On a Wicked Dawn (Cynster 9)

Lucifer inclined his head. "We knew you'd feel that way, which is why I drove up here and Devil headed back to town. We need to identify the culprit, so we can deal with the situation as we'd prefer. And, if necessary, minimize any damage."

His gaze distant, Luc nodded; he raised his glass and sipped.

Phyllida, until then silent, stirred. "You haven't told them the rest."

Lucifer glanced at her, then grimaced; he looked at Amelia and Luc. "When we were discussing all this — Devil, Honoria, Phyllida, and I — we'd forgotten there was someone else in the room. Great-aunt Clara. As usual, she confounded us all by telling us she rather thought her nurse-cum-companion might have seen something helpful. Luckily, Althorpe, the nurse, isn't anywhere near as vague as Clara — when we spoke to her, Althorpe remembered the incident clearly.

"It was the night of your wedding, and she'd been up late settling Clara. When she got back to her room, she saw a young lady rushing back to the house. It was after midnight. Althorpe is adamant the young lady was older than a schoolgirl, but not by much, and was distraught. Very much upset."

"Could she describe this young lady?" Amelia asked.

"She was looking down on her — she didn't see her face. What she did see was thick brown hair, possibly shoulder-length — the lady was wearing a cloak, but the hood had fallen back."

"Brown hair," Luc murmured. He took another sip of brandy.

"Definitely. Althorpe was quite clear on that — not black, not blond. Brown."

It could be one of my sisters.

Luc had made the comment, drawn the inevitable conclusion. Amelia knew how much it had cost him to do so.

Neither Lucifer nor Phyllida had said anything more; they'd all retired, sober and absorbed.

Now, lying in their bed, she watched Luc walk slowly toward her. His face was shuttered; he was further from her — and withdrawn to a greater distance — than at any time since they'd first spoken of marriage.

Her heart ached for him. After saving his family from the disaster of his father's depredations, steering them through the grim scandal of Edward's making, after working so hard and finally succeeding in getting all back on an even keel… only to have all his efforts swamped by this.

The implicit threat was all too real. If it came to pass… for him, it would be a serious blow.

She waited until he joined her beneath the covers, then took her courage in her hands, and baldly asked, "Who do you think it is? Emily or Anne?"

That stillness that sometimes came over him swept him. He said nothing, just lay stiffly beside her. She bit her lip against the nearly overwhelming urge to speak, to reach for him. To dismiss and push her question away.

Then he exhaled. "I think…" He paused, then his tone changed, "I wondered if it could be Mama."

It was he who reached for her, his hand finding hers, covering it, then gripping, holding tight. "I wondered if… well, you know how many families face a problem like that, one they hide and never speak of."

That was a possibility she hadn't considered. "You mean" — she turned to him, easing closer, seeking to comfort simply by touch—"if she'd developed a habit of picking up things that caught her eye and not even really knowing?"

He nodded. "The girl the nurse saw could have been something quite different — nothing to do with the thefts."

Amelia thought of his mother, intelligent, calm, and wise. "No. I can't see it." She made her tone as definite as she felt.

"Those other older ladies who start taking things — from all I've heard, they're quite vague, not just about what they've taken but generally. Your mother's not like that, not at all."

He hesitated, then said, softly, "She's been through a lot over the years…"

Amelia considered Minerva's quiet strength. She pressed closer; under the covers, she lifted a hand to his chest. "Luc — it isn't your mother."

Some of his tension left him, but not all. He released her fingers, lifted his arm over her, letting her snuggle against him, draping his arm so he could hold her there.

Accepting her comfort, her help, not shutting her out.

Amelia closed her eyes in mute thanks, then she felt his lips press the curls at her crown, felt the weight of his head as he rested it against hers.

After a long moment, he spoke. "If not Mama, then it must be Anne."

Chapter 19