On a Wild Night (Cynster 8)

He nodded. "Good." And set the swing swinging again.

A shiver of delight spiralled through her. Eyes widening, she stared as his hands rose beneath her chemise to close once again about her breasts. Inside, she felt him stir, strengthen.

Then he pushed harder. His fingers closed tight about her nipples. Her lids fell. "Good God!"

"They were watching the entire time!"

"What?" Amanda glanced at Amelia. They'd parted from Louise at the top of the stairs and were heading down the corridor to their rooms.

Amelia's expression was grim. "You and Martin slipped into the conservatory. Demon immediately started hovering near the doors, as if he was just propping up the wall, looking around-you know how they do."

"So?"

"So when another couple looked as if they'd try the doors, he was there to head them off. I saw him do it. Then he went back to watching. Then, when Flick wanted to leave early, Demon caught Vane's eye, and Vane took over. He was there until you came out-you didn't notice because he was standing back by the wall."

They'd reached their rooms; Amanda stared at her sister, for one of the first times in her life truly speechless. Her head was spinning. She squeezed Amelia's hand. "Change, then come in and we'll talk."

The minutes spent with her maid, climbing out of her gown for the second time that night, donning her nightgown and brushing her hair, did little to improve her state. When the maid left and Amelia popped in and scurried to jump under the covers, her wits were still whirling, as were her emotions, shifting and swirling until she felt almost ill. Worse than giddy. Both head and heart were swinging wildly; both seemed unreliable. The only certainty seemed gut instinct. Gut instinct told her to take a large step back.

"I can't fathom what's going on." She climbed into bed beside Amelia. "I know Devil gave his permission, but…" Anger and confusion clashed; she shook her head. "After all these years of getting in our way every time we showed the slightest sign of even smiling at some wolf, they turn around and happily hand me over to a lion!"

Amelia slanted her a glance. "Is he really that lionlike?"

"Yes!" Amanda folded her arms and glared. "If you knew what went on in the conservatory, you wouldn't ask." Amelia looked like she wanted to ask; Amanda hurried on, "I assumed they'd grudgingly agreed-instead…" She narrowed her eyes. "I know why. It's because he's just like them!"

"Well, yes. We knew our ideal gentlemen would be like them."

Amanda stifled a frustrated scream. "But they don't need to help him. He's quite difficult enough on his own!"

After a moment, Amelia asked, "So what's the state of your game?"

"That's just it-I don't know! Every time I try to think it through"-she rubbed a finger between her brows-"my head hurts. Horribly."

Moments passed in silence, then under the covers, Amelia found her hand and squeezed, then sat up. "I'm going back to my bed. Sleep on it-it'll all seem clearer in the morning. That's what Mama always says."

Amanda murmured a good night, then listened as Amelia slipped away. Closing her eyes, she willed herself to follow her sister's advice.

She didn't succeed until dawn. Even then, her rest was disturbed and fretful. She was distantly aware that Louise came in, took one look at her, and declared she should sleep in.

Later, her mother again materialized by her bed. Louise smiled, then sat and gently brushed the curls off her forehead. "It's not easy, is it?"

Amanda frowned. "No. I thought it would be."

Louise's smile turned wry. "It never is. But"-she stood-"it's worth persevering in the end. Now, I want you to sleep for the rest of the morning. Amelia and I will attend Lady Hatcham's morning tea, then we'll look in and see if you're well enough to come to Lady Cardigan's luncheon."

With another fond smile, Louise left; Amanda considered the door as it shut-considered how supportive her mother had been, how much closer she now felt to, not only Louise, but all her aunts, her cousins' wives. As if she'd passed through some coming of age, another rite of passage, as if in facing a hurdle all the women in her family had faced and overcome, she'd gained a deeper insight, a fuller understanding. Of a great many things.

Like life, love and family. Like what it really took to gain a woman's-any woman's-dream. Like the fact their dreams were all the same, even through the ages-different men, different circumstances, the same yearning. The same single emotion at their core.

With a sigh, she rolled onto her back and stared, unseeing, at the canopy. Contrary to Amelia's hopes, matters did not appear any clearer, but at least she no longer felt quite so overwhelmed.

The central question still remained. Assuming Martin loved her, did he know it? If he did, did she need to hear him state it, out aloud in words, or would other forms of communication do?

But what if she got it wrong-accepted him without any verbal declaration, and later learned he didn't accept that he loved her at all? Would he still feel compelled to clear his name of the old scandal? Or, despite the assurance she felt certain he must have given Devil to secure permission to address her, would he, once she was his, bend the rules and, for instance, acknowledge the scandal openly and retire from public life himself, leaving her and their children to provide the family's social facade?

If he went that road, there was in reality little the Cynsters could do, other than put a good face on it.

That last had to be the reason Lady Osbaldestone was adamant she settle for nothing less than a solid acknowledgment, in words or otherwise, a lever to ensure he would reopen the matter and clear his name. If he loved her and had admitted it, she could insist he did. Yet if he loved her, but didn't know it, refused to acknowledge it, she would have little power to sway him.