As they revolved, he considered it. "It might work." He caught her gaze. "Your sister is not entirely like you."
Her lips quirked. "No-she's more stubborn."
Martin wished Luc luck, if that were true. His choice-the current bane of his life-was bad enough.
She was watching those around them with an easy smile,,unperturbed, content in his arms. He wanted her like that, always, yet to secure that…
She trusted him completely, without reserve. How would she react when he took the next step, made the move everyone was waiting on, played the card he'd held back, up his sleeve? She hadn't realized; she was so much at ease in this sphere, so confident as she swanned through the ballrooms, so assured at every turn, that she hadn't stepped back and considered, hadn't seen the option he had.
He had to exercise it, take the next step, yet…
Lifting his gaze, he looked across the room, and saw a tall, dark-haired gentleman strolling about the floor stop, arrested, his gaze locking on them. St. Ives-Martin recognized the height, the dominant stance, the arrogant features. Their gazes barely touched before the duchess bustled up and distracted her husband.
Martin felt his aggression subside; recognized the fact. Recalled Luc's attitude. He had to act, or risk a clash with her cousins.
As was common with most married gentlemen of their station, the male Cynsters had not appeared at the early balls. Their wives had clearly seen no reason to apprise them of his pursuit of Amanda, else he'd have heard from them-most likely sustained a private visit-long before now.
The Cynster ladies had given him time to draw Amanda as far as he could along the road they'd both chosen. That time had just run out. He had to play his next card.
"What is it?"
He glanced down to find Amanda searching his face.
"You've been behaving strangely all night."
He could have smiled charmingly, turned the accusation aside; instead, he held her gaze as the music slowed, then ceased. "I need to talk with you." He glanced around. "Somewhere private."
At the nearby end of the ballroom, a bay window overlooked the gardens. The area before it was empty. Martin led her to it. Reaching the bay, Amanda stepped into its shadows and faced him, brows rising, yet still assured.
Still certain he couldn't take her by surprise.
He stopped before her, screening her from the company. No one could hear them or see their faces, yet they were in full view of half the ton.
"I intend, tomorrow, to ask for your hand."
"You already have…" Her words trailed away, her eyes grew round, then flared wide. "You can't…"
"Ask for your hand formally? Believe me, I can."
"But…" She frowned, then shook her head, as if to shake aside his suggestion. "There's no point. Until I agree, they won't."
She still hadn't seen it.
"That point is understood-your agreement to our weddin
g has yet to be gained. However, that's not the purpose of a formal request. I'll be applying for your family's permission to address you."
She continued to frown, imagining… then horror poured into her eyes. She grabbed his sleeve, looked into his face. "Good God-you can't!" She shook his arm. "Promise me you won't-that you absolutely will not mention…" She gestured wildly.
"I assure you no mention of our recent intimacies will pass my lips."
She drew back, drew her hand from his sleeve, finally took the long step back she should have taken weeks ago. Horrified, she stared at him. "You won't have to say a word! They'll look at you-and guess!"
He raised his brows fleetingly. "Be that as it may, it's not possible to continue as we are without some declaration of intent on my part. Your cousins, if not your father, will demand that much."
He'd seen her defiant before, but now militance flamed in her eyes.
"No! Once they guess, once they know, they'll-"