Amanda spent a sleepless night, thinking about the part of her father's will that had been kept from her. Apparently, Amanda's father feared she would become as independent as her mother had been, unless she married young enough.
Amanda's come-out had been planned at age eighteen, but her mother died in a carriage accident that year. Then, after properly mourning her mother, her father took sick and died. So this was her first Season in Town. Her guardians — men from the Bank of England whom Amanda had never met — had sent Aunt Ellen to act as her chaperone, though Amanda had only seen the woman once or twice before.
Amanda had hardly known her parents, either. Her beautiful and stylish mother had always dashed to one society event or another, while her father followed the races or the hunt. At his death, the only home Amanda had known had gone to a distant cousin, but Amanda had been left a great deal of wealth — or so she had thought.
"I was certain you would marry Greythorne," Ellen explained after the previous night's ball. "Your guardians agreed there was no need to inform you."
How could Amanda find a husband in four weeks' time when the Season was almost at an end?
Ellen joined Amanda in the breakfast parlor, dark circles under her eyes rivaling Amanda's own. They spoke briefly of traveling to Brighton with Lady Catsworth later that day. Ellen begged off going with her.
The butler entered. "Lord Greythorne to see you, Miss Reynolds."
Ellen gave her a pleading look. "If he offers, you must accept him this time, Amanda. I beg you."
Never. No matter if she became a pauper on the street. No matter if she had to become a…a…
She glanced at Ellen, who was entirely dependent upon Amanda for financial support. Amanda's fate would also be Ellen's. Amanda need not marry Greythorne, but she must marry someone.
Captain Ramsford, her handsome hero of the previous evening, flashed through her mind.
She shook her head sadly. The captain may have rescued her from Greythorne, but he did not like her. He had not approached her again at the ball. He'd never before spoken to her without being in the company of his fellow soldier, Lord Devlin —
Devlin! Amanda suddenly thought. Devlin liked her well enough. He needed to marry. Devlin could marry her.
Cheered, Amanda stood. "I will see Greythorne."
Greythorne, pristinely groomed as always, waited for her in the drawing room.
"Amanda, I demand to know why you refused me." He seized her arm as he had done the night before.
She stared at his hand. "You have no permission to use my Christian name, nor to touch me."
He glared. "You will not make a fool of me."
"I will not be manhandled." She stared into his reptilian eyes, determined not to back down. Tense seconds ticked by.
He released her, feigning anguish. "Forgive me. I am mad with desire for you."
"Posh." Amanda did not believe a word of it. Had their match occurred, it would merely have been mutually advantageous. She crossed to the door. "I owe you no explanation. Accept my decision and do not press yourself upon me again."
Amanda opened the door and the butler stood there. "Another gentleman to see you, Miss."
Captain Ramsford stepped forward and bowed. "Good morning, Miss Reynolds."
"Captain." She could not believe her eyes.
He turned to Greythorne. "I thought I recognized your equipage out front, Greythorne."
Greythorne snapped, "What the devil are you doing here?"
The captain arched one brow. "Why, I am keeping an engagement."
Engagement? Amanda's eyes widened. "Lord Greythorne was just leaving."
Greythorne strode out of the room.
Two spots of color rose on Ramsford's cheeks. "I saw his phaeton. Otherwise I would not have presumed…"
Her pulse raced with excitement. "I am grateful once more, Captain. Do sit. I will ring for tea."
He shook his head. "I must not stay."
"You would break our engagement?" She gave him a teasing look.
He averted his gaze. "You know very well that was a ruse."
"Yes, but why?" she asked in a breathless voice.
"I thought you required assistance."
She could depend upon him, she thought. "You would help me?"
A muscle in his face flexed. "I am at your service."
She gave voice to an outrageous plan. "Give me a moment to dress and to pen a message —"
He looked puzzled.
"— then take me to Lord Devlin."

