On a Wicked Dawn (Cynster 9)

Leaving him to stare, unseeing, out of the window, a prey to thoughts he'd never imagined he'd have, to longings he didn't fully understand — to emotions stronger and wilder than any he'd felt before.

Emotions strong enough to rule him.

The touch of Luc's lips on hers woke Amelia; she clung to the kiss until he lifted his head, then glanced around.

"We just cleared the gates," he informed her.

Which meant she had ten minutes in which to make herself presentable. Reluctantly leaving the warmth of his arms, she sat up, stretched, then straightened her bodice and shook out her skirt.

Noted that her bodice was still neatly done up; Luc had made not a single rakish move toward her since they'd been wed.

"We're nearly at the curve."

His voice gave no indication of what he was thinking or feeling, indeed, if he was thinking or feeling anything at all. But his warning had her shuffling along to peer out at a sight she'd particularly wanted to see.

To savor — the first glimpse of her new home, spread out, pale stone faintly golden in the westering sun, sheltering in a dip below a rise some way ahead. For a time, the house would remain visible from the carriage as the road ran parallel to the rise on the opposite side of a shallow valley, a vista engineered to give visitors an appreciation of the quiet beauty of the Chase — an established, elegant mansion set in a rich and luxurious landscape.

The fields around the house were a verdant green, the vibrant color slowly fading to darkness as the sun set and the light waned. The house glowed through the dusk, as if the stone was lit from within, promising warmth to the traveler, and even more to those returning to its fold.

Long and large, the mansion comprised two stories with dormers atop; the facade was classical in design with twin columns supporting a central portico. However, the facade was not straight, but a shallow inverted V, the central block containing the portico at the apex, the ends of the long east and west wings angled forward toward the valley.

There'd been a house on the site for centuries; the central block had been built and rebuilt many times before the newer wings were added.

Beyond the end of the east wing stretched the darker green of trees — the old demesne, now woodland. To the west of the house lay the fields of the home farm, the roofs of stables and barns standing out amidst the green. Presently invisible behind the house were the formal lawns and gardens. Gazing out of the carriage, Amelia thought of them — thought of all the hours she'd spent there in the past, then let the memories fade.

Turned her mind to the future, thought of her dreams, embodied in the house before her; this was where she would make those dreams come true.

Watching the same scene fr

om behind her, Luc let his gaze dwell on the house — his home. Eyes narrowed, he confirmed the slates on the west wing had been repaired and the wall damaged by a fallen tree nearly a decade ago rebuilt. The sight unexpectedly touched him; it now looked as it had when he could first remember seeing it, in his grandfather's time.

The decay of his father's term had already been partly erased; those had been some of the urgent orders he'd dispatched the day after he'd learned of his new wealth. The day following the dawn on which he'd agreed to marry Amelia, to take her hand and see what they could make of the future.

Together. Here.

His gaze shifted to her; the possessiveness that seized him was disorienting, disconcerting. He leaned back, shifting his gaze ahead as the carriage swept on. Trees intervened as the road curved again and dipped into the valley; Amelia sighed and sat back, her gaze still on the window, her expression soft and eager.

The coach rattled over the stone bridge, then traversed the shoulder of the rise, the horses leaning into the traces for the long, sweeping approach to the house.

Five minutes later, the coach rocked to a halt before the portico of the Chase.

He'd been correct in his prediction; not just the indoor staff, but those who worked in the gardens, stables, and kennels as well, were lined up to greet them. The groom opened the door and let down the steps; Luc stepped down — a spontaneous cheer rose from the assembled throng.

He couldn't help but grin. Turning, he handed Amelia from the coach; as she stepped down and stood beside him, her hand in his, the cheers rose to new heights. Caps were tossed high — everyone was beaming. Conscious of the clouds blowing up from the west, encroaching on the summer twilight, Luc led Amelia forward. Cottsloe and Mrs. Higgs had left the Place immediately the ceremony had ended to ensure all was as it should be here, and to be ready to welcome them both to their new life.

Luc smiled as Mrs. Higgs rose somewhat shakily from her deep curtsy; with a gesture, he handed Amelia over to her. He and Cottsloe followed as Mrs. Higgs introduced all the indoor staff, then Cottsloe took the lead and did the same for those who worked outdoors.

The long line ended at the top of the portico steps where a youth struggled to hold a pair of enthusiastically eager Belvoir hounds. The animals wriggled and whined pitifully as Luc approached.

Amelia laughed and halted, watching as Luc patted them, and they slavishly adored him. Once they'd quieted, she offered her hands for them to sniff. She remembered them both. Patsy, Patricia of Oakham, was the matron of the pack and utterly devoted to Luc; Morry, Morris of Lyddington, was her oldest son and a reigning champion of the breed.

Patsy wuffed welcomingly and rubbed her head into

Amelia's hand; not to be outdone, Morry wuffed louder and went to jump up — Luc spoke and Morry subsided, instead wagging his tail and rump so vigorously their poor handler was nearly brushed off his feet.

"Kennels," Luc declared in a tone that brooked no argument, canine or otherwise. Both dogs seemed to sigh and desist; with a grateful look, the boy turned them away.

Luc held out his hand.