On a Wicked Dawn (Cynster 9)

But she still had to say "I do." Tomorrow.

He grimaced, gestured to the door, "We'd better get back to the house, or some bright soul is going to realize we're both missing, and imaginations will run riot."

She grinned, but turned and preceded him up the aisle. He reached past her to open the door — she stayed him, one hand on his arm.

Their eyes met, held — then she smiled, stretched up, and touched her lips to his. Kissed him gently, lightly; the battle to suppress his reaction left him reeling.

Before he lost the fight, she drew back, met his eyes again.

"Thank you for agreeing to my proposal, and for changing your mind."

Amelia held his gaze — black as night — then smiled and turned to the door. After an instant's hiatus, he opened it. She went out, waited for him to follow and close the door, then, very correctly, side by side, they walked back to the house.

Chapter 12

The next morning dawned fine; a playful breeze wafted about the lawns and set the tone for the day. It flirted with curls and ribbons, ruffled ladies' gowns, teased flounces and frills. People laughed; the breeze caught their mirth and dispe

rsed it impartially over the richly dressed throng — the relatives and close connections invited to witness the ceremony.

It went forward without a hitch, without a single moment of awkwardness or panic. Once the gay crowd had assembled in the small church, gentlemen filling the aisles while their ladies took the pews, Luc stepped forward to face the altar, Martin, his cousin, Amelia's brother-in-law, by his side. Martin was in turn flanked by Simon, Amelia's brother, a nineteen-year-old stripling Luc had, courtesy of their families' closeness, even before the last few months considered in the light of a brother.

Martin, glancing first to his right, then his left, was moved to comment. "This is becoming incestuous — you do realize after today we'll not only be cousins, but brothers-in-law, too?"

Luc shrugged. "We always shared excellent taste."

Simon snorted. "More like you've both inherited a familial tendency to succumb to the charms of women with whom no sane man would dally."

Thus spake a Cynster; the obvious riposte rose to Luc's lips, but as he glanced across to deliver it he caught Martin's eye — saw the same thought mirrored in his cousin's face. They both knew the truth; they exchanged knowing smiles, then faced the altar again, by mutual agreement leaving Simon to learn of his fate by himself.

At that moment, from the mansion's front porch, Amelia, on Arthur's arm, stepped out on her journey into marriage. Attended by Amanda and Emily, she glowed with confidence, with the certainty of having finally achieved that of which she'd so long dreamed, with the satisfaction of having brought her dearest dream one step closer to full reality; indeed, she felt sure she was more than halfway there.

As they crossed the lawns and passed under the ancient trees, she leaned close to Arthur. "Thank you."

Returning her smile, he raised his brows. "For what?"

"Why for having me, of course, and taking care of me for all these years. In a little while, I'll no longer be yours, but Luc's… responsibility."

She looked ahead, briefly sobering. She'd added the last word to soften the truth, but she knew what that truth was, and Arthur, a Cynster to his bones, knew, too. She glanced again at him, but his smile hadn't faltered.

"I'm glad you chose Luc — there may be ups and downs, but at base he's the kind who will never turn his back on his duties. His responsibilities." Arthur patted her hand. "And that augurs well."

The church lay before them; Amelia grasped the moment to draw in a deep breath, to draw to herself the blessings of the years, then they entered, paused for only a moment, then, with a serene smile, radiant once more, she walked up the aisle to Luc's side.

He was waiting. Their eyes met, held, then he took her hand and she stepped up beside him; together they faced the altar.

Mr. Merryweather led them through the ceremony, delighted to be marrying another of the generation he'd baptized. They made their vows in strong, clear voices, then it was over, and they were man and wife.

She put back her veil, and Luc drew her to him, bent his head and set his lips to hers. A gentle kiss but a lengthy one; only she could feel the reined strength in the fingers curled about hers, sense the power of all he suppressed.

When he lifted his head, their eyes met, searched — briefly noted the underlying emotions that, despite their outward calmness, seethed behind their experienced facades — then, those facades firmly in place, they turned as one to receive the congratulations of their families and friends.

Luc hadn't believed impatience could ever escalate to this extent, to the point where it was a physical thing — a ravening beast inside him, clawing and howling for succor, for satisfaction. He hoped — prayed — that the promise of the fact she was now his, legally before God and all men, would be enough to see him through the day. As they stood side by side, accepting the wishes of those who crowded around to kiss Amelia and pump his hand, clap his shoulder, he was acutely aware of his inner tension, of how his nerves leapt, flexed — how they remained poised for action.

He wanted nothing more than to seize her, to lock her to his side, clear a path to the door, find a horse, and be far away from here — to whisk her away from this place that was hers, to a place that was his.

The sheer primitiveness of the feeling left him breathless, stunned — for the past decade, he'd thought himself an elegant sophisticate; what presently raged inside him was not sophisticated at all.

But he had a whole day to survive, and survive it he would. He had absolutely no intention of allowing anyone to know just how affected he was. Anyone other than Amelia, whose wide, cornflower blue eyes said she knew — and wasn't quite sure what she felt about it, how to interpret it — just as well. Other than Martin, who met his gaze, and smiled a too-knowing, too-understanding smile.