Chapter Four


Walter, Ram's tiger, gave an audible "harrumph" when Ram agreed to take Miss Reynolds to Brighton. Ram sent a message to his mother to explain his whereabouts, but Miss Reynolds insisted her aunt already thought her bound for Brighton. Off they went, leaving the city behind and heading into the countryside where the air was clear and the undulating hills were lush and green. In spite of himself Ram relaxed, savoring the warm sun and the pleasure of sitting next to the beautiful Diamond.
The blond hair peeking out of her white straw bonnet was like spun sunshine, and her eyes were as green as the fields. The fresh air put a bloom in her cheeks, and Ram thought he had never seen her so radiant.
Any man would be affected by her beauty, he told himself, even if she prized what he most disdained. Fashion. Popularity. Social success. Her values were the same as his uncle's had been, the uncle Ram had hated. He'd given Ram's father the vicarage at Bidenscourt, but little else, only as much as would avoid society's censure.
"It is lovely here," Miss Reynolds said in the same tone she used in drawing rooms.
He saw no need to respond.
She continued, "Have you been to Brighton, Captain?"
"Yes," he replied.
Her verdant eyes widened. "You have?"
He did not tell her it was to perform in full regimentals for the Prince Regent's entertainment.
She sighed. "I have never been there. Is it lovely?"
"Some would say so." He kept his eyes on the road, adding with sarcasm, "I suppose you go there in search of a husband."
"Indeed," she admitted in a tight voice.
Frivolous. He congratulated himself again for not falling under her spell, as so many others had done. Imagine marrying merely to be fashionable.
A moment passed, and he laughed out loud.
"What amuses you?" she asked.
He stole a glance at her, trying to control his outburst. "Nothing of consequence."
He could not tell her he'd suddenly realized just how thoroughly she had bewitched him. It was he, was it not, driving her to Brighton? Not some other besotted fool.
She sighed. "Tell me about Brighton."
Because he could not think of any other way to pass the time, he obliged her, talking about the blueness of the sea, the serenity of the Steyne, the opulence of the Marine Pavilion. She listened, asking questions more perceptive than he would have guessed of her. She smiled at him and held on to her bonnet with one hand, her shoulder bumping against his arm as the curricle swayed. Ram discovered he was quite enjoying himself, almost as if he escorted a sweetheart, instead of the Diamond of the ton.
The road curved, a copse of trees obscuring the view ahead. Ram heard the horn and rumble of an approaching coach and slowed his horses. As he rounded the bend, a mail coach headed straight toward them, a young buck at the reins, a current fashion for foolish young men.
Ram frantically pulled his team to the far left, keeping the ribbons taut to control the horses' panic. The curricle's wheels left the road, slipping on loose dirt. As the coach whizzed by, its back wheel clipped the edge of the curricle, tipping it nearly on its side. Amanda, her bonnet flying from her head, fell from her seat and tumbled down the embankment, rolling until she came to an abrupt stop at the bottom.
Lifeless.

Chapter Five


"God, no!" Ram pulled the horses to a halt. His tiger had already jumped from the curricle. "Take their heads."
Ram scrambled down the slope, pebbles avalanching behind him. He slid to his knees at Amanda's side.
"God, no." Let her be alive. Please, God, let her be alive.
His hands trembled as he pulled off his gloves. Gingerly, his fingers probed her neck while his heart pounded in his chest. Damn that buck on the mail coach. If he crossed paths with that bloody fool he would kill him.
A small pulse in her neck beat against his fingertips. "Thank God," Ram whispered.
He ran his hand down her spine and felt for the bones in her arms and legs. Assured that her spine was undamaged and her limbs unbroken, he cupped his hand against her cheek. Her face was pale, her lips almost colorless. Beautiful Amanda. What had he done to her?
"Is she alive?" Walter called.
"Yes." He'd forgotten his tiger. "She's unconscious."
Ram gathered her limp form into his arms and raced up the slope. "Drive, Walter," he yelled. "We must get her to a doctor."
Ram held Amanda on his lap while Walter raced the curricle to the next village. Walter pulled to a stop at the inn, and Ram yelled to a posting boy to fetch the doctor. He carried Amanda inside, and the innkeeper quickly showed him to a room two flights above stairs. Only then did Ram release her, gently laying her on the bed.
The innkeeper's wife bustled in. "Merciful heaven!" exclaimed the round-faced, matronly woman. "What mishap befell her?"
"Curricle accident. She hit her head." Ram carefully removed Amanda's gloves.
"Poor lamb." The woman clucked her tongue in sympathy. "The doctor will be here soon, I am sure. Your wife will be in good hands. "
His wife?
He would allow them to assume he was her husband, and provide them with false names. No one would question his right to decide her care.
The innkeeper's wife smiled reassuringly. "Let us remove her clothes, shall we? Make the lamb more comfortable."
Undress the Diamond? "Yes. Yes. Of course," he mumbled, hesitating a moment before easing Amanda's arms out of her spencer, while the woman removed her shoes and stockings. Ram unlaced her dress, lifting her so that the woman could pull it over her head. He then removed the corselet she wore underneath, leaving her only in her shift.
"Let's put your poor lamb under the covers, shall we?" the woman said. "She is a fine beauty, she is."
Ram picked her up again, so that the covers could be turned down. He tried not to think of how she felt in his arms, so soft, so delicate. As he tucked the covers around her, his wrist grazed her breast, the deep pink of her nipple visible through the thin fabric.
"I'll fetch some fresh water," the innkeeper's wife said. She left the room.
Ram gazed down at Amanda. Please, God, he pleaded silently. Do not let her die.
As if in answer to his prayer, she moaned and her eyes fluttered open, fixing on him. The ghost of a smile flickered on her lips. "Christian," she whispered.
"I am here, Amanda." He clutched her small, delicate hand in his larger one. "I will not leave you."

