On a Wild Night (46 page)

Luc laughed shakily. “I still can't believe she did that.”

“She's a terror with that cane.” Vane handed them glasses, then nodded toward the fireplace. “Let's go over there—there are things we need to discuss.”

Devil brought a glass of wine for Reggie. “No spirits for you, so I was instructed.” Reggie humphed but accepted the wine.

Jules returned with a basin and cloths; Amelia hurried to take them, then went to help tend her sister. The men gathered before the hearth, Reggie beside them on the chaise, and got down to business: how to deal adequately with Edward, and how to minimize the social damage his perfidy would inevitably cause. The first was easy enough, the second anything but.

Then the ladies joined them, disposing themselves on the chaises. Honoria looked at her husband. “What have you decided?”

Devil glanced at Martin, then stated, “Neither the law nor society will accept anything less than banishment for life.” He looked at Edward who'd dragged himself up to slump against a bureau. “He can choose where, but we'll need to see him off English soil, and that as soon as maybe. Too many people knew the revelation was to occur this afternoon. A result will be expected.”

Honoria looked at Luc. “You agree?”

“Yes.” Luc glanced at Edward. “I'll see him on the packet myself.”

“Very well.” Honoria's gaze rested on them all. “Now, what about the rest?”

“That,” Devil admitted, “was as far as we'd got. We need to do something to protect the Ashfords, but what . . . ?”

Honoria humphed. “Indeed.”

“Quite ridiculous,” Lady Osbaldestone opined. “This business of the sins of the brothers being visited on their sisters and all others in sight, no matter how undeserved. In this case, it's quite clear the felon”—she bent a vengeful glance on Edward—“was in no way insane or unstable. He was simply rotten to the core, and that's all there is to it. An unfortunate throwback to the less admirable side of the paternal
line, but you”—she pointed at Luc—“will clearly relieve future Ashfords of the taint.”

Luc blinked, looked nonplussed.

Lady Osbaldestone ignored him. She looked at Honoria. “Well, my dear? You're a duchess, Amanda here is an almost-countess, and I'm not entirely without influence myself. I suggest we get busy.” She glanced at the clock, sent a sly glance Martin's way. “Unfortunate timing, but I daresay you and I alone can reach enough ears to ensure that the important dinner tables hear of the wonderful relief.”

The men exchanged glances; it was Devil who asked, “Relief?”

“Good gracious, man! Of course
relief!
Just think how unhappy the situation would have been if the Ashford girls had received offers before this dreadful business had been resolved! A positive
morass
of potential uncertainty has been avoided! Now those girls can come out and gentlemen can marry them with confidence that there's no rotten apple left in the family's basket, that all has been settled and everything's as it should be.” Her ladyship surged to her feet. “You just have to think of these things from the right angle.”

Leaning on her cane, she looked at Patience. “You know Minerva Ashford well enough, I believe?”

Patience nodded. “I'll go there immediately and explain it all.”

“She's a level-headed woman for all her once-wild ways. She'll see quick enough how we mean to go about it and know just how to have her girls behave.” Lady Osbaldestone nodded. “Right, then! We'd best set to.”

She stumped toward the door. Everyone else sprang into action.

Martin rang for Jules; Jules summoned Joseph who with Devil helped Lady Osbaldestone out to her carriage, left waiting in the mews.

A quick discussion decided that Luc and Jules would escort Edward to Dover and put him on the packet. Vane, parting from Patience, who left with Honoria to spread the social word, returned as Edward started a moaning, carping
monologue; Vane leaned down and said something—Edward shut up.

Straightening, Vane regarded Edward through narrowed eyes. “I'll come with you. You might just need an extra—totally disinterested—hand.”

With that settled, Jules and Luc hauled Edward, growing more vocal by the minute, to his feet. One look from Vane and he shut up again.

Joseph arrived somewhat belatedly with an icepack. Amelia grabbed it and raced after Luc.

