On a Wicked Dawn

crystal paperweight from the Gingolds', a gold letter opener from the Dallingers', a gold bowl from the Castle.'

Those were all houses she, together with Minerva, Emily, and Anne, had visited in the last week.

Phyllida's dark eyes touched her face, then Phyllida turned to Mrs. Tilby. 'And these things have only recently gone missing?'

'Well, dear, that's what no one can truthfully say. What we do know is that they've vanished now, and no one knows where they've gone.'

Amelia and Phyllida had to hold their tongues and disguise their impatience, until, late that evening, they finally got their husbands to themselves. Then they poured out their story.

Lucifer frowned. 'It doesn't make sense. In order to sell such things, they'd have to go to London.' He glanced at Luc.

Who shook his head. 'I can't see rhyme or reason to it either.' He took a sip of brandy, his gaze going to Amelia, curled in one corner of the chaise. 'That is, of course, assuming they're stealing for the monetary value of the things.'

Lucifer inclined his head. 'Assuming that.'

Amelia felt the weight of Luc's gaze; she turned her head and met it. He was waiting for her to tell Lucifer about the quizzing glass. She returned his dark gaze steadily and kept her lips firmly shut.

'There's another, more pertinent point to consider,' Phyllida said from the other end of the chaise. 'The thefts are still going on.'

'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—?'