Chapter Seven


Amanda lay with her eyes closed, feeling as if a score of hammers had pummeled on every muscle and bone in her body. The hammers had settled in her head, which throbbed with pain. Her thoughts would not remain in order, but Christian Ramsford seemed to fill them. She had the delicious notion that he'd sat next to her on her bed, nonsensical as it was. She smiled, and rolled to her side, drifting away from the pain.
"Amanda!"
She opened her eyes. Ramsford sat inches from her face, his expression stern. She must have done some new thing of which he disapproved. How she wished he could like her a little.
"Stay awake, Amanda."
She blinked her eyes, but shafts of pain cut through her temples. "Do excuse me, Captain. I seem to have a headache."
She heard a soft chuckle, and his arms encircled her, lifting her up so that she sat against the pillows again. She did not wish him to let go.
"Open your eyes, Amanda."
She opened her eyelids a narrow slit. Two Captain Ramsfords sat before her, each holding forth a cup.
"Drink some tea."
She gave a polite smile as the two focused into one. "Thank you very much, but I do not care for tea at present."
"Drink it."
He put the cup to her lips and she discovered she could drink the tea and keep her eyes closed at the same time. She might even be able to drift back to glorious sleep….
"Stay awake."
She blinked several times. He sat with her on the bed, holding the cup to her lips. The rest of the room, still blurry, was unfamiliar.
"Captain, I do not perfectly understand where we are."
He smiled at her. Kindly, she thought. "We are at an inn. The curricle had a mishap and you tumbled out."
Memory suddenly returned. Her need to marry. Greythorne's visit. Ramsford's unexpected arrival. Her visit to Devlin and, biggest folly of all, her insistence upon going to Brighton. Now she was alone with a single man in as compromising a situation as one could imagine.
She crossed her arms over her chest. "Where is my dress?"
The captain moved off the bed. He spoke stiffly. "It was soiled by your fall. It is being laundered."
She clutched at her head and found her hair loose about her. "My hair is down!"
Ram straightened. "I assure you, Miss Reynolds, my intentions and my behavior have been honorable."
Amanda glanced at him, though it hurt to look up far enough to reach his face. His expression was flinty. She needed him to smile at her again, to murmur kind words to her. Otherwise, she would feel entirely alone.
He went on. "Nothing will come of this. I have provided false names, and no one besides the innkeeper, his wife and the doctor have seen you."
Amanda tried to compose herself. She most feared he would leave her again. Tears stung her eyes and she dragged her fingers through her hair, frantically trying to tame it.
He came to her side again, but his gaze had turned soft. He took a strand of her hair in his fingers. "Would you like me to put your hair in a braid?"
Overcome by the effect of his nearness, she could only nod. He sat next to her again, and her nostrils filled with the intoxicating scent of him. His fingers carefully worked at the tangles in her hair. He gently caressed her scalp, and a wave of pleasure shot through her.
"Oh," she exclaimed.
He stilled. "Did I hurt you?"
"No," she said, her voice breathy. "You did not hurt me."

