On a Wicked Dawn (Cynster 9)

He turned his head; his eyes met hers. His message was quite clear: don't be daft. The glint in the midnight blue depths clearly stated that he had plans for Lady Hartington's alfresco luncheon, plans that had nothing to do with food.

When he looked back at his horses, her heart was beating faster, her mind awash with fanciful imaginings, her nerves tensing with a blend of excitement and anticipation she'd never felt with anyone but him. The effect left her pleasantly expectant, sunnily confident, as they rolled through the streets.

Indeed, as she cast a surreptitious glance over her companion, negligently handsome in a drab, many-caped driving coat thrown over a dark blue morning coat, his long legs encased in tight-fitting buckskin breeches and glossy Hessians, long fingers firm on the reins as he expertly guided the frisky greys through the crowded thoroughfares, she couldn't think of anything she needed to make her day more complete. She had the right man and, if she'd read that glance correctly, his promise of pleasure to come. Smiling, she sat back and watched the houses go by. Hartington House lay to the west amid gently rolling fields. The house stood in an extensive park with large trees, a lake, and many pleasing vistas. Lady Hartington was delighted to welcome them; Luc assumed his customary bored expression, projecting the image that, in view of the number of females attending from his family, he'd felt obliged to lend them his escort.

They joined the other guests on the wide terrace overlooking the lawns, passing through the crowd, nodding, and exchanging greetings. Although Luc remained by her side, his expression, and that air of a man condemned to an afternoon of polite boredom, remained, too.

Amelia glanced at him as they emerged at one side of the crush, in relative if temporary privacy. "I hesitate to mention it, but if you want the ton to believe you've fixed your eye on me, shouldn't you be looking rather more interested in spending time by my side?"

She pretended to admire the distant lake; from the corner of her eye, she saw his lips twitch, felt the weight of his gaze as it rested on her face.

"Actually, no — that might, I feel, be stretching the bounds of the believable. Not" he smoothly continued as she swung to him, eyes flashing, lips parting on an incensed retort, "because my wishing to spend time in your company is not believable" — he captured her gaze—"but because the idea I would allow it to show, like some smitten puppy lolling at your dainty feet, is just a touch incredible." He raised one black brow. "Don't you think?"

A callow youth, an eager puppy — she couldn't remember him ever being like that. Throughout his career, he'd always been as he was now — arrogantly distant, aloof — cool. As if there was steel beneath his elegant clothes, concealing and distancing the flesh-and-blood man.

She had to agree; she didn't have to like it. Haughtily inclining her head, she looked away.

Luc fought not to grin knowingly. Sliding his fingers around her wrist, he stroked, then set her hand on his sleeve. "Come — we should circulate."

While they talked to first this group, then that, he cataloged the company. There were few of his ilk present. One or two older men, like Colonel Withersay, intent on bending a pretty widow's ear, and many youthful pups attending in their mothers' trains, still rosy-cheeked, stammeringly eager to hold a girl's reticule while she adjusted her shawl. No husbands — none would have been expected. Given that the Season was drawing to a close, the wolves' attention was also elsewhere; Luc doubted many of his peers were yet awake. Certainly not out of bed, whoever's beds they were gracing.

When Lady Hartington rang a bell, summoning them down to the lawns, where an array of culinary delights was set forth on trestle tables, he led Amelia down and, with his habitual distant grace, assisted her in assembling a plate of select morsels, simultaneously piling his own plate high. Preserving his attitude of resigned boredom — gaining a narrow-eyed, remarkably suspicious look from Reggie — he remained beside Amelia, exchanging mild comments with those who joined them.

Giving all the matrons who, driven by instinct, invariably watched such as he no inkling that he harbored any intention of working his wiles on any of the sweet innocents present certainly not on the fair beauty by his side.

The sun rose higher; the day grew warmer. Her ladyship's culinary offerings were consumed with relish, as was her wine cup.

As he'd expected, once their visceral hunger was satisfied, all the young things developed a longing to explore the famous grotto by the lake. Their mothers wanted nothing more than to stay seated in the shade and exchange desultory conversation. It consequently fell to Reggie and a host of bright-eyed youths to escort the bevy of giggling girls across the lawns, through the trees, and around the lake to the grotto.

He didn't have to say a word; all he had to do was wait for the moment his mother and Louise looked across to where he and Amelia remained seated at a table to one side of the lawn. The giggling girls had gathered into a brightly hued pack and were bustling across the lawns, parasols bobbing, a few dark coats amid the crush.

His mother caught his eye, raised her brows. Louise merely looked amused.

As if responding to a maternal hint, he assumed his most weary expression and glanced at Amelia. "Come — we should follow."

She was the only one close enough to read his eyes, to gain any sense that acting as overseeing gooseberry was not his goal. Her gaze fixed on his face, she gave him her hand. "Indeed — I'm sure the grotto will be fascinating."

Luc didn't reply, but rose and drew her to her feet. The sun was beaming down; he had to let her put up her parasol, then, side by side, some distance in the rear, they set off to follow the chattering horde.

He wondered whether anyone bar Louise had correctly interpreted his mother's questioning look. Minerva wasn't the least worried about her daughters; her question had more to do with what he was about. She couldn't fathom his tack, and was wondering…

He had every intention of leaving her guessing. There were some things mothers didn't need to know.

The lawns ended in a belt of parkland; beyond, the lake lay flat and reflective under a cerulean sky. Once in the trees' shade, he slid his hands into his pockets and slowed his pace, his gaze on the group ahead.

Amelia glanced at him and slowed, too. "I've never been to the grotto. Is it worthwhile?"

"It won't be today." Luc nodded at the gaggle ahead. "They'll be there."

The distance between them and the group was steadily increasing.

"However, if you've a mind to be adventurous…" He slanted her a glance. "There's somewhere else we might go."

She met his gaze calmly. "Where?"

He took her hand and drew her away, through the trees, through a stand of shrubs onto a narrow path that twisted and turned, eventually climbing the man-made hill into the base of which the grotto had been carved. The hilltop formed part of the created landscape; a stone seat with a thyme cushion was placed to give a superb view over the fields to the west. Laurels had been groomed to shade the bench; with an appreciative sigh, Amelia sat and furled her parasol.

From far below came a distant giggle, carried on the updraft from the lake. After surveying the landscape, Luc turned; his dark eyes briefly surveyed her, then he sat beside her, leaning back, at ease, one arm along the back of the seat.