On a Wicked Dawn (Cynster 9)

She caught his eye, then smiled and shook her head. "You'll go your own road, I know, but beware, my son. Marriage for you will not be as easy as you think."

Still smiling, she left him. Luc watched her go, a frown in his eyes, one question in his mind. Why?

Women. A necessary evil, or so he'd come to accept. He could define precisely what the necessary parts were. As for the rest, one simply had to learn to deal with them — it was that or be driven insane.

To enliven the next day, they'd organized a picnic at Merton. A picnic — he knew what that meant. Bucolic delights — like rocky or marshy ground, or trees with unhelpfully rough bark, or inquisitive ducks — all obstacles he'd met with in his callow youth.

He was long past those days — long past picnics.

"I'll take a decent chaise in a conservatory any day."

"What was that?"

He glanced at Amelia, beside him on the curricle's seat. "Nothing. Just muttering."

Amelia grinned and looked ahead. "I haven't been to Cousin Georgina's in years."

She was looking forward to it, to the chance of spending more than a few rushed minutes with Luc. She wanted — very definitely — to take their interaction further, to learn more of the magic he conjured, to wallow in the sensations he knew so well how to invoke. Ultimately, to travel further down their road and visit the next temple.

Since Lady Orcott's dim corridor, progress had been minimal, primarily due to lack of time. At least, that's how it seemed, although in truth, she never had the slightest idea of time passing once Luc's lips were on hers.

Let alone his hands on her body, clothed or otherwise.

Nevertheless, she'd learned one or two things. Such as, despite the fact he physically desired her, that iron will of his stubbornly intervened and left him firmly in control, not just of her but of himself, too. Even when he'd reduced her to a gasping, witless, boneless heap, he could still hear and function as if he were merely out riding. Indeed, that was a very apt analogy — he loved riding, but never lost control.

Undermining that control, seeing him in the throes of a passion as hot and mindless as what he induced in her, was a very tempting proposition.

She glanced at him, studied the strong line of his jaw, then smiled and looked ahead.

The drive leading to Georgina's villa lay around the next bend. Luc turned the curricle in between the gateposts; the drive led to a circular court before the villa's front door.

Georgina was waiting to greet them. "My dears." She enveloped Amelia in a scented embrace and kissed her cheek. Then she smiled, and gave Luc her hand. "The last time you were here, you fell out of the plum tree. Luckily, you didn't break any bones."

Luc straightened from his bow. "Did I break any branches?"

"No, but you did eat a great many of the plums."

Amelia slipped her arm in Georgina's. "The others are following in the carriages. Can we help with anything?"

The answer was no, so they sat outside on the terrace and sipped cool drinks until the others arrived. As well as Luc's sisters and Fiona, and Minerva and Louise to keep Georgina company, young Lord Kirkpatrick and two of his friends had been invited, along with Reggie, and Amelia's brother Simon. And three of their cousins, Heather, Eliza, and Angelica, together with a few of their friends.

The carriages rolled up, the occupants joined them on the shady terrace, and the picnic party swelled to a sizable group, full of laughing, chattering good cheer.

Luc viewed the gathering with mixed feelings. He was thankful his two youngest sisters, Portia and Penelope, had remained at home in Rutlandshire. They hadn't come to London with the family primarily because of the cost; after his recent windfall, he'd toyed with the idea of sending for them, but at fourteen and thirtee

n, they were supposed to be attending their lessons. Penelope would be, her nose buried in some tome, but on a day like this, Portia would be out with his prize pack of hounds. If they'd been here, at this party, he'd have been forced to keep a strict eye on them both — and endure their incessant and often pointed teasing. Just as well those two sharp-eyed nuisances were safely far away.

"Luc?"

Amelia's voice drew him back to Merton; he blinked, and saw her silhouetted against the glare of the sunlight washing over the lawns. She was wearing a thin muslin gown, perfect for the warm day; the bright light behind her turned the fabric translucent, revealing the shapely curve of one breast, the indentation of her waist made all the more definite by the delectable swell of her hips, followed by the long, slender lines of her legs.

He had to draw breath before he succeeded in dragging his gaze back up to her face. She tilted her head, studying him, a light smile on her lips. She gestured with a plate. "Come and eat."

With a nod, he got to his feet — slowly — using the instant to shackle his hunger, sudden, rampant, unexpectedly vital. He hadn't realized it had grown to this extent, to the point where its spurs had real bite, driving him to seize.

He joined her; to her right lay the open doors to a dining parlor where a feast was spread. Many of the company were filling their plates, chattering incessantly; others, plates in their hands, were heading out to the chairs and tables assembled on the lawn.

Relieving Amelia of the plate, he met her gaze, blue eyes wondering. With his other hand, he caught her fingers, raised them and pressed his lips to the tips. Let her, but only her, see the real nature of his hunger in his eyes.