Chapter Eight


Her tresses felt like silk as they slipped through Ram's fingers. She'd let the covers slip from her body, and he was too aware that only the thinnest layer of muslin lay between his fingers and her bare skin.
He proceeded to plait her hair.
She sighed. "You braid well. Did you wear a pigtail like the Hussars?"
"Not that." Ram made an effort to sound unaffected by her. "I had many sisters and not enough servants."
"How many sisters?" she asked.
"Four. All younger."
She sighed again. "I had no sisters or brothers. I can hardly imagine it. I suppose one might never have to be alone."
"Exactly so. One is rarely alone." He finished the braid. "I need something to tie this, or we'll soon be back where we started."
"There's a ribbon on my shift." She pulled at it. "I cannot get it off."
The ribbon decorated the front of her shift and was certainly long enough to tie up her hair. Ram handed her the braid and took a small penknife from his pocket. When he grasped the front of her shift, he inadvertently exposed her naked breasts to his view. With trembling fingers, he cut the threads holding the ribbon, hoping she would not see the evidence of how she affected him.
He quickly tied the ribbon around her braid, wrapping it around twice and pulling it tight.
As he let go, she slid back under the covers. "I shall sleep now."
"No sleep, Amanda." He lifted her up again. With his hands on both her shoulders, he forced her to look at him. "You must stay awake. Do you understand?"
She nodded and closed her eyes. Her chin dropped to her chest.
"Damn." He lifted her off the bed and placed her feet on the floor. "We march, love."
"No," she whimpered, but he felt her begin to support herself.
"That's the way, love," he whispered.
But instead of walking, her hands slid up his chest and encircled his neck. Ram, surging with desire, grabbed her waist and pressed her against him. Reason was in flight. Primitive urges prevailed.
"Remove your boots," she murmured.
"My boots?"
"Otherwise you will disturb the poor people below stairs with your clomping about."
He laughed at his folly, thinking she wanted him as much as he wanted her. He removed his boots and put his arm around her for support. "Time to walk, Amanda."
The room was very small. He could take only about five or six paces from wall to wall. Ram made a semicircular path around the bed and back again, but her eyes turned glassy and he feared she'd fallen asleep.
"Talk to me," he commanded.
"Very well," she murmured sleepily. They took several paces before she spoke. "We had lovely weather this day, did we not?"
"Yes." Ram felt a trifle more in control.
"So much nicer than the rain of late, don't you agree?"
"Much nicer," he agreed.
"I believe it has been a cold spring. Perhaps summer will be so as well."
They turned and started in the next direction. "Amanda?"
"Yes, Christian?"
His heart turned a somersault at her use of his given name. "Have you a great deal more to say about the weather?"
Her step faltered. "Why do you ask?"
He made her continue to walk. "Because you are putting me to sleep."
She laughed, the sound as musical as his sisters' fingers on the pianoforte. "Then perhaps we ought to sleep together."

Chapter Eleven


Ram cursed himself. What insanity had befallen him? He'd been in bed with her, halfway to gratifying his lust. In his sleep, no less.
He had fallen asleep, allowed her to fall asleep.
"Amanda." He spun around, terrified he might find her unconscious.
She sat staring wide-eyed at him. Her braid had come undone and her golden hair fell over her shoulders in tangled curls. Her full breasts rose with each rapid breath, straining against the cloth of her shift, breasts that had felt round and firm under his fingers. He longed to explore them again, to taste them, to lose himself inside her.
Ram's erection pressed painfully against his buckskins, well visible to her eye. He turned away. What kind of scoundrel was he? What kind of reprobate? He was supposed to have kept her awake, not ravish her, not rut her like some animal.
He could not even speak an apology. What words could be said for what he had done?
She took a ragged breath.
He glanced back at her. "Does your head pain you?"
"It is bearable." She sat hugging her knees, looking small and vulnerable.
"Can you travel?" he asked.
She nodded.
"Very well." He strung his neckcloth around his neck and retrieved his waistcoat from the chair. Buttoning it, he looked around for his boots and shoved his feet into them. Grabbing his coat, he walked to the door. "I shall send the innkeeper's wife with your dress."
He strode out of the room and finished dressing in the hallway before going below stairs to find the innkeeper's wife.
An hour passed, enough time to find Walter and tell him to see to the curricle, even enough time to eat a little, washing the food down with two tankards of ale. Enough time to compose himself so he could face her again.
The innkeeper's wife passed him as he left the taproom. "Your wife is all dressed and waiting for you, poor lamb."
He murmured some cordiality and trudged up the stairs. When he opened the door of the room, Amanda was seated on the bed. The tray of food he'd sent up looked untouched, and she barely turned her eyes toward him.
He felt his shame flood back. "Are you certain you are fit to travel?"
She nodded. "I want to go home."
"Not to Brighton?" he asked.
"Home." She looked as if she might dissolve into tears any minute, and why should she not? She'd placed her trust in him and he had treated her abominably.
His heart beat painfully in his chest as he walked over to the window and back again to face her. "Miss Reynolds, I…I will not ask your forgiveness for my appalling behavior. It was unforgivable."
She averted her face.
He stiffened his back. "I have compromised you most thoroughly, and honor demands I make amends."
She appeared even more beautiful than when she'd graced London's ballrooms, he thought. He wanted nothing more than to hold her again, to kiss away the distress he'd caused her, to never allow anything or anyone to hurt her again. He would make amends to her, he vowed it. He would devote his life to making amends to her.
"I will marry you," he said.
Her head snapped around, and she stared at him, looking as if she'd been slapped in the face

