward gaped, frozen, as she stormed toward him.

"You're a worm, same as your sire! Should have culled you at birth. You're a blot on your household escutcheon." She halted a yard away. "Take that!"

Before anyone could blink, her cane sliced through the air and came down with a thwack on Edward's wrist.

"Yahhhh!" He dropped the knife.