"Well!" Her ladyship shifted her bombazine-covered bulk sideways to create space for Amanda to sit. "What was that about?" She chuckled evilly and gestured with her cane at Martin's departing back. "If looks could kill… I take it he isn't getting his way."
"No. He isn't." Amanda struggled to shackle her temper.
"But he's pigheaded, and arrogant, and determined to win-"
Helena laughed and placed her hand over Amanda's, gripped comfortingly. "He's a male, one of our kind-you can expect no less."
"I'll vouch for that." From beyond Helena, Honoria smiled at Amanda. "If it's any consolation, you could try reminding yourself that Dexter's a mere earl. I had to cope with a duke-one who, for good reason, goes by the name of Devil."
Amanda had to smile. "But you eventually persuaded him to see the light."
Honoria raised her brows. "Truth to tell, I think he'd seen it from the first, but…" After a moment, she said, "You might be wise to decide just what form capitulation should take. There are other signs, other forms of communication that ultimately are more telling than words."
"Yes." Lady Osbaldestone nodded sagely. "You'd be well advised to consider that fact. However"-she transfixed Amanda with her sharp black gaze-"remember what I said. No matter what he says, no matter what he does, you must not weaken. He has to be brought to reopen old wounds and deal with that old scandal."
Amanda glanced at Helena, at Honoria, and saw them both nodding. Her temper had ebbed, the strength behind her resolution had gone with it. Looking across the ballroom, she saw Martin standing with Luc Ashford. She grimaced, inwardly sighed. "I'll try."
She was no longer so sure she would succeed.
His temper-an emotion he usually, with little effort, kept well reined-all but frizzlingly under his skin-Martin stalked from the dance floor. How much longer he could play the role of sophisticated, civilized male while she tweaked his baser instincts at every turn, he didn't know.
Not much longer was his guess.
At the side of the ballroom, he saw Luc and Edward Ashford standing with two of their sisters. His cousins. The girls saw him and beamed, then took in his expression; their smiles faltered.
Wiping the harsh expression from his face and eyes, he smiled back, and their smiles returned. Changing tack, he joined them. Let them curtsy and chatter at him for a few minutes; they were sweet and very young, and he was the head of a closely related house.
Two young gentlemen, the girls' partners for the next dance, approached with care. While Martin engaged the girls and their would-be consorts, Luc stood beside him, tossing barbed comments at the youthful sprigs, yet he was always ready with an encouraging word for his sisters. They clearly adored him.
Edward, however, stood back, features pinched in what appeared to be disapproval. It took Martin a moment to realize that it was he Edward most disapproved of.
Then the musicians struck up, and the girls and their cavaliers left for the dance floor. Martin turned to Edward.
Before he could speak, Edward asked, "I understand you have an interest in Amanda Cynster."
Edward had clearly not yet heard of his formal offer. Martin inclined his head. "I do have to marry."
"Ah, yes." Edward's lip all but curled. "The title, the estate."
Those had been the reasons Martin had been spared a trial; he again inclined his head. "As you say."
Edward tugged down his waistcoat; head high, he surveyed the crowd. "You should know that I, at least, have been upholding our family's name in the years you've been absent. I flatter myself that all know me as a man of unimpeachable honor and steadfast character. In due course, I will marry well, once I've seen my sisters suitably joined as befits the family."
As if suddenly remembering he was in the presence of both the head of his family and the head of a senior line, he flushed, threw a narrow-eyed glance at Luc, then stiffly nodded to Martin. "Now my watch over my sisters has ended, I believe I will circulate."
The implied message was: he did not wish to be seen with Martin, to give Martin the imprimatur of his presence.
Martin said nothing, merely watched him go, then glanced at Luc.
Who met his gaze. "No, he hasn't improved with the years."
"Obviously. Weren't you tempted to thrash it out of him?"
"Frequently. But he's such a bore, I couldn't stand the whining."
Martin caught a flash of gold-Amanda's curls as she rose from the chaise and took her leave of its occupants. He tensed, aware of a need to follow her, watch over her at the very least.
Luc had tracked his gaze; he murmured, "If you do have your eye on Amanda, I can only wish you luck."