On a Wicked Dawn

Whirled to face the man she'd been following.

His bulk blocked the path between her and the Chase. He was tall and wide, with close-cropped dark hair… her mouth dropped open as she recognized the man she and Portia had met near the kennels.

He smiled — evilly. 'Well, well — how helpful.'

Her heart thumped, but she snapped her lips shut and lifted her chin. 'Don't be daft! I have no intention whatever of helping you in any way.'

Her only hope was to keep him talking — here and as loudly as possible — for as long as she could.

He took a swaggering step forward, eyes narrowing when she only tilted her chin higher; she'd had years of dealing with men who sought to intimidate with sheer size. Apparently accepting she was not about to make a bolt for it — into the dense woods — she knew how far she would get — he halted and looked down at her, lip curling with contempt.

'Ah, but you will help me, you see — to a nice slice of your husband's wealth. I don't know what happened back there' — with his head, he indicated the Chase—'but I'm experienced enough to know when to cut my losses.' His chilling smile returned. 'And when to seize an opportunity fate throws my way.'

He tensed to step forward and grasp her arm; she stopped him with an utterly patronizing look. 'If you really are clever enough to know when to cut and run, then you'd better start running. There's absolutely no possibility my husband will pay very much for my safe return, if that's the direction your mind is taking.'

His smile didn't waver; he nodded. 'That's my tack, right enough, but you can save your breath — I've seen the way he looks at you.'

She blinked. 'You have? How?'

The look he gave her suggested he wasn't sure what her tack was. 'Like he'd cut off his right arm before he'd let you go.'

She fought not to grin delightedly. 'No.' Lips pinched, she stuck her nose in the air. 'You're quite wrong you know — he never did love me. Our marriage was arranged.'

He gave a disgusted snort. 'You can stow the guff. If it'd been Edward, I might have believed you, but that brother of his always was a painfully straight dealer. Arranged or not, he'll pay, and pay well, to have you back unharmed — without any public fuss.'

His eyes narrowed to mean and heartless shards as he emphasized the last words. He went to step forward.

Again she stopped him, this time with an abject sigh. 'I can see I'm going to have to tell you the truth.'

She glanced up through her lashes, could see the urge to get on, get away, taking her with him, war with the need to know why she thought his plan doomed. He knew better than to argue, but…

'What truth?'

It came out as a growl, a warning to be quick.

She hesitated, then asked, 'What's your name?'

His eyes glittered. 'Jonathon Kirby, although what that's got to do with—'

'I do like to know to whom I'm confessing.'

'So tell me — and make it quick. We don't have all night.'

She lifted her head. 'Very well, Mr. Kirby. The truth I apparently need to confess to you concerns the how and why of my marriage. Which is also the reason my husband won't pay any great sum for my return.'

She rushed on, speaking the words as fast as they came into her head, knowing she had to keep him there for just a little longer — Luc and the others couldn't be far away. 'I said our marriage was arranged, and it was — for money. He doesn't have much — well, that's an understatement — he doesn't really have any, not… well, what one might call cash as such. Land he has, but you can't eat land, can you? — and you certainly can't gown girls for their comeouts in hay — so you see, it was imperative he marry for money, and so we did, so he got my dowry, but with all the urgent bills and the repairs and so on — well, if you've been about here for more than a day, you must have seen the working gangs — so what I'm trying to say is that there's hardly any left, and he won't pay you much because he can't.'

She had to pause for breath.

Kirby stepped menacingly nearer. 'I've heard enough.' He leaned close, thrust his face close to hers. 'What sort of fool do you take me for? I checked — of course, I did!' His voice dripped scorn. 'As soon as I realized the possibility might arise to cozen one of his sweet little sisters. No joy there, but his wife's an even better mark. I don't even have to try to charm you, and you won't be on my hands for long. The man's as rich as bloody Croesus and he worships the ground you walk on — he'll pay a small fortune for you, and that's precisely what I'm going to demand.'

His features had contorted with some ugly emotion; Amelia set her jaw and stared him down, her belligerence fueled by desperate necessity, and the irrational irritation of knowing she was half-right and he was half-wrong. 'You're the fool if you believe that!' Eyes narrowing, she planted her fists on her hips and glared. 'We didn't marry for love — he does not love me.' A complete and utter lie, but she could put her heart and soul into her next declaration: 'And he's next kin to a pauper — he hasn't a coin to bless himself with. I'm his wife, for heaven's sake! Don't you think I'd know?'

She flung her arms wide on the words — and glimpsed something from the corner of her eye. Until he'd stepped close, Kirby had blocked her view of the path into the clearing; looking past him, she saw Luc, standing motionless at the clearing's edge, his dark gaze locked, not on Kirby, but on her face. On her eyes.

For one instant, time stood still. Her heart contracted; she felt…

Kirby read her face.

He turned with a roar.

Amelia jumped, gasped, skittered back as Kirby flung himself at Luc, one huge fist rising, swinging.

She screamed.

Luc ducked at the very last minute; she didn't see what happened, but Kirby's body jerked, then the big man bent forward, only to straighten abruptly as Luc's fist connected with his jaw.

She winced at the sound, quickly scuttled farther away as Kirby staggered back. The close-packed trees gave her little room to move, but although Kirby's gaze flicked to her, he kept his attention on Luc.

Who, after one glance at Amelia, stepped into the clearing. That one graceful step held immeasurably more menace than anything Kirby had done.

Kirby groaned, slumped, then straightened; a knife flashed in his fist.

Amelia gasped. Tensed.

Luc stilled, his gaze on the blade, then he resumed his slow, prowling approach.

Kirby crouched a little, spread his arms wide, started to circle.

Luc drifted aside.

Amelia pressed back among the trees… a too-recent memory of Amanda with a knife at her throat flooded her…

Kirby lunged with the knife. Luc weaved back, just out of reach.

Horrified, Amelia stared — Kirby was quite plainly aiming for Luc's face. Her husband's beautiful fallen-angel face. A face Luc himself barely noticed, and certainly — contrary to what Kirby was imagining — felt no vanity over protecting.

She was very attached to that face — exactly as it was.

Jaw setting, she glanced around. Her gaze fell on a fallen branch — a nice, stout oak branch — large enough for a cosh, small enough for her to heft — best of all, close enough and free of debris so she could lift it undetected.

Kirby's back was to her. The branch was in her hands before she'd finished the thought.

She paused, gathered her strength, took one step as she lifted the branch high—

Kirby sensed her, started to turn—

She brought the branch down as hard as she could. It broke with a satisfying crack over Kirby's head.

He didn't go down. But he wobbled.

Very slowly shook his head.

Lips grimly set, Luc stepped forward, caught Kirby's wrist, holding the knife at bay. With his other fist, he delivered the coup de grace—Kirby dropped like a stone to the leaf-strewn ground.

Clutching the remnants of her club, Amelia stared. 'Is he…?'