On a Wicked Dawn (Cynster 9)

There was one person who had to know the truth. On returning home, Luc glanced at the clock, then repaired to his study and busied himself with various financial matters awaiting his attention. When the clocks chimed four, he set aside his papers and climbed the stairs to his mother's sitting room.

She would have been resting, but she always rose at four o'clock. Reaching the upstairs gallery, he glimpsed Mrs. Higgs in the front hall below, heading for the stairs, a well-stocked tray in her hands. At his mother's sitting room door, he tapped; hearing her voice bid him enter, he opened the door.

She'd been reclining on the chaise, but was now sitting up, rearranging cushions at her back.

A still beautiful woman, although her dramatic coloring — black hair, fair complexion, dark blue eyes the same as his — had faded, there remained some indefinable quality in her smile, in her fine eyes, that reached out to men and made them eager to serve her. A quality of which she was not oblivious but had not, as far as he knew, employed since his father's death. He'd never understood his parents' union, for his mother was intelligent and astute, yet she'd been unswervingly faithful to a shiftless wastrel, not just during his life, but to his memory, too.

She saw him and raised both brows. He smiled, entered, then held the door for Mrs. Higgs, who inclined her head and swept past to set her tray on the low table before the chaise.

"I've brought two cups, as it happens, and there's plenty of cakes — will you be wanting anything more, m'lord?"

Luc surveyed the small feast Higgs was busily laying out. "Thank you, Higgs, no. This will be sufficient."

His mother added her smiling thanks. "Indeed, thank you, Higgs. And is everything in train for dinner as we discussed?"

"Aye, ma'am." Higgs straightened and bestowed a beaming smile on them both. "All's well on the way, and everything's right with the world."

On that triumphant note, she bobbed and whisked herself out of the room, closing the door behind her.

His mother's smile deepened; she held out her hand and he gripped it, felt her fingers curl tight. "She's been bouncing about all day as if she was eighteen again." Lifting her gaze to his face, she continued, "You brought us around, my son — did I tell you how proud I am of you?"

Looking down into her lovely eyes, glowing and suspiciously bright, Luc quelled a schoolboy urge to shuffle his feet and duck his head. He smiled easily, squeezed her hand, then released it and waved dismissively. "No one is more relieved than I."

He sat in the armchair facing the chaise.

Minerva's shrewd gaze traveled his face, then she reached for the teapot. "I've invited Robert to dine tonight — that was an excellent idea. We'll be serving at six — early for us, but you know how he is."

Luc took the cup she held out to him. "Emily and Anne?"

"I've told them they've been gadding rather too much. As we've no formal dinner to attend tonight, I suggested they nap until seven, then have dinner in their rooms before they get ready for the Mountfords' ball."

Luc's lips twitched. His mother was as ruthless a manipulator as he.

"Now." Minerva sat back with her cup, sipped, then fixed her gaze on his face. "What's troubling you?"

He smiled easily. "I doubt you would call it'trouble'—I've decided to marry."

She blinked, stilled, then widened her eyes. "Correct me if I'm wrong, but isn't that decision somewhat sudden?"

"Yes, and no." He set down his cup, wondering how little he could get away with revealing. His mother was remarkably acute, especially when it came to her offspring. The only one she'd been unable to read well was his brother Edward, recently banished for crimes they all still found hard to comprehend.

Shifting his thoughts from Edward, he glanced at his mother. "The decision's recent in that prior to yesterday, as you know, I was in no position to think of marriage. The notion's not recent in that I've had my eye on the lady in question for some time."

Minerva's gaze remained steady. "Amelia Cynster."

It was an effort to mask his shock. Had he been that unknowingly transparent? He pushed the thought aside. Inclined his head. "As you say. We've decided—"

"Wait." Minerva's eyes grew round. "She's already agreed?"

He backtracked. "I came up with her briefly last night." He avoided mentioning where; Minerva would imagine he'd looked in at some ball. "We met again this afternoon and took our discussions further. It's tentative, of course, but…" No matter which way his mind darted, he could see no way to avoid making a reasonably clean breast of the whole. He sighed. "The truth is, she suggested it."

"Great heavens!" Brows flying, Minerva looked her question.

"She'd seen through our facade. From a lot of little things she realized we were hard-pressed. She wishes to marry, reasonably and well — I think Amanda's marriage has left her lonely in a way she's never been before — but she feels no compelling wish to marry any of the eligibles lining

up to pay court to her."

"So she thought of you?"