On a Wicked Dawn

She turned to him. 'I'll just take them in to see the puppies, Galahad in particular — I promised.'

He hadn't considered Amelia — or Portia — being anywhere but among the guests on the lawns — in full view. He couldn't, in all conscience, desert his watch on Helena to escort them to the kennels. Still, realistically, what harm could befall them in his kennels? He nodded, inwardly grim, but hiding it, or so he thought. 'Very well — but don't dally, and come straight back.'

She met his eyes, then smiled, stretched up, and kissed his cheek. 'Don't worry. We won't be long.'

The children were ready to move on; hands were retaken, the procession re-formed and headed on toward the kennels.

Luc watched them go, then turned to Sugden, who was also watching the group heading into his domain — unsupervised. 'Give me the leashes — I'll take Patsy and Morry. You go and watch that lot.' As a sop to his pride, he added, 'You may as well check around the kennels while you're there.'

Sugden nodded, unwrapped the leashes from his fist, then hurried off to catch up with the children.

Luc settled the leashes about one hand, then looked down at his favorite hounds. 'I'm the host — I can't stand here like a post. So we're going to wander through the crowd. Try and keep your noses to yourselves.'

With that probably useless admonition, he resumed his perambulation about the lawns.

Amelia wasn't surprised when Sugden caught up with them in time to swing the kennel doors open. She turned to the children. 'Now we need to be quiet and not excite the pack. We have to go right to the end to see the puppies. All right?'

They all nodded. 'It's the firs' time we seen the whole lot, all together,' the little spokeswoman whispered. She clutched Amelia's hand tighter; Sugden waved them in and the procession stepped out, marching two by two down the central aisle.

Amelia heard soft 'Oohs' and 'Aahs'; she glanced back and saw many of the older children studying the hounds with rapt attention. The oldest boy, at the rear, turned and spoke to Sugden, following them. Sugden shook his head. 'Nay — best not to pat these. If you do, they'll expect to be taken out, and then they'll be right grumpy when we leave without 'em.'

The boy accepted the prohibition with a nod, yet his gaze went back to the older dogs, many coming to the front of the pens to watch them pass, ears lifting, heads cocking with curiosity. Facing forward, Amelia wondered how many lads Sugden used in the kennels. Perhaps he could use one more?

Then they reached Galahad; from that moment on, none of the children had eyes for much else. They were captivated; the pup took their attention and worship in his stride, wuffling about their feet, sniffing hands, licking this one, then that. Fifteen minutes passed in a blink; noticing Sugden shifting, Amelia reclaimed Galahad, tickled his tummy, then sent him back to his mama. Then she firmly reversed her entourage, and they filed, satisfied, whispering and exclaiming among themselves, out of the kennels, back into the deepening twilight.

The children streamed on, down the short path leading back to the lawns. With pretty thanks and bobbed curtsies, the two girls who had clung to Amelia's and Portia's hands made their adieus and scampered after their elders.

Sugden nodded to Amelia and Portia as he swung the doors shut. 'I'll just be checking 'round about. Make sure all's tight.'

Amelia met his glance, nodded. 'We're going straight back.'

She turned, noting Portia's quick frown. Linking her arm in Portia's, she steered them both down the path in the children's wake. She was about to make some inconsequential remark to distract Portia from Sugden's sudden attention to security when Portia stiffened.

Looking up, Amelia saw a gentleman standing by the side of the path just ahead. They were nearly upon him yet until then, she hadn't noticed him, large though he was; he'd been standing so still in the shadows of a large bush, he'd been all but invisible.

Portia slowed, uncertain.

Amelia called up her hostessly armor, put on her lady-of-the-manor smile, and halted. 'Good evening. I'm Lady Calverton. Can I help you?'

A flash of teeth was followed by a neat bow. 'No, no — I merely thought I heard dogs and wondered…'

A London accent, cultured enough, yet… 'My husband's kennels are extensive.'

'So I see.' Another flash of teeth; the gentleman bowed. 'My compliments on the evening, Lady Calverton. If you'll excuse me?'

He barely waited for any nod before strolling off, back onto the lawns, into the crowd. Amelia watched him go. 'Who is he — do you know?'

She and Portia walked on more slowly in the same direction.

Portia shook her head. 'He's not from about here.'

Amelia couldn't recall being introduced to him. The man was as tall as Luc, but much more heavily built; not the sort of figure one forgot. From what she'd seen in the shadows and fading light, he'd been reasonably well dressed, but his coat hadn't come from a tailor patronized by the ton, nor had his boots — she was quite sure of that.

Portia shrugged. 'I daresay he's come with the Farrells, or the Tibertsons. They have relatives from all over staying every summer.'

'Doubtless that's it.'

She and Portia merged with the crowd, increasingly festive. Amelia glanced at the sky, but it was still too early for the fireworks; at this time of year, the twilights stretched for hours.

They drifted to the area where dancers twirled to the music of three fiddlers. Others ringed the dancers, clapping and smiling, laughing and joking. Despite being created to serve an entirely different purpose, the evening looked set to be a resounding success on the social front — everyone was having a thoroughly good time.

The dance ended; exhausted, dancers sagged. The fiddlers lowered their bows, but only to agree on their next piece. Then they set to again. Laughing, some dancers staggered off while others took their place, twirling and whirling through a sprightly gig.

Cool fingers slid around Amelia's hand.

She looked up to find Luc beside her.

He met her gaze. 'Come — let's join in.'

She hesitated; on her other side, Portia drew her hand from her arm and gave her a nudge. 'Yes. Do. You're supposed to lead the way.'

Glancing at her, Amelia caught the glare Portia directed at Luc. She swung to him, but he merely raised a brow, drew her to him, and swept her into the dance.

'What was that about?'

'That was Portia being her usual opinionated self.' He added, 'You'll get used to it.'

The resignation in his voice made her laugh. He raised his brows, whirled her through the steps; she'd danced such country measures often, but never before with him.

When the fiddlers finally consented to release them from their spell, she was breathless. And not all of her affliction was due to the dance. Luc steadied her, held her — far too close but then who was watching? — while she supposedly regained her breath and whirling wits. She read the truth of his motives in his eyes, pretended a haughty frown. 'It's not considered wise to render your hostess witless and incapable.'

His long lips quirked as he released her; his expression suggested he didn't agree. He glanced at the crowd, at the sky. 'Not long now.'

She drew in a breath, refocused her mind on their plan. They strolled the crowd; the instant the sky was a deep enough blue, they climbed to the terrace. Luc gave Cottsloe the order to proceed with the fireworks; Cottsloe signaled the gardeners, who hurried to set up the displays.

The crowd didn't need any orders; everyone recognized the preparations, glanced around, then moved toward the terrace and the steps. She and Luc shared a glance, then parted. Amelia went to find Helena. Five minutes later, when she guided her aunt to the balustrade to one side of the steps from where she would get the best view — and the crowd would have the best view of her — they were nearly ready to start.

She and Helena took up their position; an instant later, with a hum of anticipation rising from the crowd, Luc strolled nonchalantly out from the ballroom to join them. He nodded to Helena, his gaze coming to rest on her necklace.

He frowned, hesitated, then said, 'I'd be much obliged, ma'am, if you would give your necklace to me at the