Chapter Fourteen


Amanda sorted through the invitation cards. The pink of the ton would return from Brighton on the morrow and the London entertainments would resume. Which of the various routs and balls and musicales would afford her the best chance to find a husband?
She threw down the cards. The very idea made her ill. Everything had changed since being at the inn with Ramsford.
The butler appeared in the doorway. "Lord Greythorne requests a moment of your time."
The last person she ever wished to see. "Tell him I am not at home."
Greythorne stepped into the room behind the butler, who glanced in alarm toward Amanda.
"Come, my dear, you would not refuse to see me, surely?" Greythorne gave her an elegant bow.
Amanda directed her gaze at the butler. "It is all right. I shall see him, but remain nearby, please."
The man nodded and backed out of the room. Greythorne closed the door behind him.
Amanda faced him, her chin high. "I resent this intrusion, sir. I thought I'd made myself clear. I do not wish to see you or speak to you."
"Amanda." Greythorne made her name sound like a word not fit for a lady's ears.
She glared at him. "Do not speak to me in so familiar a way."
His thin lips curled into a smile. "You will wish to hear what I have to say."
She took a deep breath. "Then say it and take your leave."
He laughed, a dry sound. Without invitation from her, he sat down, crossing his legs and casually swinging his foot. His voice was mild but malevolent. "I shall place the announcement of our engagement in tomorrow's papers."
"Do not be absurd," she snapped.
"You do not agree?" He flicked an imaginary piece of fluff from his well-cut jacket. "If not an announcement of our betrothal, then a scandalous on-dit, perhaps."
Amanda managed a bored expression. "I despise gossip."
He laughed again and rose from the chair, approaching her with a predatory step. She stood her ground.
He leaned to her ear. "A certain Lord G and this Season's Diamond spent an intimate night together at a certain inn on the road to Brighton."
The blood drained from Amanda's face. "That is a lie."
"Not entirely so." His eyes gleamed in triumph. "You may disclose the truth to the ton. An easy matter, surely." From inside his coat he produced her bonnet, battered and dirty.
Amanda's heart thudded in her chest. Did he know Captain Ramsford had spent the night with her? If so, he knew she could only prove his lie by exposing Ramsford as her companion that night. She must either try to save her reputation by marrying Greythorne or by marrying Ramsford. And Greythorne was betting she would choose him.
Even if he printed the lie about the inn, she would be pressured to marry him. The ton would approve of marriage to Lord Greythorne. His place in society was inestimable. In fact, she would be thought very clever for securing the union with an indiscreet liaison.
But what if she exposed Ramsford as her companion at the inn? His place in society was not at all secure. He would have to marry her, and even then the scandal might damage him and his hopes for his sisters. After what he had done for her she owed it to him to protect his good name.
Greythorne waited for her reply, his expression smug.
"I care not what you print," she bluffed, making herself yawn. "You bore me, Greythorne. You may leave now."
Greythorne's eyes flashed angrily. He turned to her before walking out the door. "You will lose this contest, Amanda, and it will be my pleasure to extract payment from your defeat."
After he left, she collapsed into a chair and buried her face in her hands.

