Who the devil was Sally Jersey, the ton's greatest gossip, talking to? And why were they here? More important, when would they leave?
Heels tapped as Sally wandered the room; luckily, she'd headed for the fireplace.
Then a firm footstep sounded in the corridor; an instant later, someone else paused on the threshold.
"Sally? What are you doing here, all by yourself?"
Amanda stiffened. It was Devil's drawl.
"Truth to tell, St. Ives, I really don't know." They heard the crackle of paper. "I received a note asking me to come here-well, to the library. There isn't another in this house, is there?"
"Not that I know of."
"How strange."
"Are you planning to wait, or can I escort you back to the ballroom?"
"You may give me your arm-and the next dance, too, come to that."
Devil chuckled. "If you wish."
An instant later, the door closed-and they were, once more, alone.
"Great heavens!" Amanda wriggled.
Martin winced, and set her back on her feet.
"That was…" She blinked at the desk, remembered all that had happened, and what, just, had not. She blushed. "A very near-run thing."
Tight-lipped, she shook out her skirts, rearranging them, the action and her expression stating louder than words that the interlude was over.
Martin dragged in a huge breath, exhaled through his teeth.
When she threw him a suspicious glance, he offered his arm. "We'd better return to the ballroom."
"Heaven knows what would have happened if Silence hadn't walked in!" Amanda halted, frowned. "No-that's not true. I do know what would have happened, and it would have worked more to his advantage than mine."
Eschewing her pacing, she climbed onto her bed where Amelia lay listening. "Being alone with him is too dangerous."
"Dangerous?" Amelia looked concerned.
Amanda bit her lip, then went on, "I thought if we loved more, it would prove my point, because when we love, the fact he truly loves me is so patently obvious I don't see how he can continue to ignore it! But…"
She grimaced and looked down at her stomach, smoothed her gown over the curve. "If we do, I risk falling pregnant." She frowned at the slight bulge. "Who knows? I might already be carrying his child."
She heard the wistfulness in her voice, wasn't surprised when Amelia softly asked, "Don't you want to have his child?"
"Yes. More than anything." A simple truth; she dragged in a huge breath. "But I don't want him marrying me because of it, and that's how he'll make it seem!"
She thumped the bed, then fell back and stared up at the canopy.
Amelia grimaced. After a moment, she asked, "Does what'seems' truly matter when weighed against what 'is'?"
That, indeed, was the question. Amanda faced it squarely, yet couldn't formulate a clear answer. Until she did, she decided to play safe-to talk, but not to kiss. To encourage, yes, but to draw a clear line over which she would not be tempted. Again. Not until…
"Miss Cynster?"
She turned; a footman bowed and proffered a salver on which lay a note. She took it; stepping away from the chaise on which her mother and aunts sat, she unfolded the note.