On A Wicked Dawn (48 page)

“Which means”—Amelia took up the thread of the argument she and Phyllida had already thrashed out—“that the
thief is still active. We therefore have a chance of catching them, unmasking them, and setting matters straight.”

Lucifer nodded. “You're right.” After a moment, he mused, “We need to think of a way of drawing whoever it is into the open.”

They tossed ideas about but could see no immediate way forward. Still turning the matter over in their minds, they retired to their beds.

“Why didn't you tell them?” Luc slumped on his back beside Amelia in their bed. She'd snuffed the candle; faint moonlight, silvery and insubstantial, filtered through the room.

“Why didn't you?”

He took a moment to consider her tone, but why she should be annoyed with him he couldn't imagine. “I'm hardly likely to tell a tale that seems to definitively implicate one of my sisters. Especially when, according to you, she's not the thief.”

“Well! There you are.” After a moment, she continued, in a fractionally less belligerent tone, “Why did you imagine I'd think differently?”

He suddenly wasn't sure whether there was any ice at all, thin or otherwise, under his feet. “Lucifer's your cousin. A Cynster.”

She looked at him. “You're my husband.”

He could feel her gaze but didn't turn to meet it. He stared instead at the canopy while he tried to understand. “You're a Cynster born and bred.” He knew what he thought that meant, but was too wary to put it into words.

She turned fully, coming up on one elbow so she could—frowningly—study his face. “I might have been born a Cynster, but I married you—I'm an Ashford now. Of course I'm going to do all I can to protect your sisters.”

He had to meet her gaze. “Even to the extent of being not quite open with Lucifer?”

She returned his regard. “If you want the truth, the question
never even occurred to me. My loyalty now is to you, and beyond you,
our
family.”

A knot of tension buried so deep he hadn't until that moment been aware of its existence unraveled, flowed away. Left him. Her declaration rang in his mind; the set of her jaw and lips stated she was unwaveringly steadfast, her position solidly fixed.

He had to ask. “Can you really do that—switch allegiances? Just like that?”

Even in the dimness, he could interpret the look she bent on him; she thought he was being unforgivably dense.

“Of course women can do that—we're
expected
to do that. Just stop and think how complicated life would be if we couldn't—or didn't—do that!”

She was right; he was being—had been—unforgivably dense. “I didn't think . . . men aren't conditioned to change loyalties like that, especially not family ones.”

One sharp pointy elbow came to rest on his chest. She leaned over him. “It always falls to the ladies to handle the more difficult tasks.”

Now she was closer he could see the exasperated affection in her eyes. She couldn't fathom why he hadn't understood; she thought he'd been obtuse, unthinking. Not true, but now he did comprehend, finally saw what the truth had to be . . . raising his hands, he framed her face. “Just as well.” He drew her closer. “Thank you.”

Before she could ask what he was thanking her for, he kissed her, long, lingeringly—thoroughly. She murmured incoherently and pressed nearer. Releasing her face, he slid his hands down her body, gripped her waist and lifted her across, setting her down atop him.

Drawing back from the kiss, he murmured, “If I could make a suggestion . . . ?”

Given his erection was now cradled between her thighs, Amelia had little doubt of what direction his suggestion would take. “By all means.” She set her lips to his. When she finally drew back, she invited, “Suggest away.”

He did; she'd never doubted the quality of his expertise,
nor the tenor of his imagination. The activities he scripted made her forget all else—the thief, protecting Anne, all else to do with his family—while she devoted every part of her mind, every part of her body, to just one thing.

The most important thing.

Loving him.

She loved him. She must.

A true heart and a backbone of steel; he'd always known she possessed both, but in recent times had focused more on the difficult latter rather than the highly desirable former.

Now both were his because she was. He finally understood all that that meant—all
she
meant by that.

The realization left him giddy.

Now he could confess, tell her all and everything he wished, all he felt she had a right to know. And all would be well. As Helena had told him, once he accepted the power, it was his to wield.

Wield it he would.

The only question was when.

Her parents, Amanda, Martin, Simon, and Helena herself were all due to arrive that afternoon.

