On A Wicked Dawn Read online

  “Yes—Calverton Chase isn’t far from here.”

  “So you’ll have your own establishment to run—I know Minerva’s more than ready to hand over the reins.”

  Amelia acknowledged that with a smile, her thoughts shifting to the future, to what now lay before her. To the next stage. “I expect there will be quite a lot to do.”

  “Indubitably—I’m sure you’ll handle it wonderfully. But now I fear I must leave you. There’s a matter I must deal with in Hampshire, one I must attend to in person.”

  “A constituency matter?”

  His brows quirked. “Indeed—you might well call it that.”

  He bowed, then, with his practiced, easy smile, stepped back, saluted her, and strolled away across the lawn. Amelia saw Devil cross to have a last word; from the way Magnus followed his grandson’s departure, Michael had already taken his leave there.

  Scanning the crowd surrounding the tables, filling the shade with color and laughter, Amelia located Luc. He’d been checking on his sisters. Anne, Portia, and Penelope, together with Fiona, invited and allowed to attend as a special treat, were sitting about one end of the long table with others of similar age, including Amelia’s younger cousins, Heather, Eliza, and Angelica. Simon was presiding at the very end; he exchanged some negligent remark with Luc, who laughed, clapped him on the shoulder, and left him.

  Moving along the table, Luc heard his name called, in an imperious accent he knew better than to ignore. Looking over the heads, he saw the Dowager watching; he made his way to her.

  “Come.” She waved. “Give your arm. We will stroll and you can tell me how lucky you are to have married my niece, and how you will extend yourself to the utmost to keep her happy.”

  Outwardly smiling, inwardly alert, Luc helped Helena from her chair, then dutifully gave her his arm; by mutual accord, they strolled away from the gathering into the relative privacy deeper under the trees.

  “You will be happy, you know.”

  The comment caught him unprepared; he glanced at Helena, and found himself trapped in her pale green eyes, eyes that he knew from experience always saw too much. She was worse than his mother; very little escaped the Dowager Duchess of St. Ives.

  She smiled, patted his hand, then looked ahead. “When you have witnessed as many weddings as I, you simply know.”

  “How . . . comforting.” He wondered why she was telling him—wondered what she knew.

  “Just like this place.” Helena gestured to the church, standing quiet and peaceful, basking in the sunshine, its moment past, its job done. “It is as if the very stones possess some magic.”

  He was struck by how close to his thoughts of yesterday her observation came. “Have there never been any less-than-successful Cynster marriages?” He knew of at least one.

  “Not that were celebrated here. And none in my time.”

  That last was said with decision, as if warning that if his and Amelia’s union did not live up to expectations, they would have to answer to her.

  “That other you are thinking of—Arthur’s first marriage—was not celebrated here. I was told that Sebastian forbade it, and in truth, Arthur refused to request the boon.”

  And if Helena had been old Sebastian’s duchess at the time, rather than a young girl in France, Luc felt sure that ill-fated union would never have been permitted at all.

  “You are . . .”—he struggled to find words, settled for—“a believer, are you not?”

  “Mais oui! I have lived too much, seen too much, ever to doubt that the power exists.”

  He felt her green gaze, sensed her gentle amusement, but refused to let her catch his eye.

  “Ah,” she said, facing forward again. “You are resisting—is that it?”

  As usual in conversations with Helena, one came to the point of wondering how one had come to this. Luc said nothing, reacted not at all.

  She smiled again, patted his hand. “Never mind. Just remember—whatever is not yet resolved between you, the power is there—you can accept it and wield it anytime you choose. No matter the difficulty, all you need do is ask, and the power will deliver it up to you—right the wrong, ease the way, whatever is necessary.”

  She paused, then, amusement again in her tone, she continued, “Of course, to call on that power you first need to acknowledge it exists.”

  “I knew there was a catch.”

  She laughed, and turned them back toward the tables. “Eh, bien—you will manage. Trust me—I know.”

  Luc raised his brows fleetingly; he wasn’t going to argue.

