On a Wicked Dawn

'I can assure you the outcome risks being far less satisfactory than you might hope.' He glanced at her, saw her rising brows, mentally replayed his words, hurriedly amended, 'Not in terms of immediate enjoyment, but—'

That he didn't want to take advantage of the house party to further their interaction, to take what surely had to be the ultimate step, was crystal clear. Why was less so.

She let him talk without interruption, hoping to learn more. The situation, his reaction, was so unlike what she'd been expecting — what, knowing him, she had every reason to expect — she was more puzzled than dismayed. This was the man she wanted to marry; he was proving to have more layers than she'd imagined — it behooved her to pay attention.

'Ultimately, we have to consider the fact that any action likely to result in rumors besmirching your name must be avoided at all costs.'

He sounded so pompous, she had to fight to keep her lips straight. They reached the end of the Serpentine's banks; the others had turned back toward the lawns. Luc halted, and drew her to face him. His eyes searched hers. 'You do see, don't you?'

She studied his dark eyes, confirmed he was indeed worried, but about what she couldn't be sure. Nevertheless, she knew how to respond. She smiled reassuringly. 'You know perfectly well I would never do anything to besmirch my name.'

He wasn't so sure of her that he jumped to conclusions; his eyes searched hers for confirmation that she meant what he hoped she did. She let her smile deepen and patted his arm, then glanced up the Walk. 'Now you'd better take me back before Reggie starts wondering if he did the right thing in allowing us to be alone.'

Their mothers had decreed their party would set out for Hightham Hall at nine o'clock the next morning. Reggie's mother was feeling unwell, so he, too, was joining them. To

Luc's mind, that still left him in charge of too many females with insufficient male support — every one of those females could twist Reggie around her little finger.

Together with Reggie, he stood on the pavement and resignedly watched the two traveling carriages sink on their axles as box after box was added to their loads.

'Dashed if they'll wear the half of it.' Reggie glanced at the four horses harnessed to the Cynster carriage, which had arrived fifteen minutes earlier already burdened with Amelia's and Louise's trunks and boxes. 'Just hope the cattle're up to it.'

Luc humphed. 'No danger there.' Both his and the Cynster stables contained only the best. 'But it's going to add at least an hour to the journey.' Hightham Hall was in Surrey, on the banks of the Wey.

Reggie watched a footman hand another bandbox up to the Ashford coachman. 'Assuming we make it at all.'

A flurry of activity drew their eyes to the front door; excitedly chattering, Luc's sisters and Fiona, as usual one of the party, eagerly descended the steps. Luc looked beyond them, caught Cottsloe's eye. The butler stepped back into the house to speed the summons for Luc's curricle.

Reggie was counting bodies; Luc broke the news that he and Amelia would travel separately. Reggie looked surprised. 'Wouldn't have thought you'd bother — there'll be plenty of room.'

Luc met his eyes. 'You've forgotten to count the maids.'

Reggie blinked, then groaned.

As she followed her mother and Luc's onto his front steps, Amelia saw Reggie's pained expression, so typical of fashionable males embarking on a trip with female relatives that she had no difficulty guessing his thoughts. Luc's expression was equally typical, but of himself — hard, impassive, impossible to read.

But then he glanced up and saw her, and hesitated, as if suddenly uncertain. She brightened; smiling, calm, and assured, she continued down the steps to his side.

The next moments were filled with orders and — organization, with the questions of who would go where debated and decided, then all the others were handed up to the coaches; Luc shut the last door and stepped back.

'We'll be ahead of you before the river,' he told Reggie, who nodded and saluted.

Luc signaled to his coachman; the man swung his whip, the horses leaned into the traces, and the heavy coach ponderously rolled forward. The Cynster carriage followed just as Luc's groom appeared, driving his curricle. The curricle drew up alongside them. Luc watched the coaches until they'd turned the corner, then glanced at her.

She was waiting to catch his eye, to raise her brows, faintly challenging. Stepping close, she murmured, 'Stop worrying — everything will be perfectly all right.'

He was a full head taller; his shoulders were so broad, standing this close, he shielded her completely. This close, she could feel the sheer male strength of him all but vibrating around her, like a humming in the air she could feel. This close, and the potent sexuality that lurked beneath his elegant facade was rawly apparent, just short of a physical threat.

And despite all of that, there she was, reassuring him over their intimate relationship. Over the pace of said intimate relationship.

Did irony get any more delicious?

Her smiling assurance had the opposite of its intended effect; his dark eyes — still difficult to decipher, but she was getting much better at it — grew even more wary. His brows lowered in more obvious suspicion.

Valiantly resisting an urge to laugh, she smiled into those watchful eyes and patted his arm. 'Do stop scowling — you'll scare your horses.'

That got her a grim look, but he did stop frowning and handed her up to the curricle. She settled her skirts, decided the sun was not yet high enough to warrant opening her parasol. After exchanging last-minute words with Cottsloe, Luc joined her; in short order, they were away.

He was an excellent whip, an instinctive driver, but she knew better than to chatter and distract him while he tacked through the morning traffic. As he'd predicted, they passed the two coaches just past Kensington; so much heavier and less maneuverable, the latter had to stop frequently and wait for their way to clear.

Thankful she was in the curricle, in the open air, she let her gaze drink in the myriad sights; although she'd seen them many times, now, with Luc beside her, poised on the threshold of her dearest dream, every view, every detail her eyes beheld seemed more alive, brighter, more heavily imbued with meaning.

They reached Chiswick and turned south, crossing the river to Kew, then journeyed on, heading south and west, into the countryside. As the houses fell behind, the brightness of the summer morning enveloped them, and there still seemed no need for talk — for idle chatter to fill the moments.

That was one thing that had changed. She'd counted the days — fourteen had elapsed since the dawn on which she'd taken her courage in her hands and bearded him in his front hall. Before then, she'd have felt compelled to converse, to keep some measure of social contact between them.

Much had changed in the past days; they no longer needed conversation as a bridge between them.

She glanced at him, swiftly took in his expression before looking away; he was absorbed in his driving — she didn't want to draw his attention. She didn't want him thinking about her, brooding about their relationship and how that should or should not progress. How and when the next step should occur. They would both do much better if he left that to her.

Their peculiar discussion in the park the previous day had given her a great deal to think about. The amazing fact that he wished to delay their intimacy in the teeth of his desire — and hers — had been initially so incomprehensible that she'd had to think long and hard before she'd felt confident she'd correctly identified all the reasons behind it.

Once she had… once she'd realized there could only be two reasons, and that neither was, in her opinion, sufficient to justify another week of dallying, far from feeling downhearted, she'd felt buoyed — with expectation, with a determination to bring their no-longer-necessary wooing to an end.

He'd denied being influenced by having known her for so long, and to some extent she accepted that as true. However, he'd always viewed her as he did his sisters and other gently reared females; they were to be protected from all danger. The wolves of the ton always featured as a prominent danger; given Luc now expected her to become his wife — and had had fourteen days to accustom himself to the notion — then it was hardly surprising if his definition of danger now extended to himself, and his wolflike, in other circumstances reprehensible, desires.