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 an
d 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."