On a Wicked Dawn (Cynster 9)

After some moments, she drew in a shaky breath, and turned back to him. "You said anything, any little item from Somersham Place, will be worth a small fortune?"

Kirby nodded.

"So if I take something from there, and give it to you, then Edward will have enough to live on."

Kirby's nod was immediate. "It'll keep him from starving."

"Or doing anything else?"

"That's in the lap of the gods, but at least it'll give him a chance."

The young lady stared across the square, then she drew in a breath, and nodded. "Very well." Lifting her chin, she met Kirby's gaze. "I'll find something — something good."

Kirby studied her for a moment, then inclined his head. "Your devotion is to be applauded."

Briefly, he told her where to meet him, where and when she should bring her next contribution to Edward's well-being. She agreed and they parted. Kirby watched her cross the square, then turned and strode in the opposite direction.

Why the devil had he decided on Wednesday?

Returning to Calverton House on Monday afternoon, Luc stalked into his study, shut the door, then flung himself into an armchair and stared at the empty hearth.

If he'd said Monday instead…

He'd avoided Upper Brook Street on the day the notice announcing their nuptials had appeared in die Gazette. Predictably, all fashionable London, or so it had seemed, had descended on the Cynsters to congratulate Amelia and gossip about the wedding. Even here, at Calverton House, his mother had been besieged by callers throughout the morning; after luncheon, she'd shrewdly decided to join Amelia and Louise in Brook Street, so the wishful could have at them all at once.

Saturday evening they'd spent under the full glare of avid — not to say rabid — scrutiny at Lady Harris's soiree, one of the last major engagements before the ton retired to their estates for summer. The weather had already turned warm, the ladies' gowns commensurately revealing. To his relief, Amelia had restrained herself; she'd appeared in a demure sheath of gold silk to parade on his arm, ineffably calm and courteous to all those who paused to wish them well.

He hadn't had a chance for so much as a moment in private with her. Lecturing himself that the evening was, after all, a once-in-a-lifetime occasion, he'd accepted the fact with what he'd thought at the time to be reasonable grace. The intent look Amelia had bent on him when they'd ended the evening and parted, under her mother's watchful eye, had suggested that she, at least, had seen past his mask — sensed the restless dissatisfaction he'd concealed.

Deciding he wasn't averse to her sensing his impatience, he'd called the next afternoon — Sunday — expecting to whisk her away, to spend at least some moments alone with her, moments with her attention all his, only to discover the females of her family had congregated to confer and plan the wedding.

Vane, having escorted his wife, Patience, to the gathering, was leaving as he arrived. "Take my advice — White's would be much more to your taste."

It had taken less than a second for him to consider, and disgustedly agree. White's at that hour was thoroughly unexciting; it was, however, safe.

On Sunday evening, he and his mother had hosted the more or less traditional formal dinner for the families of bride and groom. He'd never seen his staff so excited; Cottsloe spent the entire evening beaming fit to bu

rst. Mrs. Higgs exceeded her own high standards; despite once again being denied any chance of a private word with Amelia, he had to admit the evening had gone well.

Devil, of course, had been present. They'd come upon each other in the drawing room later in the evening. Devil's eyes had searched his, then he'd grinned. "Still not broached the painful subject?"

He'd calmly turned to survey the company. "You can talk." He'd waited only a heartbeat before adding, "However, I can assure you no mention of that particular topic will occur before the wedding."

"Still determined?"

"Absolutely."

Devil had sighed exaggeratedly. "Don't say I didn't warn you."

"I won't." Turning, he'd met Devil's eyes. "You could, of course, send me pointers…"

Devil had humphed and slapped his shoulder. "Don't press your luck."

They'd parted amicably, their common difficulty a bond. The fact had only served to raise the issue more definitely, embed it more firmly in his mind.

He would have to tell her sometime.

The knowledge only fueled his impatience.