"But we haven't got a diary," Reggie said.
"Any book will do." Martin glanced at the shelves all around them.
"No, it won't," Amanda countered. "It should at least look the part. I've an old schoolroom diary with ribbons and roses on the front. It hasn't got my name on the cover-I'll write Sarah on it. That will look convincing."
Luc frowned. "If it was me, I'd try to get the diary back from Mrs. Crockett. I'd turn up at her cottage and say Martin sent me to fetch it."
"You won't have time," Martin told him. "We're going to settle this quickly." He glanced at them all. "The diary will arrive tomorrow evening-the coach from the north arrives at St. Pancras at five o'clock. To make it more realistic, and to make sure the diary arrives here and no attempt is made to waylay it en route, I'll send Jules up north to fetch it. In reality, we'll wrap the diary, give it to Jules, and one of my grooms will drive him to Barnet at dawn tomorrow. He'll be there to catch the coach when it stops on its way south later in the day."
"But what about Jules?" Amanda turned to Martin. "We know the murderer's dangerous. We don't want Jules harmed."
"You needn't worry about Jules-he can take care of himself." When Amanda didn't look convinced, Martin's grin turned wry. "Jules is an ex-Corsican bandit, an assassin, among other things. He was once sent to kill me."
Luc considered Martin. "He obviously wasn't much good at his job."
Martin raised his brows. "Actually, he was very good-I'm just better."
The cousins exchanged cousinly glances, then turned back to the business at hand.
"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."
He kissed her back. Realized they were both still too tense, too wound tight with expectation. Realized her ladyship's guests had much yet to discuss.
Decided to give them something more.
They gathered at five in Martin's library. Reggie and Jules's nephew, Joseph, currently acting in Jules's stead, had rearranged the furniture, swapping the daybed with a chaise from further down the long room.
"It was too distracting," Reggie declared when Amanda stood staring at the replacement chaise.
She had to admit that was true. Noting the daybed, still intact but at the other end of the room, she nodded. "It does make this area more formal."
"Precisely."
Luc joined them, nodding briskly. "The other four all know, but I saw no sign that any of them might interfere. Quite the opposite-they seemed delighted you were so close to clearing your name."
Martin's lips twisted. "Edward knows at least the vital details."
Luc met his gaze. "So the trap is set."
They settled to wait.
The library shared a wall with the front hall; when the front doorbell pealed, they all tensed. Listened to Joseph's footsteps cross the hall. Listened as he spoke to the caller.
It quickly became apparent that whoever the caller was, it wasn't anyone they'd expected; they listened as Joseph strove to get rid of the gentleman. But the voices behind the wall only rose higher; Amanda frowned. The tone seemed familiar…
Then she heard her name. Realized who it was.
"Good God!" Reggie glanced at her. "Isn't that-"
She snapped her mouth shut, surged to her feet. "I'll deal with this."
By the time she reached the front hall, her temper was on a seriously strained leash. Joseph heard her coming, glanced around, then stepped back and left the field to her. Left her facing the gentleman who had forced his way into the front hall.
"Mr. Lytton-Smythe!" Eyes narrow, she drew herself up. "I believe you were asking for me?"
Any wise man hearing her tones would have turned tail and run. Percival tugged down his waistcoat and frowned at her. "Indeed." He locked a hand about her wrist. "You will please me by leaving this house this instant!"
"What?" Amanda recoiled. Percival was gentleman enough not to drag on her arm, but neither did he release her; he stepped further into the hall as she stepped back.
Amanda halted and glared at him. "Mr. Lytton-Symthe, you appear to have taken leave of your senses! What has got into you?"
"Nothing at all-I have merely reached the limit of my patience. I have been-I am sure anyone would agree-extremely forbearing. I have watched you play games with others"-he wagged a finger at her-"and not sought to curtail such lighthearted pastimes. A last fling before taking on the sober mantle of marriage was reasonable enough, and while I can excuse your motives in assisting the rehabilitation of a relative of close friends, I of course did my duty to ensure that no interaction of a scandalous nature could ensue."
Amanda had been following his diatribe, absolutely astounded, but she fastened on that confession like a terrier. "Are you saying that you were the one who sent those girls out to Lady Arbuthnot's courtyard? And the other times-on the terrace at the Fortescues', and the Hamiltons' library? You thought to avoid scandal?"
Nose in the air, he nodded. She stared at him. "Why?"
"That ought to be obvious. I could not marry a lady whose reputation had been besmirched, however innocently. Now, given our agreement, I insist that you leave this house immediately. I'd heard you'd gone north, I assumed to visit relatives and so went to visit my aunt, only to learn on my return that you've been spending your time even more openly in Dexter's pocket. I will not stand for it. Now-"
"To which agreement are you referring, sir?"
Her tone finally penetrated; Percival stiffened. "To your agreement to marry me, of course."