  He did, however, wonder if she was right.

  It was finally—at last!—time to leave. The afternoon was waning; Amelia disappeared indoors and changed into a new carriage dress of cerulean blue, then returned to the lawns. To Luc’s side.

  There was a moment of crazed jostling over her bouquet—her throw went wild, it landed in a branch, then fell onto Magnus’s head, eliciting much laughter and a host of ribald suggestions. Then the younger crew, after hugging them and bidding them farewell, went down to the lake. Their elders remained in their chairs under the trees; the others—the Bar Cynster and their wives, Amanda and Martin, all crowded around, kissing Amelia, shaking Luc’s hand—and offering more suggestions, to Amelia as well as to Luc. At last, they let them go, standing in a group to watch as Luc and Amelia, accompanied by Devil and Honoria, strolled to where the Calverton traveling coach stood before the porch, horses prancing.

  The distance was sufficient to render the moment private.

  They reached the carriage; Honoria, suspiciously misty-eyed, drew Amelia into her embrace. “It’s almost seven years since I first met you, here, on the gravel beside a carriage.”

  Their gazes met; both remembered—then they smiled, touched cheeks.

  Honoria whispered, “Remember—whatever you do, enjoy it.”

  Smothering a laugh, Amelia nodded; she was about to climb into the carriage when Devil caught her, hugged her, kissed her cheek, then tossed her up.

  He turned to Luc. “From now on, you get to catch her when she tumbles out.”

  Luc glanced at Amelia—she grinned and settled back on the seat. Making a mental note to ask for an explanation later, he kissed Honoria’s cheek, then held out his hand.

  Devil gripped it; their gazes met, locked. “I’ll see you in town in September.”

  Luc inclined his head. “Indeed—we can catch up, and no doubt Gabriel will want to make a start on his new idea.”

  “Presuming the preconditions have been met.”

  One boot on the step, Luc raised a brow. “Of course. And I daresay we’ll be able to compare notes, you and I.”

  They were much of a height. Devil held Luc’s midnight blue gaze, his own pale gaze steady, then inclined his head, accepting the challenge. “As you say.”

  With a nod, Luc climbed up; Devil shut the door.

  “Good-bye!” Honoria waved.

  “Good luck!” Devil added.

  The driver cracked his whip—the coach lurched, and rolled forward; slowly gathering speed, it rolled down the gently curving drive. Honoria and Devil stood side by side and watched until the avenue of oaks intervened, blocking the coach from sight.

  Honoria heaved a sigh. “Well, that’s it for a while.” She turned to her spouse. “And what was that all about? On what subject do you and Luc expect to compare notes?”

  His gaze on the distant avenue, Devil paused, then looked down at his duchess. His wife. Looked into her misty grey eyes, the clear steady eyes that had first trapped his hardened heart.

  “Have I ever told you that I love you?”

  Honoria blinked, then opened her eyes wide. “No. As you very well know.”

  He could feel his face hardening. “Well, I do.”

  She—the mother of his three children, who now knew him better than anyone else in the world, even better than his mother—studied his eyes, then smiled. “I know. I always have.” Linking her arm in his, she turned, not
back to their guests but toward the rose garden around the side of the house. “Did you think I didn’t?”

  He considered, allowing her to steer their steps. “I suppose I always assumed you’d guessed.”

  “So why the sudden confession?”

  That was much harder to explain. They stepped down to the sunken garden, strolled past the rioting roses to the seat at its end. Honoria neither spoke nor prompted. They sat; together they looked back at the house—their home—steeped in the glories of the past, full of the laughter and cries of their children, the future incarnate.

  “It’s like a rite of passage,” Devil finally said. “But not one that’s connected with any other. At least, that’s how it is for me—and some others.”

  “Like Luc?”

  Devil nodded. “It’s easier, for us, to live the reality rather than declare it, to acknowledge it in our hearts but not put it into words. Basically, to act the part without owning to the label.”