“Here.” She caught him at the door and hauled him back. Vane took his place and bundled Edward on. Amelia framed Luc's face with one hand; with the other, she molded the icepack to his injured jaw. He winced, but she held him still. “There! Now hold it in place until the ice melts. The others can manage Edward until then.”

Luc took the icepack, held it in place. His eyes touched hers.

Amelia smiled, turned him to the door and pushed. He went, pausing in the corridor to glance back at her, nod his thanks, before following the others away.

Amelia sighed, then returned to the chaise as Amanda reappeared after seeing Honoria and Patience out. Amelia glanced at her, then slipped her arm under Reggie's and helped him to his feet. “Come on. I'll have them find a hackney and you can tell me all about your head on the way home.”

“Like how much it hurts?” Reggie managed a weak smile for Amanda and Martin, then let Amelia lead him away.

“You haven't even told me how you got hurt. I haven't heard all the details.”

Their voices faded as they headed down the corridor. Joseph looked in and raised a brow. Martin waved him away; Joseph closed the door after him.

Martin looked at Amanda, then opened his arms. She walked into them; he closed them about her and buried his face in her hair.

 

* * *

 

Later, when night had claimed the courtyard beyond the library windows, they lay on the daybed, skin to naked skin, the fire roaring in the hearth, the platters of delicacies Joseph had brought hours before on a low table before them.

Replete, at peace, sated to their bones, they simply lay and savoured the sweet taste of happiness.

Dreamed of the future.

Martin glanced down at Amanda. She was lying on her side, facing the fire, her back to his chest, her bottom fitted snugly to his loins. He'd draped a translucent silk shawl over her naked limbs, not to conceal them but to shield her from drafts. She shifted, reaching for a canape; the silk shimmered over milk-white skin, fine-textured, sheening like satin. He'd spent the last hours gorging his rapacious senses, filling his mind with the wondrous sensation of touching her—all of her, every last inch.

Filling his soul with the bone-deep knowledge that she was his, now and forever. Filling his heart with the wonder of it all.

Bending his head, he pressed a kiss to the sensitive spot behind her ear. “Never, ever, did I believe I would have all this.”

Not even prior to that day ten years ago.
This,
this wondrous emotion that had somehow taken over his life, had never been a part of his dreams, his expectations. Now he couldn't imagine life without it.

Her lips curved, her smile serene, mysterious, elementally feminine, but she only leaned back against him, letting her body sink against his—a wordless acceptance of what was.

He knew it, but yet . . . it was now he who needed more.

He nuzzled her ear. “You haven't given me your answer.”

She glanced at him, met his gaze. Smiled. Lifted a hand and lovingly traced his cheek. “Do you really need to hear it in words?”

“Just once.”

“Then yes—I'll be yours. I'll marry you and be your countess, and bear your children and redecorate your
house. Although apparently Honoria thinks the order should be reversed.”

She turned onto her back, wound her arms about his neck and drew him down for a kiss—a kiss that lengthened, deepened, opened the door to desire again, but Martin held it back, kept the fires at bay.

Eventually he lifted his head. There was one more question unresolved between them.

He looked down into her eyes, as blue as cornflowers under the sun. “You asked me before why I wanted to marry you. I gave you an answer, a truthful answer, but it wasn't the whole truth.”

She stilled; he closed his hand around hers, and could have sworn he felt her heart quiver.

“I want to marry you because . . .”—his eyes on hers, he raised her hand to his lips, pressed a kiss to her fingers—“it's my duty to marry some lady like you, because I feel honor-bound to marry only you, because our marriage is dictated by society, and not least because of the child you may very well be carrying.”

He held her silent with his eyes, pressed another lingering kiss to the fingers he held trapped. “But most of all, I want to marry you for a very simple reason—because I cannot imagine living without you.”

He looked down at their hands, shifted his grip, twining their fingers. “And if that's what the poets call love, then yes, I love you. Not in myriad ways, but in one all-consuming overwhelming way. In a way that has come to define who and what I am—in a way that now forms the very core of me.”

