On a Wicked Dawn (Cynster 9)

Louisa turned her head and stared soulfully at him — as if practicing snaring men's hearts.

On leaving St. Ives House, Luc took himself off to his club for sustenance in the form of a neat lunch and the company of various friends. Suitably refreshed, he returned to Upper Brook Street. Amelia was out with Louise, parading in the park. Luc considered, then returned to Mount Street and sent his grooms scurrying; five minutes later, he set out in his curricle to extract his bride-to-be from the center of the by now sure to be avidly interested ton.

He spotted her strolling the lawns on Reggie's arm, bringing up the rear of a group that included, among others, his sisters, Fiona, and Lord Kirkpatrick. Two younger sprigs he couldn't place were hovering earnestly at Anne's and Fiona's elbows.

Drawing his greys to a stamping halt by the verge, Luc grasped the moment to study the group. Emily and Mark, Lord Kirkpatrick, had grown progressively close, more discernibly easy in each other's company — definitely more oblivious to those around them. That was shaping up nicely. As for Anne, as he had hoped, in Fiona's brightly chattering presence, she was less reserved, although, from the look of concentration on the face of the young man at her side, she was still distinctly quiet. The others of the group were of similar age, similar station; there was no threat there — no wolves in sheep's clothing or otherwise.

He shifted his gaze to Amelia. In a white muslin gown sprigged with bright blue, she was a sight for sore eyes — and more. He felt a tug at his heart, in his gut; his gaze roamed her figure, sleek yet distinctly more mature than those of the younger girls around her. She must have felt his gaze, for, quelling her flighty ribbons, blowing in the breeze, she looked around — straight at him.

Her smile — spontaneous and unreserved in the instant before consciousness of where she was intruded — warmed him. She turned to Reggie, pointed to the carriageway; with a word to the others, they left the group and strode, swift and eager, toward him.

His impulse was to descend and meet her, however, a single glance around confirmed that, as he'd feared, they were the unrivaled center of attention. Every eye that could reasonably roll their way was fixed on them.

He nodded to Reggie. Reaching down, he grasped the hand Amelia held out to him. "Step up. Quickly."

She did, without question; he drew her up to the seat beside him. As she sat, he looked at Reggie. "Can you manage with that lot — and tell Louise I'll return Amelia to Brook Street within the hour?"

Reggie, struggling to hide a grin, opened his eyes wide. "Within the hour?"

Luc narrowed his eyes at him. "Indeed." He glanced at Amelia; she met his gaze. "Hang on."

She did; he backed the curricle, then flicked the reins and set the greys pacing. Without a single glance right or left — refusing to allow anyone to catch his eye, wave, and detain them — he guided the greys, not down the Avenue but straight out of the park.

Amelia turned his way as they passed through the gates, a smile on her lips, an intrigued light in her eyes. "Where are we going?"

He took her home — to his home, Calverton House — to his study, the one place he could think of where no one would interrupt, where they could discuss the necessary arrangements, and he could distract her if need be.

Cottsloe opened the door to them; stepping back, he beamed. "My lord. Miss Amelia."

Speculation flared in Cottsloe's eyes, stoked by the fact that he, Luc, had Amelia's hand firmly in his. He led her into the front hall. "You deserve to be among the first to know, Cottsloe — Miss Amelia has done me the honor of consenting to be my wife. She will shortly be Lady Calverton."

Cottsloe's beaming smile threatened to split his round face. "My lord — Miss Amelia — pray accept my heartfelt congratulations."

Luc grinned. Amelia smiled. "Thank you, Cottsloe."

"If you don't mind me asking, my lord…?"

Luc caught Amelia's eye, saw the same unvoiced question there. "Next Wednesday. A bit rushed, but summer's nearly here." His gaze locked with Amelia's, he raised her hand to his lips. "And there seems no reason to dally."

Her eyes widened; he could sense the questions rising in her mind. He glanced at Cottsloe. "We'll be in the study. I don't wish to be disturbed."

"Indeed, my lord."

He turned and, Amelia's hand still locked in his, strode down the hall. Flinging open the study door, he went in, towing Amelia behind him — then he turned, pushed the door shut, twirled her about and backed her against the panels. Sank one hand into her golden curls and kissed her.

Ravenously.

Surprise froze her for an instant, then she kissed him back — wound her arms about his neck and invited him to devour.

And he did. The taste of her, the softness of her mouth, willingly yielded, was nectar to his soul; just over a day had passed since he'd last had her in his arms, yet he was already starving.

Hungry, and greedy, too.

She was very ready to appease his appetite — and hers. He felt her hands slide down his chest, then lower; he grasped her waist, lifted her, then used his weight to hold her trapped against the door, her head just lower than his, her hands no longer able to reach his hips.

Draping her arms over his shoulders, holding him to her, she gave her full attention to the kiss — as did he.

They were both gasping, his chest heaving, her breasts rising dramatically, when they finally broke the kiss. They didn't move apart — didn't move at all — but remained, foreheads touching, gazes meeting fleetingly from under heavy lids. Lips separated by a breath.