On a Wicked Dawn (Cynster 9)

His hands in his pockets, Luc stared at the plan. Martin glanced at him. Luc met his gaze. "I'd better warn Sugden. If anyone does come that way, and the hounds set up a cry, Sugden can release them. They'll run any intruder to earth, and hold him until we get there."

Lucifer grinned. Evilly. "Nice idea."

"Another thought," Martin offered. "Let Patsy and Morry charm the children at the gala. They're well behaved enough. Sugden could keep them on their leashes and show them off. No one would think that odd, given they're champions. And it would serve to draw our thief's attention to the existence of the kennels."

Martin straightened, meeting both Luc's, then Lucifer's dark eyes. "While it might satisfy us to run the felon to earth, it would be better all around if we could catch him in the act first."

Luc nodded. So did Lucifer.

They all turned back to the plan.

"All right." Luc pointed to a bedchamber on the first floor.

"That's the room Helena's in. So how are we going to protect her?"

They spent most of the morning discussing the possibilities; they'd had to wait until then to learn all that their wives' had planned, and, most importantly, the when and where of each organized activity.

With all the details in place, they'd hatched their own plans. During the gala and ball, there'd be the three of them, plus Simon, Sugden, and Cottsloe, all keeping watch over Helena. Later, once the guests were gone, Amelia, Amanda, and Phyllida would watch from various places inside the house, while Martin, Sudgen, and Lucifer patrolled the grounds, leaving Luc and Simon — presently the most familiar with the house and the rooms everyone was in — to guard the long corridors.

Once they'd finalized their arrangements, they'd dispersed. Luc had gone to the kennels to speak with Sugden and run a quick eye over the pack.

Returning to the house, he hesitated, then strolled to the music room. He paused in the corridor outside the door… from the parlor beyond came Amelia's voice. And Phyllida's and Amanda's. Grimacing, he walked on.

Climbing the main stairs, he paused at the first floor, then, jaw firming, took the flight to the top floor.

Portia, Penelope, and Miss Pink were downstairs, eschewing lessons with books for more practical demonstrations; the upper central wing stood empty. Luc strolled to the nursery, opened the door, and went in.

Nothing had yet changed — he hadn't expected it would have; Amelia hadn't yet had time to put her plans into place. But she would. Soon.

Walking to the window, he looked down over the valley, and pondered that fact, what it would mean, how it made him feel.

A son — that was the least fate owed him after leaving him to manage alone with four sisters. His lips twisted; in truth, he didn't care. All he wanted was to see Amelia with his babe at her breast.

His conversation with Helena had cast a new slant — he hadn't considered that Amelia, too, would have her own decision to make.

She'd already made it — of that he felt certain. She was committed to him, had changed her allegiance and was carrying his child. She was his. At some primal level, he'd known that for some time — now he believed it.

His rational logical mind had at long last caught up with his primitive self.

Satisfaction and contentment welled, laced with escalating frustration. Now he was waiting to tell her all, fate was conspiring to delay his declaration.

She was rushed off her feet with preparations, dozy when he joined her in their bed at night, in the morning leaping out of it before he'd woken to plunge back into the whirl.

Given what she and all that lay between them now meant to him, given how important acknowledging that had become, grabbing a few rushed minutes with servants and family distractingly hovering to make such a vital declaration was, to him, unthinkable.

When he finally confessed to the ultimate surrender, he at least wanted to be sure she was paying attention — and would remember it later.

Impatience gnawed; frustration gnashed. He stared out at the valley. His jaw set.

Once the thief was caught, he would insist she refocus every last shred of her attention back on him.

And then he would tell her the simple truth.

Three little words.

/ love you.

Chapter 21