On a Wild Night (Cynster 8)

"However, just to make sure, and lend further verisimilitude to our tale, I'll send two grooms to meet the coach at St. Pancras and escort Jules and the precious diary back here."

Luc nodded. "Yes. That will do it. Setting guards about the diary is a masterstroke-you wouldn't bother unless you were convinced the evidence it contains is crucial."

"As it would be in more ways than one. It would prove I was falsely accused, clear me of the old scandal, restore my standing within the family, pave the way for me to marry Amanda-connecting me with the Cynsters-and ensure I'm the darling of the ton for the foreseeable future." Martin glanced at Luc. "If it is Edward and he craves social standing and also resents me as you say, then the combination of all that good to come my way, all hinging on the information in the diary, will make it utterly impossible for him not to react."

The next day dawned, and everything was in place. Amanda had unearthed her old diary, written "Sarah's" on the cover; wrapped in brown paper, it was now in Jules's possession. Together with one of Martin's grooms, he'd left for Barnet at dawn.

All of them had their allotted tasks. Reggie remained at Fulbridge House in charge of the command post. The others reported to him throughout the day, confirming their tasks completed, checking that all was on track.

After intense discussion, they'd agreed on how to get their story to all five gentlemen still on their list. They needed to be sure that all five received the message-the warning of impending exposure-before five o'clock that afternoon. It took the combined arguments of Amanda, Luc and Reggie to convince Martin that it was impossible to keep the matter private.

"However," Amanda had pointed out, "the best way to make sure the story is repeated enough to be believed, quickly, is to tell it to selected people 'in confidence.'"

Luc had studied Martin's stony countenance, then sighed. "You can't have it both ways-it's either going to be quick and public, or drawn out and potentially more dangerous if we try for secrecy."

Martin had finally capitulated and they'd settled on their approach. Even though it had been by then very late, Luc had left to do the rounds of the clubs to seed the story into the right circles. After that, he would stop by the ball his mother, sisters and brother were attending, but let Edward sense no more than that there was something in the wind. Something to do with Martin.

This morning, Luc would visit Limmers; later, he'd swan through the clubs, idly coming upon the other four on their list, checking they'd heard without asking. They would assuredly ask him for the latest news, which, of course, he'd give.

As for Edward, they'd agreed he should hear the news from a source he'd never suspect-his sisters, Emily and Anne. Amanda was delegated to tell them the tale; with

Amelia beside her, primed to lend assistance, she set out with Louise in the carriage that morning for their usual drive in the park.

Meeting the Ashfords, deciding to join the girls strolling on the lawns, was normal practice. As usual, Edward remained close but did not walk with them. Amelia and Amanda artfully turned the conversation to Amanda's upcoming wedding. Emily and Anne peppered her with questions, innocently enthusiastic about what would be their first haut ton wedding.

It was easy for Amanda to confide, breathless with relief, that the cloud over Martin's name would soon be lifted. When the girls, who'd heard whispers of the old scandal, eagerly looked for an explanation, she divulged all they needed to know, skating over the details of the old crimes but ensuring they had a firm grasp of what was to occur later that afternoon and, even more importantly, the expected outcome and all that would ensue.

Delighted, Emily and Anne declared it seemed just like a fairy tale. Exchanging glances, Amanda and Amelia encouraged them further, confident that both girls would sit in their carriage and happily chatter to their mother all the way home, with Edward sitting by listening in.

There was no safe way to confirm that Edward had heard all the necessary details. Martin, on horseback, screened by low-hanging branches, watched the unfolding scene, watched Emily and Anne part from Amanda and Amelia and return to their mother's open landau. Edward climbed in and sat beside his mother. The landau rumbled off along the Avenue.

It passed Martin, concealed beneath the tree; he heard Anne relate: "It-the diary-is to arrive at five today!" Shaking the reins, he ambled out, following the carriage, not close enough to be sighted amid the other traffic but close enough to keep the Ashfords in view.

The girls talked non-stop. His aunt smiled, nodded and questioned. Edward sat next to her, po-faced, utterly still. When the carriage reached Ashford House, Edward descended, handed his mother down, then his sisters. Lady Calverton swept up the steps; Emily followed. Anne stepped out in her sister's wake-Edward stopped her.

From the corner of the street, Martin watched as Edward interrogated Anne. In sisterly fashion, Anne heaved a sigh and recited answers. Eventually satisfied, Edward let her go; she climbed the steps and went in. Edward remained on the pavement, his expression unreadable, then he whirled and strode quickly inside.

Martin watched him go, then returned to Park Lane to make his report.

After that… throughout the day, he and Amanda had to play the part of ecstatic lovers, projecting the image of a couple for whom the last hurdle to wedded bliss was teetering, about to fall. As indeed it was, but they were so keyed up, so focused on what would occur later, that billing and cooing was an unexpected strain. In large part, he left it up to her. Plastering a smile on his face, he aimed it at anyone who came up, stayed planted by her side, and thought of other things.

Until she jabbed him in the ribs. Turned a sweet smile on him. Her eyes sparked. "Your face keeps changing. It starts pleasantly besotted, then gradually gets harder until you look positively grim! Lady Moffat just asked if you're feeling quite the thing."

"Well…" He stopped himself from frowning at her. "I'm distracted."

"So think of something else-distract yourself with something else. Something pleasant."

There was only one thing he could think of that might work.

It did. The discovery that, despite all, she was still so deliciously flusterable, focused his predatory senses, and after that, an interlude in Lady Carlisle's music room while all her ladyship's other guests were indulging in post-prandial discourse on the lawns, seemed the perfect opportunity to distract them both.

Her shivering sigh as he slid into her was

the sweetest music he had ever heard, her soft, smothered, keening cry as he drove her to ecstasy and she shattered in his arms the ultimate benediction.

When they drifted back to earth, finally caught their breath, she lifted her head, studied his eyes, then her lips, swollen from his kisses, curved in a smug smile. She scored her nails lightly up his nape, an evocative caress that made him shiver. She touched her lips to his. "You're mine," she whispered.

"Always."