On a Wicked Dawn

She hadn't realized. Hadn't seen, wasn't experienced enough to know that what they shared — the way they shared, that emotion that welled and flared between them when they came together — was not the norm. She'd never been with a man before; she was a sexual innocent — a novice. Why would she guess?

As long as he didn't tell her, didn't reveal how much deeper his involvement with her went, she never would.

Which meant he was safe. He could have her, along with all she brought him, that unnameable well of emotion, could claim her and it and allow it to grow, develop as he wished, all under his control. That he coveted it as well as her was not in question; the entire package called to his conqueror's soul. As matters had fallen out, he could have the whole without making any sacrifice beyond that which he'd already been prepared to make.

All he needed to do was marry her.

Quickly.

And whisk her off to Calverton Chase, where he could learn to handle her and their newfound emotion in safe isolation.

The need for a quick wedding was obvious — if he didn't want her to guess how he felt, he had to avoid situations that would make him react in ways that would, at least to her, educated by her mother, her aunts, and her cousins' wives, scream the truth. He'd been lucky once; he couldn't count on fate smiling twice. Limiting the time they spent in society before their wedding was an essential element of his plan.

Once he'd settled into his role as her husband, once he better understood the practicalities of controlling this emotion that now bound them, then when they returned to London and the ton later in the year, he'd know how to manage. Without giving her a weapon with which to manage him.

His best way forward was crystal clear.

The path had been steadily climbing; now it opened into a clearing, high above the lake. Amelia was sitting on the seat facing the distant house, scanning the lawns and the walks — wondering where he was.

So engrossed was she in searching for him, she didn't sense him draw near.

Until he stepped around the seat, swept her an elaborate bow, then offered her the bouquet. 'My dear Amelia, will you do me the inestimable honor of consenting to be my viscountess?'

Reaching for the flowers, she froze, blinked, searched his eyes, then took the bouquet and glanced around.

Lips quirking, he sat beside her. 'No, we don't have an audience, or at least, not an immediate one.' He nodded toward the house. 'No doubt someone will see us and take note, but there's no one else up here.'

Cradling the blooms, Amelia held them to her face and inhaled. Then she looked at him. 'I thought we'd already agreed to marry?'

Still watching the house, he shrugged. 'I thought you deserved a formal offer.'

After an instant's hesitation, she coolly replied, 'You didn't go down on your knees.'

He met her gaze. 'Take what you can get.'

Still puzzled, she searched his eyes.

He faced forward. 'Anyway, I meant immediately.'

If she'd been surprised before, now she was stunned. 'But I thought—'

'I've changed my mind.'

'Why?'

'You mean aside from the little matter of spending last night in your bed? And, of course, that wasn't the first time we'd indulged.'

She narrowed her eyes. 'Indeed — aside from that. That doesn't necessitate an immediate trip to the altar, as we both well know.'

'True, but it does raise the question of why not. Why not get married immediately, so we can indulge as we wish, without me having to risk my neck climbing creepers? I'm no lightweight, and besides, what will we do when we get back to London?'

What was going on? 'Stop trying to distract me.' He was still gazing at the house. 'The reason we weren't going to get married for at least the next two weeks was because you didn't believe society would accept our attachment and not look for other reasons.'

'As I said, I've changed my mind.'

At the cool, arrogant statement, she raised her brows to the absolute limit.

He was watching from the corner of his eye. His lips thinned, then he inclined his head. 'All right. You were right. The old biddies have accepted us as a couple — indeed, they're expecting an announcement. We don't need to play at wooing any longer.' He looked at her; both his eyes and his expression were uncompromisingly hard. 'Don't argue.'

Their gazes locked, and she bit her tongue. He was right. Take what you can get. She would, especially as it was precisely what she'd wanted. She could go on as she'd planned from here.

'Very well.' She looked at the flowers, raised them to her face, and breathed in their perfume. Over them, she met his eyes. 'Thank you, kind sir, for your proposal. I will be honored to be your wife.'

The flowers' perfume was heavenly; she closed her eyes for an instant, savoring it, then looked again at him. 'So — when should we wed?'

He shifted and cast a frowning glance at the house. 'As soon as humanly possible.'

Their decision to marry quickly was going to be interpreted as primarily if not solely due to his impatience.

By the time they quit Hightham Hall late that afternoon, that much was clear; even though they'd said not a word, their intentions had somehow been divined. After being twitted for several hours by every lady, young and old, Luc bundled Amelia into his curricle, left Reggie, greatly entertained, to see to his mother, her mother, his sisters, and Fiona, and escaped.

As he tooled his curricle down the drive, he felt like he was fleeing.

Amelia, beside him, parasol deployed, a smile on her face, wisely held her tongue as he negotiated the narrow lanes; he felt her occasional glance, knew she sensed his underlying irritation.

When they reached the main road to London, however, she asked, 'How long does it take to get a special license?'

'A few days. Less if one can arrange an audience quickly.' He hesitated, then added, 'I've already got one.'

She glanced at him. 'You have?'

Keeping his gaze on his horses, he shrugged. 'We agreed to wed by the end of June — given we weren't going to announce the fact three or more weeks in advance, we were going to need a special license regardless.'

Amelia nodded, pleased that he'd thought ahead — that no matter how things had seemed, he'd been as committed to their marriage as she.

'More to the point, how long will it take you to make your preparations?' He glanced at her. 'Your gown, the arrangements — the invitations, and so on.'

She opened her lips to airily dismiss such details, then hesitated.

He noted it; his gaze traveled her face, then, lips twitching, he faced forward. 'Indeed. There are the families' expectations — both yours and mine — to satisfy. Let alone society's.'

'No — society's expectations we need not regard. Neither you nor I need do so, not with our age and standing, and at this stage of the year, so late in the Season, the ton will accept our wish to marry quietly.'

He inclined his head. 'So what have you been planning?'

Although even, his tone warned her there was no point pretending she didn't have it all worked out. 'I'd thought, if you're agreeable, to be married at Somersham.'

His brows rose. 'In the old church, or the chapel?'

He'd visited often enough to know Devil's principal estate. 'The church — that's where most Cynsters have been married. Old Mr. Merryweather — do you remember him? Devil's chaplin? — he's rather ancient, but I'm sure he'd be delighted to officiate. And, of course, all the staff there are used to managing that sort of gathering — they've had plenty of experience.'

He glanced at her. 'But not, I imagine, at such short notice.'