On a Wild Night (Cynster 8)

She watched him wheel the horses and ride away.

Then she slipped downstairs to her bed.

She was going to have to be ruthless. She couldn't weaken and give in-couldn't meet with him again in the shadows. Couldn't return to his lair, nor yet to the underworld where he prowled.

If he truly wanted her…

If he did, if he felt for her half of what she felt for him, confused and peculiarly emotional though she was on that point, then he would follow her. Into her world, the world he'd turned his back on.

If he did…

"Are you ready?"

Pinning on a bright smile, Amanda swivelled on the dressing stool; Amelia stood by the door. "Yes." Laying aside the brush she'd held for countless minutes past, she picked up her parasol. "Is Reggie here yet?"

"He's just arrived."

Martin pulled his front door shut. Pausing on the porch, he looked across to the park. Carriages crowded the Avenue; the ton paraded on the lawns, the ladies' gowns a bouquet of colors shifting across the green, the gentlemen in their more sober attire providing contrast.

To promenade in the park of an afternoon was clearly still obligatory for members of the haut ton. The female members, at least.

It was a female member he wanted to see.

Descending the steps, he strode to his gates, then across Park Lane. Entering through a minor gate, he passed into the park, into the shadows thrown by the trees. Amanda, he felt sure, would be somewhere among the crowd, laughing, talking, smiling.

He wanted to see her-that was all. He didn't want to examine the reasons why. Absurd, that a man of his experience couldn't accept her desertion, couldn't chalk up the episode with mild regret, shrug and move on. Couldn't, despite her steadfast "No," wash his hands of her and forget her.

It was precisely because he couldn't forget that he was here. He couldn't forget the sense of completion they'd shared, couldn't erase the sensual memory even though his factual memory was hazy over the entire interlude. He couldn't understand how it had happened, how the moment had slid so far out of his control. He didn't understand precisely what had happened, and he certainly didn't understand why it had ended so abruptly.

Why she'd run.

But she had; her subsequent actions had underscored her decision. She wanted no more of him.

Well and good. Jaw setting, he strode the lawns, circling the fashionable throng. His words echoed in his mind-mockingly. He thrust them aside.

It wasn't good, none of it. He'd felt like he'd found something inestimably precious-that he'd just discovered such a thing could exist-and she'd taken it, all chance of it, and herself, away.

Gritting his teeth, he halted under a tree, waited for his reaction to subside, at least enough to continue. His plan was simple. If he could see her, watch her long enough to convince himself she was happy and content, relieved to have done with him, then he'd accept his conge.

There would be no alternative. If he'd been wrong in his assessment of her-if he could convince himself she'd just been intent on a dangerous liaison purely for the hell of it-then acceptance would come much more easily.

Stepping out, he continued his search. The Season proper was about to begin; the crowd was substantial enough to provide camouflage, yet not so dense he wouldn't be able to spot Amanda. The day was fine; a light breeze flirted with ribbons and curls.

Then he saw her.

She was walking with another girl who had to be her twin. Seen together, they were too much alike for it to be otherwise, yet they were not identical. Reggie Carmarthen was with them; her parasol up, shading her face, Amanda walked in the middle of the trio.

Sliding into the shadows of a nearby tree, Martin watched. The sister and Carmarthen were conversing freely, smiling and gesticulating. Whenever they turned to Amanda, she beamed, nodded, effervescently charming, even more so than her sister. She would throw in a word or two, then pause. As the other two took up the conversational reins, she'd look down.

The effervescent brightness would drain away; her expression haunted, reserved, she would walk quietly along until appealed to again.

Martin watched the transformation three times, then Amanda's sister, clearly aware, linked her arm in Amanda's. The golden heads dipped close; Reggie was nodding, his attention focused on Amanda.

They were trying to cheer her up.

Then Reggie pointed to a group ahead of them. Amanda looked, and shook her head. A discussion took place, then Amanda pointed to an empty bench set under a tree. The others argued, but she was adamant; waving them on to join the group they'd spotted, she retired to the bench and sat.

Amanda deployed her parasol to screen herself, not from the sun but from idle glances. She'd seized the chance for a moment of peace; the last thing she wanted was to be approached by anyone, especially not Percival Lytton-Smythe, who she'd glimpsed earlier.