On a Wicked Dawn (Cynster 9)

The evening progressed as such evenings had before, but this time it was only during the two waltzes they shared that they were private enough to talk — and during their second waltz, neither bothered with words.

She was breathless when that waltz ended, perfectly ready to stand beside the dance floor and chat to acquaintances while the tension that had seized her nerves, that had sent tingling anticipation spreading over her skin, slowly faded.

Toward the end of the evening, Minerva approached; leaving Luc to deal with Lady Melrose and Mrs. Highbury, Amelia gave his mother her attention. They quickly confirmed the members of his family who would be attending the wedding; Minerva was about to move on when Amelia saw her gaze lock on the pearl-and-diamond ring Luc had given her.

Smiling, she extended her hand, displaying the ring. "It's lovely, isn't it? Luc told me how the betrothal ring was passed down through the family."

Minerva studied the ring, then smiled warmly. "It suits you perfectly, dear." Her gaze moved on to her son; her smile faded. "If you don't mind, Amelia, I'd like a quick word with Luc."

"Of course." Turning back to the wider conversation, Amelia drew the two ladies' attention, releasing Luc to his mother.

Luc turned to Minerva; she put her hand on his arm and urged him a few steps away. He leaned closer when she spoke, her voice low.

"Amelia just showed me her ring."

Before he could stop himself, he'd stiffened. His mother fixed him with a sharp glance.

"It seems," she continued, "that Amelia believes it to be the betrothal ring passed down over generations of Ashfords."

He held her gaze; after a long moment, he grudgingly admitted, "I mention

ed the betrothal ring when I gave her that one."

"And doubtless left her to make the connection herself?" When he said nothing, she shook her head. "Oh, Luc."

It wasn't quite condemnation he saw in her eyes, but whatever it was, it made him feel twelve years old. "I didn't want her to worry about where the ring came from."

Minerva's brows rose. "Or to think too far along those lines?"

She waited, but he refused to say more, to justify his stance or his behavior.

After a moment of reading his eyes — she was one of the few who could regularly manage it — she sighed. "I promised not to meddle, and I won't. But beware — the longer you delay making your revelation, the more difficult it will be."

"So I've been told." They were talking of two different revelations, but one led inexorably to the other. He looked at Amelia. "I promise on my honor I will tell her. Just not yet."

He glanced at Minerva; again she shook her head, this time with a latent smile. Pressing his arm, she stepped away.

"You'll go to the devil in your own way. You always have."

He watched her walk away, then rejoined Amelia.

Early the next morning, Amelia left for Somersham Place in company with her father and mother, her brother Simon and her younger sisters Henrietta and Mary, their butler Colthorpe and various family servants. The latter were to lend their support to the staff at the Place, Devil's principal residence, a huge sprawling mansion that in many ways represented the heart of the ducal dynasty.

They arrived late in the morning to find other family members already in residence, among them Helena, the Dowager, Devil's mother, and old Great-aunt Clara, summoned from her home in Somerset. Lady Osbaldestone, a distant connection, rattled up in her coach on their heels; Simon dutifully went to help her into the house.

Honoria and Devil had come down the day before with their young family. Amelia's twin, Amanda, and her new husband, Martin, Earl of Dexter, Luc's cousin, were rushing down from their home in the north; they were expected later that day. Catriona and Richard had sent their regrets — coming down from Scotland at such short notice, with a new baby to boot, had simply been impossible.

Luc, his mother, Emily, and Anne were expected later in the afternoon. By dint of careful questioning, Amelia discovered that Luc had been given a room in the opposite wing to hers, as distant as possible. Which in a house the size of the Place, was distant indeed; any notion she might have entertained of visiting him that night was effectively quashed.

The company were just sitting down to luncheon when the rattle of wheels on gravel heralded another arrival. A few minutes later, two light voices were heard, earnestly, just a little nervously, greeting Webster.

Amelia set down her napkin and exchanged a smile with Louise. They both rose and went out to the hall; guessing the identity of the latest arrivals, Honoria also rose and followed more slowly in their wake.

"I do hope we were expected," a girl in a faded carriage dress, thick spectacles perched on her nose, told Webster.

Before Webster could reply, her companion, in a similarly faded dress, piped up, "Actually, you might not remember who we are — we have grown somewhat since we last visited."

Louise laughed and swept forward, saving Webster from potentially embarrassing assurances. "Of course you're expected, Penelope." She enveloped Luc's youngest sister in a fond embrace, then, passing Penelope to Amelia, turned to the other. "And as for you, miss, no one who lays eyes on you ever forgets who you are."