  Her eyes on the house, Honoria followed his thoughts, tried to understand. “But . . . why? Oh, I can understand at first, but surely, over time, as you admit, actions speak the truth and the words become redundant—“

  “No.” Devil shook his head. “Those particular words never become worthless. Or easy.” He glanced at Honoria. “They never lose their power.”

  She could feel it now as she met his gaze. Understanding dawned; misty-eyed again, she smiled. “Ah—I see. Power. So, to you, putting the fact into words—“

  “Saying them out aloud.”

  “Uttering them, declaring the truth, is like . . .” She gestured, knowing what she meant yet not able to describe it.

  Devil could, did. “It’s like giving an oath of fealty—not just by one’s actions acknowledging your sovereign, but offering your sword and accepting and acknowledging another’s power to rule you.” He met Honoria’s gaze. “Men like me—like Luc—we’re conditioned never to give that final, binding oath, not until we’re forced to it. To do so willingly goes against every precept, every ingrained rule.”

  “You mean you—and Luc—are rather more . . . primitive than most?”

  Devil narrowed his eyes. “It’s possibly more accurate to say our instincts are less flexible. We’re both heads of our houses, both raised to protect all that’s ours—and we’ve both been raised knowing others are depending on us to do just that.”

  She thought, then inclined her head. Then she smiled, turned into his arms, unsurprised when they immediately slid around her. Drawing his head to hers, she murmured, “So . . . does that mean I rule you?”

  His lips, an inch from hers, curved wickedly. “That’s the only mitigating factor. Love may rule me, but only because it also rules you.”

  Honoria closed the distance, set her lips to his, then let him take as he wished—she didn’t care as long as that power still ruled, as long as love was there between them.

  The essence of the present, an echo from the past, and a never-ending promise for forever.

  The Calverton coach paused at the main gates of the Place, then rolled through, turning left onto the road that would eventually lead to Huntingdon. From there, they would head northwest through Thrapston and Corby, along decent roads. Lyddington lay north of Corby; Calverton Chase lay to the west of the small village.

  Amelia had traveled the same road many times on visits to Calverton Chase. She assumed some of the anticipation gripping her was because the well-known destination had, mere hours ago, become her home.

  The rest—the bulk—of that anticipation could be attributed to the Chase’s owner. Luc sat beside her; anyone viewing him would think him relaxed. She knew better. She could feel the tension holding him, locked tight, a brittle net striving to contain some unseeable power.

  She hadn’t heard all of Devil’s words, hadn’t understood what she’d caught. The exchange had distracted Luc, left him thinking, far away . . .

  Grasping his sleeve, she shook. “Did Devil guess?”

  Luc turned his head and looked at her; his expression remained blank. “Guess?”

  “That we arranged our marriage—that money was at the heart of it.”

  He stared at her for a long moment, then shook his head. “No.” Resting his head against the squabs, he studied her; the light in the carriage wasn’t strong enough for her to read his eyes. “He didn’t guess that.”

  “What was he talking about, then?”

  Luc hesitated, then answered, “Just the usual saber rattling your cousins enjoy. Nothing of any concern.”

  He paused, wondering if, given his state, given the brutal desire riding him, he dared touch her, then he reached out with one hand and cradled her jaw, savoring the delicate curve. Battling the impulse to seize—reminding himself she was already his.

  Sliding his fingers farther, he curved them about her nape and drew her to him. Bent his head and brought her lips to his.

  And kissed her.

  Fought to hide the shudder of awareness that racked him when she offered her mouth, when she sank against him.

  Succeeded well enough—grappled and clawed and hung on to enough control to keep the kiss light. To draw back, lift his head, touch his lips to her forehead. “If you’re not tired—worn down with smiling, laughing, and playing the delighted bride—you ought to be.”

  She looked up, met his eyes, smiled.

  Before he could think—reconsider—before she could speak, he murmured, “Thank you.”

  Her smile filled her eyes with a light—a simple joy and delight—he longed to drown in. “It went very well, I think.” She spread one small hand on his chest. “It was just as I wanted it—not fussy or elaborate, but simple.”

