On a Wicked Dawn (Cynster 9)

Her stomach had tightened, not pleasantly; an even more horrible thought flitted through her mind. Was his dark brooding an indication that he regretted coming to her — regretted all that had occurred that afternoon?

The thought caught, took root, blossomed, blocking out all else. She tried to catch Luc's eye, but he didn't again glance her way. Indeed, he kept his distance. The gong sounded, and the company transferred to the dining room. As one of the more senior peers present, Luc had to escort one of the grandes dames in; she found herself half a table away from him.

She had to laugh, converse, and put on a gay face — everyone, especially her sharp-eyed mama, expected her to be happy and carefree. She hoped she made a good job of it, but in truth had little idea — all through the meal, her heart was steadily sinking, her mind engrossed with the questions of where they were now, and if he would come to her room that night so she could rid herself of her uncertainties.

Small wonder she remembered not one bite, not one word.

The ladies rose and repaired to the drawing room, leaving the gentlemen — a goodly company — to pass the port. Smiling, she joined the younger girls, Anne, Fiona, and three others, letting their chatter wash over her as she waited for the gentlemen to return, waited for Luc to come to her — to speak, to make arrangements to meet again, privately or otherwise.

The gentlemen returned; Luc did not.

She forced herself to behave normally, to take tea and continue to chat, while inwardly considering and discarding all thoughts of seeking him out. Hightham Hall was huge and rambling; she had no idea where he might be, nor yet where his room was situated. Impossible for her to find him.

He, of course, could find her.

When the youthful crew were encouraged to retire, she stifled a yawn and, citing the drive down as the cause of her tiredness, seized the chance to retreat to her room.

Once there, she changed into a long, lawn nightgown. After shooing Dillys off to her own rest, she blew out her candle and went to the window. Drawing the curtains wide, she waited, watching the wash of moonlight move slowly across the floor.

It finally occurred to her that no matter how early she retired, he wouldn't risk coming to her room until much later — until all the grandes dames along the corridor retired, too, and fell asleep. Muttering a curse, she marched to the bed and climbed in. Pulling the covers up over her shoulders, she wriggled and fussed with the pillows, then settled her head on them.

If she fell asleep, Luc would just have to wake her — she was quite sure he would.

Closing her eyes, she sighed, and settled down to wait.

Chapter 9

The morning sun slanting through the uncurtained windows woke her. She had plenty of time to join Emily and Lord Kirkpatrick on their excursion to the Downs.

They were returning to the house, the sun high in the sky, hot and somewhat exhausted from what had proved an adventurous ramble, when she saw Luc — on the back terrace, hands on his hips, clearly waiting for them.

More precisely, waiting for her; when Emily and his lordship went up the steps, Luc merely nodded distantly. With a wide-eyed glance back at her, now trailing in the rear, the younger couple escaped. Leaving her to cope with a hardened rake who was giving a very good imitation of an aggravated Zeus.

With a jaunty, positively saucy smile, she climbed the steps, swinging her hat by its ribbons. His lips thinned, his expression grew grimmer as he took in her disheveled appearance, the flush in her cheeks, the curls clinging to her brow and throat. She had a fairly good idea of the picture she presented, but was in no mood to pander to his thoughts, whatever they might be.

"Where the devil have you been?"

The inquiry was growled through gritted teeth. She waved with her hat. "Up on the Downs. The views are quite breathtaking. You should go and take a look."

"Thank you, but no — I'll take your word for it. It might have been wise to mention your little expedition — why the hell didn't you tell me you were swanning off?"

She met his gaze. "Why should I?" The "you're not my keeper" she left unsaid.

He heard it, however; his jaw clenched. She wasn't close enough to be certain, but she thought his eyes had gone black. They did when he was angry; also when he was…

"I wanted to speak with you." The words were even, their tone one of considerable temper severely restrained.

She raised her brows. "About what?" Nose elevating, she turned along the terrace.

He swung across her path. "I would have thought—"

The lunch gong clanged. With a not very well suppressed oath, he glared at the house, then at her. "There are one or two matters I want to get straight with you. After lunch, don't disappear."

She wasn't of a mind to be dictated to, but she kept her e

yes innocently wide and carefully stepped around him so he was no longer between her and the house. Then she shrugged. "As you wish."

With a swish of her skirts, she turned haughtily away.