On a Wicked Dawn (Cynster 9)

She met his gaze, waved him back. He subsided into his chair; she passed the chair before the desk, continued around it. Reaching him, lips tight, she turned, sat on his lap, then leaned into him.

His mind streaked in a dozen different directions; an odd fear clutched his heart. Bad news — that was all he could think. He closed his arms about her, gently, then more firmly; she snuggled closer, deeper into his embrace, her cheek to his chest. He laid his jaw against her curls, feeling them slide like silk against his chin. "What?"

"I went with Emily and Anne to check through their things — you heard me organizing."

"You found something." The vise about his heart slowly closed.

"Yes. This." She lifted her hand and showed him an ornate quizzing glass. "It was in one of Anne's reticules."

His heart grew cold, then colder; he forced himself to take the quizzing glass. He held it up, squinted when he saw the stones flash. "Diamonds?"

"I think so. And I don't think it's a lady's — it's too heavy."

"I don't think I've ever seen it before."

"I haven't either. Nor have Emily and Anne."

Luc felt cold tension flow through him; it kept him so silent and still, Amelia eventually glanced up.

He met her gaze; her eyes were wide, as blue as the sky. A little shock, and a ton of worry, shadowed the blue. He clung to the contact and forced himself to say, "So it's Anne, and we have another Ashford scandal."

He saw the frown flow into Amelia's eyes before her brows drew down.

"No." She shook her head brusquely. "Stop leaping to conclusions."

"Leaping…?" He felt a flash of temper. Knew it was irrational. "What the hell am I — is anyone to think—"

Amelia struggled to sit up, to draw out of his arms.

He immediately tightened his hold. "No. Sit still."

She complied — he suspected because she had to — but her accents were clipped when she tersely informed him, "I'm sure it's not Anne. Or Emily, for that matter."

He felt a little of the icy tension seep away, felt the vise ease a notch. "Why? Tell me."

She hesitated, then said, "I'm not a mind reader, but I'm not hopeless at judging people and their reactions either. Anne was truly surprised, totally puzzled over the quizzing glass being in her reticule. She hadn't known it was there — I'm sure she didn't recognize it, meaning she literally had never seen it before. Anne's shy — she's not experienced enough to hide her feelings. And the most telling fact of all was that she didn't need to give Emily the reticule — she could easily have said it wasn't there, or she'd look it out later, or… a host of things."

Luc struggled through her words, then admitted, "I'm lost — explain."

She did, sitting in his lap within the circle of his arms.

When she finished, she sat still, waited…

After some moments, he forced himself to take a tight breath. "Are you sure…?"

"Yes." She looked into his face, held his gaze. "I'm quite certain that whoever took that quizzing glass, it wasn't Anne or Emily."

He tried to find some wavering in the steady blue of her eyes. "You're not just saying that…?" He gestured with one hand; even though it was behind her back, she understood.

The stubborn set of her chin and lips softened. She laid a hand against his cheek. "I might" — she paused, then continued—"turn a blind eye to some things if I thought it was in your best interests, that it would help you or our family, but this…" She shook her head; her eyes held his. "Telling you it wasn't Anne when it was wouldn't help, and might instead lead to a great deal more harm."

Her words sank into him, slowly eased the vise open, let his blood flow again and warm him, driving away the chill.

He drew a deep breath. "You're sure." No question; the answer was in her eyes.

She nodded. "Not Anne. Not Emily."

He let the knowledge buoy him for a heartbeat, then asked, "If not them, then who? How did this" — he lifted the quizzing glass—"get into Anne's reticule?"