"Mr. Lytton-Symthe, I can with a clear conscience swear that I have never, not ever, given you the slightest encouragement to believe I would welcome your suit."
Percival frowned at her as if she were splitting hairs. "Well, of course you haven't! Not the sort of thing a wellbred young lady would speak of-quite rightly, too. But I've made my position plain, and as there's no impediment to our marriage, there's no reason for you to say anything."
Her eyes narrowed to slits. "Oh, yes, there is. If I intend to marry a man, I will tell him-you may be absolutely sure of that. I will tell him out loud, in plain words and without the slightest blush! I will make up my own mind who I will marry, and I will definitely voice my decision. If you'd done me the courtesy of asking, I would have told you that in your case, my answer was and will always remain: No."
Percival continued to frown. "No? What do you mean: No?"
Amanda drew a long-suffering breath. "No, I will not marry you. No, I will not leave this house with you. No, I have not been playing games. How many more nos would you like?"
Percival's frown turned black. "You have had your head turned. Dexter is a regrettable influence. I insist you leave with me at once."
"Aaaah!" Amanda muted her scream through her teeth.
"It is clearly my duty to save you from yourself." Percival started to tow her to the door. Despite his soft head, he was stronger than she; she jerked back, looking for a weapon-her eye fell on a pewter jug standing on the table in the center of the hall.
With her free hand, she grabbed it, hefted it-realized it held liquid. Gave Percival, eyes fixed on the door, one last chance. "Let me go."
"No."
She flung the water at him-right at his head. It splashed, then cascaded down.
Percival stopped, shook his head, but his grip on her wrist only tightened. He turned to her.
She set her chin stubbornly. "Let me go."
"No."
Her temper erupted. She hit him on the side of the head with the jug-it gave a hugely satisfying clang. He staggered; his grip eased and she twisted her wrist free.
"You foolish woman! You have to come with me-" Percival lunged for her.
She hit him again. "No!" She waited until his eyes focused. "Get this through your thick skull: I do not want to marry you. I never did. I am not going to marry you. I've chosen a far better man. Now, go!" She pointed to the door.
He stepped toward her.
She clobbered him again. "Out!"
He reeled in that direction; she helped him along with a thud on his shoulder.
"Go away!" She kept swinging the jug and he was forced to retreat. Joseph, eyes shining with admiration, held the door wide. Percival tried to make a stand on the threshold. Amanda thumped him again, then shoved him out. He stumbled down the steps.
She stood in the doorway and glared. "I would never marry a dolt who even imagined I didn't know my own mind!"
Slamming the door, she turned, nodded regally to Joseph and handed him the jug. "Mop up the water before someone slips." She stalked toward the corridor to the library, and realized Martin had been standing in the shadows.
She narrowed her eyes at him. "Why didn't you help?"
He opened his eyes wide as he moved to let her pass. "I would have if you'd needed it, but you seemed to be managing perfectly well on your own."
Inwardly astounded, she merely humphed and swept on. The man had actually learned that lesson? Gracious Heaven! Would wonders never cease.
She walked into the library to find Reggie and Luc doubled over with laughter. Her lips twitched, but she maintained her dignity.
Luc lifted his head and looked at her with more appro
val than he usually showed. "What the devil did you hit him with?"
"The jug on the hall table."
That set them both off again. Resuming her position on the chaise, she glanced at the clock. Twenty minutes past the hour; the diary would have reached London and be on its way to them in Jules' care.
Luc considered her, then asked Martin what had happened in Lady Arbuthnot's courtyard. Martin suggested he mind his own business.
The diary would arrive before six. Sometime between then and now-
Voices reached them, muffled, but from inside the house. Mystified, they exchanged glances, then heard a barked order, and footsteps, bootsteps-more than one set-striding down the corridor-
Joseph was first through the door. "My lord-" He gestured helplessly and held open the door.
Martin and Luc were on their feet.
Lady Osbaldestone swept in.
"Aha!" Her black gaze swept them. "As I thought. Well enough, but you haven't adequately covered your rear."
Martin stared, then lifted his gaze to the two gentlemen who entered in her wake-Devil and Vane Cynster.
Devil nodded, his gaze also taking in those present. "Much as it pains me to concur, I believe her ladyship's right." He met Martin's gaze. "You need disinterested witnesses unconnected with your family."
"We have Reggie," Amanda pointed out.
Devil glanced at Reggie. "Judging by that bandage about his head, he can hardly be disinterested in bringing the man who wounded him to justice."
Martin dismissed Joseph, then turned to the others. "What do you have in mind?" He glanced at the clock. "We have very little time, and if the villain is who we believe, he'll know this for a trap the instant he sets eyes on any of you."
"Which is why we came via the back door." Lady Osbaldestone had been examining the furnishings. "What a treasure trove you have here. However"-she looked down the room-"that is precisely what we need."