The day was filled with preparations; Amelia rushed to and fro, giving orders here, checking details there. Lucifer and Phyllida smiled understandingly and took themselves off for a picnic. Reluctantly accepting that his time was not now, Luc retreated to his study, leaving Amelia in absolute control.

For which Amelia was grateful. As keyed up as she, the staff rallied around; when the youngest stablelad, whom she'd set on watch, came running with the news that the first coach had appeared across the valley, all was in readiness.

Exchanging a triumphant glance with Higgs and Cottsloe, she hurried upstairs to change her gown and tidy her hair. Descending ten minutes later, she just had time to winkle Luc from his study before a crunch of gravel and the clatter and stamp of hooves heralded the first of their expected guests.

Hand in hand, they strolled out to the portico to see Martin,
Earl of Dexter, descend from the carriage, then extend his hand to his countess. The instant Amanda's feet touched the ground, she looked up, and beamed. “Melly!”

The twins met at the bottom of the steps, flying into each other's arms. They hugged, kissed, laughed, waltzed, then held each other at arm's length—and started talking, simultaneously, in a welter of half sentences they never seemed to feel the need to finish.

“Did you hear about—?”

“Reggie wrote. But how was—?”

Amanda waved. “The journey was easy.”

“Yes, but what about—?”

“Ah, that! Well—“

Shaking his head, Martin climbed the shallow steps to Luc's side. The cousins exchanged smiles, with a spontaneous return to the camaraderie of their youth clapped each other's shoulders, then turned to survey their still chattering wives.

After a moment, Martin lifted his gaze, surveying the rolling green of the valley. “This place looks even more prosperous than I remember it.”

Luc inclined his head. “We are doing quite well.”

Martin had never known of the Ashfords' travails. If his cousin, who would remember the Chase in its glory days, could detect no lingering sign of their past plight, Luc was content to let that past die. The Ashfords had survived, that was what was important; his gaze resting on Amelia's golden head, he inwardly acknowledged that his house was only growing stronger. Day by day, by every day that she was his.

Another carriage appeared on the long slope traversing the other side of the valley; Martin nodded at it. “That'll be the Dowager. Simon's traveling with her. Arthur and Louise are bringing up the rear.”

The sun slowly sank, gilding the
V
-shaped facade of the Chase; the afternoon stretched and lengthened with the shadows, the hours filled with warmth, joy, and unalloyed happiness as Amelia's family arrived and settled in.

Everyone gathered for afternoon tea; it was then that
Martin and Amanda made their announcement. Amanda was expecting their first child. The gathering erupted with a fresh outpouring of joy, of exclamations and congratulations. Luc watched Amelia hug her twin, watched the ladies crowding round to kiss and hug each other delightedly. Turning from the sight, he beckoned Cottsloe and sent him to fetch champagne.

Cottsloe rushed off to obey. Given he could count perfectly well, Luc returned his gaze to Amelia. She noticed; she cast him a quick glance, one he couldn't be sure he read correctly—imploring?

The champagne arrived; rising, he went to the sideboard and busied himself pouring the delicately fizzy liquid into the glasses Cottsloe hurriedly fetched. Simon came up to help distribute the glasses.

The instant Simon left him, Amelia appeared at Luc's shoulder. He paused in the act of pouring. Her hand closed over his wrist as their eyes met.

“Please don't say anything. I'm not sure!”

He read her eyes, then, lips curving, bent his head and brushed a kiss to her temple. “I won't—stop worrying. This is their moment—they married a month before we did. We'll make our own announcement, in our own time.”

She searched his eyes, his face, then her brittle tension left her. She released his wrist; he finished pouring, then handed the glass to her.

She took it. Her eyes held his. “Thank you.”

His lips curved. “No—thank you.”

For one moment, they were the only people in the room, then Simon returned and gathered the rest of the glasses bar one. “That's it, I think.” He turned back to the gathering in the center of the room.

Luc lifted the last glass, caught Amelia's gaze, then clinked the edge of his glass to hers. “Come.” His arm sliding around her waist, he turned to company. “Let's drink to the future.”

