On a Wild Night (Cynster 8)

They pored over it, then turned back to the list for the previous New Year. Notations against the names indicated when various guests had arrived. Amanda hunted out a fresh sheet of paper and a pencil.

"Give me the name of every male of your mother's line who was here that New Year, on the second, then again at Easter, on the right date. Don't judge, don't exclude-we'll do that later."

He picked up the ledger, sat back and obliged. Then they culled the list of those who, due to age or some other reason, could not have been the murderer.

"Twelve." Amanda considered the list. "So he's one of these men. Now, what else do we know of him?"

Martin took the list, ran his eye down it. "You can cross off Luc and Edward."

She took the list back, obliterated Luc's name, then hesitated. "How old was Edward at the time?"

"He's almost two years younger than Luc… he would have been sixteen, almost seventeen."

"Hmm."

"You can't seriously imagine he did it." Martin reached for the list.

Amanda whisked it out of reach. "We have to be logical about this. I agree about Luc, but only because in full daylight no one could possibly confuse you. But Edward?" She raised a brow. "Think back-what was Edward like at sixteen?"

Martin looked at her, eyes narrowing, then waved. "Have it your way-leave Edward on the list for the moment."

Amanda humphed. Edward had the same coloring as Martin, and while she wouldn't have said they were that similar now, then…? If he'd been anything like the males in her family, by sixteen, Edward would have been nearly full grown. Easy enough to mistake at a distance.

Not that she seriously believed he'd done anything so horrible, but keeping stuffily righteous Edward's name on their list, having eliminated Luc's, seemed-however childishly-satisfying. "Very well. Now we need to check with the others who were here that Easter, and eliminate those gentlemen others can remember being with at the time of the murder."

Martin looked at her. "How's Reggie?"

She grinned. "Much better, and quite ready to travel back to London."

Martin rose. He rounded the desk to join her. "That's one other thing we know about our man. He was on the Great North Road two nights ago."

She let him turn her to the door. "Actually, that's several things."

He raised a brow at her.

"Our man was someone who knew you were headed up the Great North Road two nights ago-but not why, and not in what carriage."

Chapter 21

After making arrangements to leave the next morning, they retired early to their beds. Arms crossed, coatless, cravatless, shoulder propped against the frame, Martin stood at the bay window of the earl of Dexter's bedchamber and watched moonlight and shadows drift over the valley. Let the sight sink into him, along with an acceptance that the title, the room, the house, the fields he could see spread out before him, were now his.

His responsibility, his to care for.

Acceptance brought the first hint of peace-a peace he hadn't believed would ever again be his, that hadn't touched his soul for the past ten years.

It was within his grasp once more, all because he'd chased a golden-haired houri up the Great North Road. She'd been his beacon, the light that had drawn him first from the shadows, and now further, back into the life he'd been reared to consider his destiny.

Without her, he wouldn't be here. She'd given his future back to him. Intended to be an integral part of it.

His lips quirked. He thought back over the past weeks, over the vacillations, the qualifications. None seemed important anymore; they both knew where they were headed.

Thinking of her had the inevitable effect, knowing he could go to her, now, tonight, and she would open her arms to him, welcome him…

But she hadn't yet given him her answer. The fact she'd felt it necessary to put miles between them just to think clearly… he couldn't, in all conscience-in all wisdom-act as if he took her decision for granted, even if he knew very well what it would be. Regardless of how hard she thought.

It wasn't logic that bound them, and logic couldn't tear them apart.

The latch clicked; he glanced back at the door, expecting Colly on some errand. Instead, his houri, dressed in a soft robe, slipped in. She looked around and saw him, closed the door, then headed toward him.