Chapter Sixteen


When Lord Rawley's butler announced Amanda, the ballroom turned quiet as a tomb. Amanda held her head high as she walked to where Lord and Lady Rawley stood receiving their guests.
Neither met her eye as she greeted them. Their son, Mr. David Sloane, a handsome young man about her age, gave her a sympathetic look as if in apology for his parents' chill. The buzzing of the gossips sounded like bees around her head, and more than one elegantly attired personage gave her the cut direct.
She would survive this evening, she vowed, or at least appear as if she had. Appearances were everything. She'd planned hers very carefully, dressing in pale pink, adorning her hair with only a simple ribbon. The effect was innocently ethereal — and virginal.
"Perhaps we should sit in the chairs," Aunt Ellen whispered, gesturing to a corner of the room half hidden by huge jardinieres of flowers.
"Certainly, do be seated, Aunt," Amanda replied in a calm voice. "I shall first say hello to some friends."
Her aunt retreated to the corner. Amanda approached a group of ladies and gentlemen who would have fawned all over her two days before. They scattered, like beads falling from a broken necklace.
Amanda stood conspicuous to the whole room. She doubted she had ever felt so alone, except perhaps when Ramsford left the bed they'd shared. A lump caught in her throat, but she swallowed and made herself gaze about serenely.
A moment later Greythorne entered the ballroom, coming to a stunned halt at spying her. She smiled inwardly. He'd thought she would hide herself in shame. They all did. But she refused to feel ashamed for the time she'd spent with Ramsford.
Greythorne appeared to collect himself. He strolled into the room, speaking to one or two gentlemen of his acquaintance, some who smirked knowingly at him. As soon as Greythorne came close enough, Amanda walked up to him. All eyes were now riveted on her, she knew.
"Good evening, Lord Greythorne," she said in a clear voice calculated to be overheard. "I hope you are well, especially after that shocking piece of gossip in the Post this morning."
He faced her openmouthed.
"What a nasty trick," she went on, adopting an indignant expression. "Do you have any idea who might have done it? I declare it could be our ruin, not that anyone would believe such a tale. No one will believe it, will they?"
Greythorne turned beet red. His eyes flashed with anger.
Amanda pretended to frown. "Do you suppose someone is trying to force us to marry? Who could want such a thing?" Because the crowd had fallen silent enough to hear a pin drop, Amanda was reasonably certain her voice had carried well.
"Most unfortunate," Greythorne mumbled. He bowed and quickly walked away. The crowd buzzed.
Amanda's knees felt suddenly weak. Appearances, she thought. She'd given the appearance of innocence and hoped that the ton would believe in it as readily as they believed the appearance of wrongdoing. She took a deep breath. It should be safe now to go to Aunt Ellen's side.
Then she saw Ramsford, tall and elegant in his evening attire. He walked directly toward her

