On a Wicked Dawn (Cynster 9)

Throwing back the covers, he rose. Dragging a sheet off the bed, he wound it around his hips as he crossed to the desk before the window. Sitting, he drew a sheet of fine paper from one pigeonhole and picked up his pen.

He was sanding the note when a footman entered with his washing water. Luc glanced up, then turned back to the note. "Wait a minute."

He folded the note's corners, then dipped the pen in the inkstand and wrote her name. Waving the note to dry the ink, he turned to the footman. "Deliver this immediately to 12 Upper Brook Street."

Chapter 2

"Why the museum?" Amelia asked as she approached him.

Reaching out, Luc closed his fingers about her elbow and turned her around. "So we can converse in reasonable privacy, in public, and anyone seeing us will imagine we've simply and innocently come upon each other. No one ever imagines assignations occur in the museum. I'm here, clearly under duress, escorting my sisters and Miss Ffolliot—no! Don't wave. They're going to wander and meet me later."

Amelia glanced at the three girls at the other end of the room, staring wide-eyed at a display. "Does it matter if they see us?"

"No. But having seen you, they'll expect to join us, and that would be counterproductive." He urged her through an archway into a room devoted to Egyptian artifacts.

Transferring her gaze to his face, she noted his expression was, as usual, uninformative. His dark hair, black as pitch, was perfectly groomed; not a trace of dissipation marred the beauty of his classical features. Impossible to guess that ten hours before he'd been drop-at-her-feet drunk.

How to frame her question? Why are we assignating?

Looking ahead, she mentally girded her loins. "What did you want to talk about?"

The glance he threw her was sharp and dark. He drew her to a halt by the side of the room, in front of a case filled with pottery. "I would have thought, after our meeting last night, that the subject would be obvious."

He'd changed his mind — woken up, realized what he'd said, and was going to take it back. Hands clasped, fingers gripping tightly, she raised her chin, fixed her eyes on his. "There's no point telling me that you were so drunk you didn't know what you were saying. I heard you, and you heard yourself. You agreed — and I intend holding you to it."

He blinked, frowned — then his frown grew blacker. "I've no intention of claiming diminished responsibility. I wasn't so drunk I didn't know what I was doing."

"Oh." His acid tones left little doubt he was in earnest.

"That's not what we need to talk about." His frown still lingered.

Hugely relieved, she fought to hide the fact, schooling her features to simple interest. "What, then?"

He glanced about, then took her arm and urged her on, strolling slowly. Because of his height, he had to look down to speak to her, rendering their conversation private regardless of the public setting. "We've agreed to marry, now we need to take the next steps. Decide on how and when."

She brightened; he wasn't going to renege on their agreement. Quite the opposite. The sensation of her heart soaring was distracting. "I'd thought in a few days. You can get a special license, can't you?"

His frown returned. "What about a wedding dress? What about your family? A few days — doesn't that seem a mite precipitate?"

She halted, met his gaze, set her chin. "I don't care about a dress, and I can talk my parents around. I've always wanted to be a June bride, and that means getting married within the next four weeks."

His eyes narrowed; she knew — could see in his dark blue eyes — that he was debating some point, but, as usual, she couldn't tell what.

"Four weeks will work — four days won't. Just consider — what will people think when they suddenly learn, out of the blue, that we're marrying in such unseemly haste? Such behavior will raise the question of why, and there are only two possible answers, neither of which will endear the match to your family or, indeed, to me."

She considered… reluctantly conceded. "People would suspect money was at the heart of it, and after all your hard work hiding your family's state, that's the very last thing you'd want." She sighed, looked up. "You're right. Very well — within four weeks then." It would still be June.

Luc gritted his teeth, gripped her arm, and led her on. "I wouldn't want them to think the other, either."

Her brows rose. "That you and I…" She blushed lightly.

"Aside from anything else, no one would believe it." He kept her moving when she tried to stop and face him. "Pretend we're looking at the exhibits."

She turned her gaze to the glass cases lining the walls. "But we've known each other for years." Her voice sounded tight.

"And have shown not the smallest sign of having any interest in developing a relationship closer than that of family acquaintance — precisely. We need to lay some groundwork, and if you've set your heart on four weeks, then we'll do it in four weeks." She glanced up; he hurried on before she could argue. "Here's my plan."

He'd expected to have two months or more to accomplish it, but four weeks… he could seduce any woman in four weeks.