  To him, there’d been nothing simple about it. He made himself return her smile. “I’m happy if you are.”

  She stretched up to touch her lips to his. “I am.”

  The feel of her in his arms, the look in her eyes . . . he glanced across at the green fields rolling past. Drew in a breath. “We’ve close to another four hours of this. We should be there by seven.”

  Looking down, he met her eyes, then bent his head and kissed them closed. “Rest.” Lowering his voice, he murmured, “The entire staff will be waiting to greet us when we arrive, and they’ll have dinner waiting.”

  He was reminding himself more than her, but she nodded, and, eyes obediently closed, settled her head on his chest, in the curve of his shoulder. The simple acceptance of his edict went some way to appeasing his more primitive self—that self he was becoming increasingly familiar with the more time he spent around her.

  Leaning back, settling her in his arms, feeling her body ease against his, he ruthlessly focused on the argument that having her well rested on their wedding night was preferable to the alternative. Preferable to having her now.

  She must truly have been as worn-out as he’d suggested; she fell into a dozing slumber within a mile.

  Leaving him to stare, unseeing, out of the window, a prey to thoughts he’d never imagined he’d have, to longings he didn’t fully understand—to emotions stronger and wilder than any he’d felt before.

  Emotions strong enough to rule him.

  The touch of Luc’s lips on hers woke Amelia; she clung to the kiss until he lifted his head, then glanced around.

  “We just cleared the gates,” he informed her.

  Which meant she had ten minutes in which to make herself presentable. Reluctantly leaving the warmth of his arms, she sat up, stretched, then straightened her bodice and shook out her skirt.

  Noted that her bodice was still neatly done up; Luc had made not a single rakish move toward her since they’d been wed.

  “We’re nearly at the curve.”

  His voice gave no indication of what he was thinking or feeling, indeed, if he was thinking or feeling anything at all. But his warning had her shuffling along to peer out at a sight she’d particularly wanted to see.

  To savor—the first glimpse of her new home, spread out, pale stone faintl
y golden in the westering sun, sheltering in a dip below a rise some way ahead. For a time, the house would remain visible from the carriage as the road ran parallel to the rise on the opposite side of a shallow valley, a vista engineered to give visitors an appreciation of the quiet beauty of the Chase—an established, elegant mansion set in a rich and luxurious landscape.

  The fields around the house were a verdant green, the vibrant color slowly fading to darkness as the sun set and the light waned. The house glowed through the dusk, as if the stone was lit from within, promising warmth to the traveler, and even more to those returning to its fold.

  Long and large, the mansion comprised two stories with dormers atop; the facade was classical in design with twin columns supporting a central portico. However, the facade was not straight, but a shallow inverted V, the central block containing the portico at the apex, the ends of the long east and west wings angled forward toward the valley.

  There’d been a house on the site for centuries; the central block had been built and rebuilt many times before the newer wings were added.

  Beyond the end of the east wing stretched the darker green of trees—the old demesne, now woodland. To the west of the house lay the fields of the home farm, the roofs of stables and barns standing out amidst the green. Presently invisible behind the house were the formal lawns and gardens. Gazing out of the carriage, Amelia thought of them—thought of all the hours she’d spent there in the past, then let the memories fade.

  Turned her mind to the future, thought of her dreams, embodied in the house before her; this was where she would make those dreams come true.

  Watching the same scene from behind her, Luc let his gaze dwell on the house—his home. Eyes narrowed, he confirmed the slates on the west wing had been repaired and the wall damaged by a fallen tree nearly a decade ago rebuilt. The sight unexpectedly touched him; it now looked as it had when he could first remember seeing it, in his grandfather’s time.

  The decay of his father’s term had already been partly erased; those had been some of the urgent orders he’d dispatched the day after he’d learned of his new wealth. The day following the dawn on which he’d agreed to marry Amelia, to take her hand and see what they could make of the future.