Lifting his eyes, he met her gaze. “That's why I want to marry you.”

Amanda smiled mistily, freed her hand, traced his cheek. Then she drew his lips to hers and kissed him—gently, delicately, a caress as fragilely beautiful as the moment.

Then she let her lips firm, taunt—parted them when he reacted, urged him to plunder, to ravenously claim.

Gave herself up to the lion she'd snared.

And knew she'd never need more.

 

* * *

 

The marriage of Martin Gordon Fulbridge, fifth earl of Dexter, and Miss Amanda Maria Cynster, took place at a private ceremony in St. George's Church in Hanover Square four days later.

Despite the fact the ceremony was private, it was not small. All the Fulbridges, celebrating not only the resurrection of the head of their house but his nuptials as well, plus many of their connections, joined with all the Cynsters and their myriad connections, to provide a host of witnesses that overflowed the church.

Because the ceremony was “private,” the Ashfords could attend without society deeming their presence in some obscure way ineligible. For her part, Amanda had insisted that Emily and Anne be present—knowing their enthusiastic anticipation had been squashed would have dimmed the happiness of her day—and Martin had had only one choice as his best man—Luc.

So the ceremony was decreed to be “private,” and everyone was happy.

Giddily so—a sense of euphoria took hold in the instant Amanda walked down the aisle, beaming with exuberant joy. The light that shone in the groom's eyes was no less uplifting—the entire congregation was utterly convinced they were witnessing a marriage made in heaven.

Joy burgeoned and spread through the day, through the wedding breakfast and beyond, unmarred by any adverse occurrence. And then it was time for the bride and groom to commence the long journey to their home in the north.

As was customary, all the unmarried young ladies gathered before the coach, drawn up by the pavement in Upper Brook Street. Others filled the space around and behind them, crowding the house steps, pressing close for their last sight of the radiant bride.

A cheer rose inside, then rolled out of the front door as Amanda and Martin left the ballroom and progressed through the corridors, farewelling first family, then guests as they went, finally bursting through the front doors to a rousing hurrah, and a not inconsiderable number of helpful suggestions, mostly aimed at the groom.

Luc and Amelia, Amanda's principal bridesmaid, had escorted the happy couple to the door. They paused on the porch. Viewing the press of bodies on the steps, jostling in a seething mass now Martin and Amanda had reached the carriage, Luc touched Amelia's arm and nodded to the side of the porch, to where, beside a column, they could stand and see the departing couple clearly.

They took up their positions as Martin lifted Amanda to the top step of the coach. Clutching the frame, she laughed and turned, brandishing her bouquet. She looked up, then flung it—

Straight at Luc.

He swore and went to step back, but the column was behind him. Reflexively, he caught the bouquet. Shot a scowl at Amanda and saw her grin delightedly.

Turning the bouquet in his hands, he presented it to Amelia with a bow. “Your sister's aim is atrocious. I believe this is for you.”

“Thank you.” Amelia took it, looking down to hide her grin, to suppress the wicked impulse to inform him he was wrong on both counts. Then she glanced at the coach, saw Amanda blow a kiss, then wave as Martin urged her in.

Amelia smiled, saluted her twin with the bouquet—knew she understood. Knew she approved.

Amanda was married, and her own decision was made. It was her turn to snare her mate.

Luc inwardly frowned as the carriage door shut and the coachman flicked his whip. Just before he'd disappeared into the coach, Martin had looked directly at him, then smiled—an expression Luc couldn't interpret.

Then he felt Amelia's hand on his arm, instantly suppressed his habitual reaction.

“We'd better go in.”

He nodded and turned to follow her, grateful when she removed her hand and led the way. She glanced over her shoulder and smiled lightly.

The sort of smile he'd seen a million times before.

He stepped into the house, and wondered why the hairs at his nape had lifted.