"You're sure it's the same man-the murderer and the man who shot Reggie?"
"For the sake of the family, I sincerely hope so." When Luc looked his question, Martin explained, "We have witnesses who'll swear they both 'looked just like me.'"
Luc eyed Martin's face, then grimaced. "I'll start tonight." He rose.
Martin rose, too. "Reggie's staying here, out of sight. Whoever he is, if the murderer isn't already wondering if it really was me he shot, he'll certainly be wondering who he hit once I reappear."
"And when will that be?" Luc asked.
"At the Duchess of St. Ives' ball." Amanda smiled as Martin turned to her. "Tomorrow night."
"Well, my dear." Her father shut the drawing room door having seen Martin out. "I thoroughly approve of your choice."
He smiled as he crossed to stand before the fire, his eyes touching Louise's as he passed her, reclining on the chaise a book forgotten on her lap.
"There is the scandal to be dealt with but, overall, my verdict concurs with Devil's." Taking up his stance, Arthur smiled fondly down at Amanda. "It'll be an excellent match, and Dexter's precisely the sort of gentleman we wo
uld have hoped to be welcoming into the family."
Amanda exchanged a glance with her mother. Louise smiled, and rescued her book. "Amanda has suggested Honoria's dinner and ball tomorrow night as the most suitable time to declare the family's stance-by demonstration rather than proclamation, in the circumstances-and with that, I concur. And so will Honoria and Helena, I'm sure."
"I feel confident I can leave Dexter's social ressurrection safely in your delicate hands." The twinkle in Arthur's eye was for them both. He continued to hold Amanda's gaze, his own rich with affection, but also, she realized, with shrewd assessment.
"I'm convinced, from all Devil and your cousins have reported, that the old scandal will prove to have been a dreadful mistake, and Dexter will emerge blameless. His character from the time he left England to the present… impossible to hide such a flaw for so long, especially under such challenging circumstances as those he has faced. From all you and he have now told me, it seems his plans to resolve the issue are well advanced."
Arthur paused; she found herself trapped in his blue gaze. "Which brings us to the matter of the real culprit, who, judging by poor Reggie's head, remains dangerous. While I have no qualms whatever for your safety while in Dexter's company, you will please me, for the time you still remain in my charge, by taking all due care when you are not under his protection."
There'd been a subtle change in her father's tone; he rarely laid down the law, but when he did speak in such fashion, Amanda knew better than to argue. "I will-I promise." She glanced at Louise, who, one brow arched, was looking at her spouse.
"Is there truly any danger?"
Arthur met her gaze. "Dexter believes the potential exists, and he isn't the sort to jump at shadows."
It was the perfect setting in which to effect a grand entrance-a grandiloquent gesture to capture the attention of the frenetic ton. The details were discussed and debated over the dinner that preceded Honoria's ball; the support of the ton's most influential hostesses-all of whom were present-was therefore engaged and assured from the start.
All agreed that Martin should make his bow with Amanda on his arm only once most of the ball guests had arrived.
When the moment came, Webster announced, first, Mr. Spencer Cynster and his wife Patience, escorting Lady Osbaldestone-who'd insisted on being part of the fun-and the Dowager Duchess of St. Ives.
That was enough to have people glancing toward the entrance, primed to hear the announcement of the next arrivals-Lord Martin Fulbridge, Earl of Dexter, accompanied by Miss Amanda Cynster.
Eyes widened, lips parted in momentary surprise, superseded by rabid speculation as the assembled host watched Martin, tall, starkly handsome, leonine mane winking golden in the chandeliers' light, bow before Honoria, then shake hands with Devil, all with Amanda at his side. The whispers had started even before they'd turned, side by side, Amanda's hand on Martin's sleeve, to descend the stairs in the Dowager's and Lady Osbaldestone's wake.
The ton was wide awake to the implications; everyone watching read the message with ease. When the next guests announced proved to be Lord Arthur and Lady Louise Cynster, there was no doubt in anyone's mind that an alliance had been sealed between two major aristocratic houses, and a formal announcement would be made in due course.
Formal announcements were never so much fun as being privy to such news ahead of others.
"I should think"-Lady Osbaldestone directed an evil grin at Martin as he and Amanda joined them in the ballroom-"that your impending nuptials will be the principal item of interest at every gathering tomorrow."
Martin raised a nonchalant brow.
"Tomorrow?" Arthur, with Louise, joined the group, his gaze raking the frantically chattering hordes. "I'll wager the news will reach half the ton before they find their beds tonight."
"No point wagering," Vane replied. "You'll never get anyone to take you on."
The three men exchanged long-suffering glances; their ladies had already turned to greet others, all dying to learn details of this most intriguing affair.
Amanda chatted, smiled, played her role of serenely confident countess-to-be to the hilt, all the while guarding against those sly, probing questions that sought to define just where she and Martin had first met, just how she had come to know him, when he had proposed. With her mother on one side and her aunt Helena on the other, she encountered little difficulty maintaining the facade necessary to achieve tonnish acceptance.