She smiled, leaned close for a moment, then together they returned to their guests.

The next hour winged by; at the end of it, everyone started to consider retiring to dress for dinner. Miss Pink drew Portia and Penelope away; Simon stood and stretched. As he turned to the door, it opened; Cottsloe came in, located Luc, and approached.

“My lord, General Ffolliot has called. He's waiting in the hall.”

Luc glanced at the company. “Our nearest neighbor.” He looked at Cottsloe. “Show him in here—perhaps he'd like to join us?”

Cottsloe bowed and withdrew. Luc rose and strolled up the long room.

The door opened again and the General came in. Of medium height and heavy build, the General's most notable features were his shaggy brows and his ruddy complexion. A genial but somewhat shy and retiring man, he readily took the hand Luc extended and shook it heartily.

“Afternoon, Calverton. Glad I caught you.”

“Welcome, General—can I invite you to join us?”

The General followed Luc's wave and saw the massed company, all smiling agreeably, further down the room. He visibly blanched. “Oh—ah. Didn't realize you had company.”

“It's not a private gathering—can I offer you a drink?”

“Well . . .”

The General dithered; Luc had forgotten how awkward he sometimes was in the presence of strangers. He heard the swish of skirts as someone approached—he assumed it was Minerva, who always treated the General kindly. Instead, Amelia appeared by his side, smiling charmingly, slipping one hand into his arm, extending the other to the General.

“It's lovely to see you, sir—do let me convince you to join us.”

Hiding a smile, Luc stood back and left the field to her. Within minutes, the General was seated on the chaise, Minerva on one side, Louise on the other. Although initially nervous, the General was not immune to the combined wiles of the ladies present; he soon had a cup of tea in one hand, a
cake in the other, and was listening with rapt attention to the Dowager Duchess of St. Ives's views on the pleasures of the surrounding countryside.

Arthur caught Luc's eye, a twinkle in his. Luc smiled, and sipped his tea. Eventually, when the Dowager had finished complimenting the General on his good sense in living in such a pleasant place, Luc asked, “What was it you wished to see me about, General?”

The General blinked; his nervousness returned. He glanced around. “Well . . . not the sort of thing . . . then again, well . . .” After a moment, he hauled in a breath, and said in a rush, “I just don't know what to think—or do.” His gaze appealed to Minerva beside him, then he glanced at Louise and Helena, all of whom looked encouraging. “It's my wife's gold thimble—one of the few things I had left of hers.” He looked imploringly at Luc. “It's gone missing, you see, and what with all this talk of a thief about—well, I didn't know who to see . . .”

There was an instant of complete silence, then Amelia leaned forward and touched the General's arm. “How dreadful for you. When did you miss it?”

“Such an unhappy occurrence,” Helena declared.

Emily and Anne, unbeknown to them both under heavy scrutiny, were unabashedly shocked. “How terrible,” Anne murmured, her eyes wide, innocence writ in every line of her face.

The ladies rallied around the General; Luc noted the General's answers to the shrewd and necessary questions Amelia and Phyllida put to him.

It seemed the thimble, a simple unadorned gold one, had sat on the mantelpiece in the Manor's parlor ever since the General's wife had died. The last time he remembered seeing it was weeks ago.

“Not the sort of thing I look at every day. Just knowing it was there was enough.”

The only reason the General had come to them was for comfort; at no point did he cast any aspersions on anyone at the Chase. But once he'd left, not reassured but calmed and
to some degree indeed comforted, the mood in the Chase's drawing room turned somber; Luc, Lucifer, Amelia, and Phyllida exchanged weighty glances.

Arthur, Minerva, Helena, and Louise all noted those glances, exchanged glances of their own, then Minerva rose and shook out her skirts. “We'd best go up and change—Portia and Penelope will be down shortly, and they'll find us all still here, none of us dressed.”

The group broke up, everyone retiring to their rooms.

“We'll have to talk later,” Lucifer murmured as he went up the stairs beside Luc.