On a Wicked Dawn (Cynster 9)

It was too early for heroics — he left by the door.

Chapter 10

"There you are, m'lord — that ought to do it."

Luc accepted the bouquet of apricot and yellow roses, the stems wrapped and tied with agapanthus leaves, with a grateful nod. He passed a silver coin to the old gardener. "Worth every penny."

The old man grinned. "Aye, well, I knows how it is when a young lady needs to be persuaded-like."

His lady didn't need persuading, but distracting. Luc inclined his head. "As you say." Leaving the gardener, he headed for the lake.

It was nearly eleven o'clock; from the rose garden to the lake was not a short distance. As he rounded the corner of the west wing, he glimpsed a figure in a white muslin gown, curls gilded by the morning sunlight, appear briefly on the path that circled the lake. She passed out of sight, screened by the bushes that bordered the ornamental water; he lengthened his stride.

At least this morning he knew where she was — just where she was supposed to be.

Just where he wanted her.

Last night, more precisely the hours he'd spent with her, had eradicated all lingering doubts over what now was the best way forward. There was no point carping over the fact she'd seduced him; impossible to pretend he hadn't enjoyed it. The fact he — his will — hadn't been strong enough to resist her temptation spoke for itself; there was no point denying he wanted her in that way — and no sense wasting time before bringing the situation back under his control.

Especially given the confirmation of last night.

She hadn't realized. Hadn't seen, wasn't experienced enough to know that what they shared — the way they shared, that emotion that welled and flared between them when they came together — was not the norm. She'd never been with a man before; she was a sexual innocent — a novice. Why would she guess?

As long as he didn't tell her, didn't reveal how much deeper his involvement with her went, she never would.

Which meant he was safe. He could have her, along with all she brought him, that unnameable well of emotion, could claim her and it and allow it to grow, develop as he wished, all under his control. That he coveted it as well as her was not in question; the entire package called to his conqueror's soul. As matters had fallen out, he could have the whole without making any sacrifice beyond that which he'd already been prepared to make.

All he needed to do was marry her.

Quickly.

And whisk her off to Calverton Chase, where he could learn to handle her and their newfound emotion in safe isolation.

The need for a quick wedding was obvious — if he didn't want her to guess how he felt, he had to avoid situations that would make him react in ways that would, at least to her, educated by her mother, her aunts, and her cousins' wives, scream the truth. He'd been lucky once; he couldn't count on fate smiling twice. Limiting the time they spent in society before their wedding was an essential element of his plan.

Once he'd settled into his role as her husband, once he better understood the practicalities of controlling this emotion that now bound them, then when they returned to London and the ton later in the year, he'd know how to manage. Without giving her a weapon with which to manage him.

His best way forward was crystal clear.

The path had been steadily climbing; now it opened into a clearing, high above the lake. Amelia was sitting on the seat facing the distant house, scanning the lawns and the walks — wondering where he was.

So engrossed was she in searching for him, she didn't sense him draw near.

Until he stepped around the seat, swept her an elaborate bow, then offered her the bouquet. "My dear Amelia, will you do me the inestimable honor of consenting to be my viscountess?"

Reaching for the flowers, she froze, blinked, searched his eyes, then took the bouquet and glanced around.

Lips quirking, he sat beside her. "No, we don't have an audience, or at least, not an immediate one." He nodded toward the house. "No doubt someone will see us and take note, but there's no one else up here."

Cradling the blooms, Amelia held them to her face and inhaled. Then she looked at him. "I thought we'd already agreed to marry?"

Still watching the house, he shrugged. "I thought you deserved a formal offer."

After an instant's hesitation, she coolly replied, "You didn't go down on your knees."

He met her gaze. "Take what you can get."

Still puzzled, she searched his eyes.