Chapter Seventeen


Ramsford had spied Amanda as soon as he'd entered the room. She'd stood alone, looking as fragile as Dresden porcelain. Then as if turned to steel, she'd approached Greythorne, and her clear, musical voice penetrated the sudden silence.
Brave girl, he thought as Greythorne marched away. Her eyes met his, and the power of her beauty struck him once more.
He left his mother and sister, too busy whispering with the other ladies to notice, and walked directly toward her. The music began for the first set. Ram extended his hand and led her to the dance floor.
When the set of the country dance brought them together, she whispered, "You should not have approached me."
They broke apart again. His cheeks felt hot, as if she'd slapped him. She still did not want him.
"I read the newspaper. Did you doubt I would seek you out?" he said when the dance coupled them again.
She quickly whispered, "People might talk."
He nearly laughed aloud. People were talking of nothing but her. They came back together. "Save me the supper dance."
He did not speak with her again. When the dance ended, he escorted her to her aunt, who gave him a suspicious look. He bowed to them both and found a place to stand where he could keep her in view.
A known reprobate approached her, making himself disagreeable. Ram poised to come to her aid, but she managed to rid herself of the man herself. After that, other men, fortune hunters and dandies who would never have dared approach her before asked her to dance.
When the supper dance was announced, Ram was glad it was a waltz. He took her in his arms and led her into the dance.
"Who placed the ad, Amanda?" he asked as soon as he could.
"Greythorne." She spoke in a voice that seemed determined to sound composed. "He knew about the inn. I do not know how. He thought he could make me marry him."
Ram glanced over to where Greythorne danced with the daughter of a marquess. Curse the man. Ram wished he could challenge Greythorne to a duel-swords, so he could draw the man's blood — but that would hardly help Amanda. It took some time for Ram to calm himself. They danced by men who leered at Amanda and by ladies who whispered behind their fans. In spite of her bravado, it seemed the ton would not so easily forego the enjoyment of seeing a Diamond shatter like glass.
Ram frowned. "It is not going well for you, Amanda."
"I shall come about, I am certain," she answered with forced cheerfulness. "If you are worried about your reputation, you should not have asked me to dance."
He looked down at her. "I am mindful of being the cause of your disgrace."
She raised her eyes, and he swore he could see through them to the pain in her soul. "No, I alone am the cause of my disgrace."
Ram twirled her around the floor, unable to speak for the emotion she aroused in him. It mattered not that he was an unworthy match for her, nor that she did not wish to be attached to him. He would turn over heaven and hell to ensure her well-being. Greythorne would not marry her and bring torture into her bed. Nor would any other man have her.
"We must speak in private," He danced her to the doorway and led her through the hallway into a small parlor, dimly lit with a branch of candles. After checking to make certain they were alone, he shut the door and grabbed her shoulders. "You must marry me. It is the only way out of this."
She sought his gaze. "You do not wish to marry me."
He glanced away, lest she see the raw desire that hummed through him. "I do wish to marry you. I must."
She tried to pull away, but he drew her closer, leaning down and making her look at him. "You will not survive this scandal unless you marry, Amanda. I trust I am more acceptable than those men dancing attendance upon you this evening. You must marry me."
She seemed to search his face, tears glistening in her emerald eyes.
"Very well, Captain," she whispered, her lips mere inches from his. "I will marry you."

Chapter Nineteen


The next morning, Ram left a protesting mother and sister to their planning of a last-minute dinner party, and called upon Amanda's guardians. Amanda needed their permission to marry. Having heard the scandal, they acquiesced immediately, adding cryptically that he would certainly want to marry her before she turned twenty-one, at which time they could discuss settlements. He then proceeded to Doctor's Commons, to the office of the Archbishop of Canterbury, for a special license so that they would not have to wait upon banns and could be married right away.
His last stop brought him to White's Club, a place that reminded him too much of his uncle for him to feel comfortable. But it was there he located Greythorne, sitting alone at a table nursing a glass of brandy.
"May I sit?" Ram asked.
Greythorne glared at him, but because others in the room were casting curious glances, he reluctantly nodded.
Greythorne lifted the glass to his lips. "To what do I owe this…honor?"
Ram kept his composure with difficulty. "A warning." He leaned toward Greythorne, giving him a lethal look. "I am betrothed to Miss Reynolds and I will marry her. You will neither approach her again, nor attempt to ruin her."
Greythorne gave a dry laugh. "What? Or you will challenge me to a duel?"
Ram kept his gaze steady. "Nothing would give me greater pleasure than to kill you, but I will not risk a hanging for one of your ilk. I will, however, expose to the ton your attempt to blackmail Miss Reynolds…as well as your more sordid predilections."
Greythorne blanched. "I do not know what you mean."
"You know precisely what I mean. I assure you I have proof of your perversions, as do others, so I suggest you give up such practices, as well, before they become more widely known."
Ram then relayed some of the more specific details Devlin had told him. He was bluffing about proof, for Devlin had not confided the source of his information. Greythorne sipped his brandy, but his hand shook noticeably.
"Do we understand each other?" Ram asked when he finished.
Greythorne was still a long time, but eventually he nodded.
That afternoon, Ram took Amanda for a turn in Hyde Park. Their presence sparked more whispering among the fashionable people, who also drove through the park to see and be seen. It was a good sign that no one cut them. That evening, they experienced a somewhat stilted dinner. Amanda was all that could be desired, trying to put his mother at ease, draw his sister into conversation, including her aunt in the discussion. Ram was intensely proud of her.
He managed to get her alone for a turn in the garden, a tiny plot of green behind the town house.
"The license should be ready tomorrow," he told her, suddenly feeling as awkward in her presence as he used to feel when calling upon her with Devlin. "We can marry wherever you wish, but if you have no preference, I would desire my father to perform the ceremony."
She glanced at him. "Are you certain he would wish to?"
"I do not see why he would not. I assume you are not in so big a hurry to be married you could not wait until we travel to Bidenscourt." Ram wanted to remove her from London before some other hurt befell her. He trusted that if they were out of sight, they would soon be out of the ton's mind.
"Not so great a hurry," she responded.
* * *
Three days later Ram waited in the church where he'd grown up. His father beamed happily from his familiar position as officiate, and the pews were filled with villagers all come to witness their beloved vicar's son marry. Ram felt a thickness in his throat as he glanced around, seeing familiar faces smiling at him. The welcome he received touched him deeply.
The door of the church opened and his mother and sisters filed in. Ram craned his neck, worried lest Amanda had changed her mind, but, glittering like the Diamond London had once deemed her, she was there on the squire's arm.
In a few moments Amanda would be his wife.

Chapter Twenty


The wedding ceremony had been like a blur. Amanda could only remember how handsome Ramsford appeared, how warmly he looked upon her when he took her to be his wife.
Love and good wishes were in abundance, during the ceremony at the church, and during the wedding breakfast at Bidenscourt to which the whole village had been invited. Amanda knew none of it was meant for her. The devotion was meant for Ramsford and his family.
All were wary of her. Ram's father alone had embraced her like a daughter, but Amanda suspected the dear man embraced everyone. Ram's mother and sisters were nervous around her. The villagers treated her as if she were as distant as royalty. In contrast, they acted as if Ramsford were a lamb returning to the fold. Experiencing the love surrounding Ramsford made Amanda's emptiness more acute. There was no one here for her. Even Ellen had not come, preferring instead to return to her cottage in Surrey. Amanda was alone. It should not disturb her so, but tears suddenly stung her eyes. She rushed out of the room lest anyone see.
Retreating to the bedchamber she would share that night with Ramsford, she grasped the bedpost and leaned her cheek against it, squeezing her eyes shut so she would not cry.
The door opened and she felt Ramsford's arms around her. "What is it, Amanda?"
"It is nothing," she cried, but she could not help burying her face against the comfort of his chest.
"Do…do you regret —" His voice caught.
"No…no…" She clutched at him. "Although you must. I…I was selfish to marry you, but I wanted to so much —"
He drew her away from him and looked her in the eye. "You wanted to marry me?"
She blinked rapidly against her tears. "Yes. I…I know it was wrong of me, and I tried to refuse you, but when you asked me the second time, I could not."
"Amanda!" He gaped at her.
"I am so sorry, Christian." She turned her face away.
He laughed. "You wanted to marry me?"
The tears spilled over. She nodded.
He took her chin in his fingers and turned her face up to his. To her surprise, he touched his lips to hers in a gentle kiss. She inhaled in surprise, taking his breath into her own mouth. She threw her arms around his neck and kissed him back. His lips became more demanding, and his tongue touched against hers. A moment later he kissed her neck, her ears, the skin above the neckline of her dress.
He murmured, "And I wished to marry you, Amanda, although I had no hope you would want me. I had convinced myself that you were frivolous — saying you wanted to be married by the end of the Season and such —"
"I needed to marry," she said. "My inheritance — Aunt Ellen's support — depended upon my marrying by my birthday." She explained the stipulation of her father's will.
His eyes were earnest. "Then it is I who am sorry, Amanda, for misjudging you."
He kissed her again, and her senses came alive in a way that had been new to her until their night at the inn. He lifted her onto the bed and soon they were entwined, her body aching for some release, something she knew would come when their marriage was consummated. She was disappointed when he released her and sat up.
He rubbed his face. "We are expected below stairs. To toast our health and happiness."
She rose to kiss him once more. "There will be time together later."
He looked into her eyes, his gaze smoldering like fire. "I love you, Amanda."
The tears filled her eyes again. Tears of happiness this time. She touched his face. "And I love you, Christian."
They stood and laughed as they straightened their clothing. When they left the room arm in arm, Amanda sighed. "I wish we could return to the inn for our wedding night."
He halted, smiling at her. "Why not? We could reach the inn within three hours."
"You cannot mean it." She gazed at him in wonder. "You would do this for me?"
He put his arms around her again and kissed her soundly. "Mrs. Ramsford, I am at your service."

النهاية