Stephanie Laurens - On a Wicked Dawn

The ultimate victory in her long and tireless campaign beckoned.

Triumph was a powerful drug. It seeped through her veins as she undressed and got ready for bed. She started brushing her hair, impatience escalating; to distract herself — she didn't know how long it would take Luc to organize the cellar and lock Kirby in — she tried to fathom what else — what other secret — Luc might wish to confess to her.

It couldn't be very serious, surely.

But why now? What had Kirby said to precipitate…

Her hand slowed, then lowered. She stared unseeing at her mirror. She and Kirby had discussed only two points. Whether or not Luc loved her enough to pay well for her return.

And whether Luc was, or was not, rich.

As rich as bloody Croesus.

Kirby had said he'd checked. He'd sounded very sure, and he was, after a fashion, clever. "As rich as bloody Croesus"… it wasn't easy to imagine him making such a big mistake…

The months rolled back. In her mind, she revisited all the evidence she'd garnered, all she'd seen with her own eyes, everything that had led her to believe Luc and the Ashfords were very far from rich.

She couldn't have been wrong… could she?

Of course not! He'd all but admitted she was right…

No, he hadn't. Not as such.

Not ever.

The marriage settlements — by his insistence written in percentages so no real amount, no value of his estate had been there to read. She'd assumed the amount had been small.

What if it had been large?

All those repairs — the lumber ordered early, within days of that dawn she'd first spoken of marriage, of her dowry.

What if he hadn't married her for that?

She refocused on her reflection, then gave a shaky laugh. She was imagining things. The events of the night had left her overwrought, small wonder…

What if he hadn't married her for her money?

A tap fell on her door.

Distracted, she called, "Come in."

She looked around as Higgs stuck her head past the door.

"I was just off to bed, my lady, if there's nothing else you need?"

"No, Higgs. And thank you for all your support this evening."

Higgs flushed and bobbed. "My pleasure, ma'am." She started to back out of the room.

"Wait!" Amelia waved. "One moment…" Swiveling on her dressing stool, she faced Higgs. "I have a question. When I first arrived, that first morning we discussed the menus, you mentioned we could now be more extravagant. What did you mean?"

Higgs came in, shut the door, clasped her hands. Frowned. "I don't rightly know as it's my place to speak—

"No, no." Amelia smiled reassuringly. "There's no difficulty — I just wondered why you'd thought that."

"Well, you know about the master's father, about how he died, and… all that?"

Amelia held her breath. "About how Luc's father left the family in dun territory?" When Higgs nodded, she exhaled. "Yes. I know about that." She hadn't been wrong. It was all a silly misunderstanding of Kirby's—

"And then, at last, after all his hard work, the master's ship came in, and he said we didn't need to watch our pennies any longer. His investments had made him and the family rich. That was such good news! And then he was marrying you—"

"Wait." Her mind literally reeled. Investments? Lucifer had asked Luc about investments… "These investments… when did that happen? Can you remember when you heard?"

Higgs frowned, clearly counting through the days. Her eyes narrowed… "Yes — that's it. The week after Miss Amanda's wedding, it was. I remember I had Miss Emily's and Miss Anne's gowns to see to when Cottsloe came and told me. He said the master'd just heard."

She felt so dizzy it was a wonder she remained upright; her emotions swung crazily, from ecstatic happiness to fury. She plastered on a smile, brittle, but enough to reassure Higgs. "Ah, yes. Of course. Thank you, Higgs. That will be all."

Graciously, she nodded; Higgs bobbed and departed, closing the door.

Amelia set down her brush. One point she'd never understood swam into focus. Luc had been drunk that dawn she'd waylaid him; she'd realized at the time it had been a supremely un-Luc-like happening. He hadn't known she would materialize and offer to rescue him financially — he'd been drunk in celebration of the fact he'd already rescued himself from what, she now suspected, had been a much worse situation than even she had guessed.

For a full ten minutes, she stared, unseeing, across the room, while all the pieces of the jigsaw settled into place, and she finally saw the full picture, the real truth of their marriage and what had brought it about, then, determined, she rose and went into their bedroom.

Five minutes later, Luc climbed the main stairs and headed down the corridor to their rooms. As he walked, he loosened his cravat, leaving it hanging about his throat. Outside, dawn was tinting the sky; he assumed Amelia would be asleep, exhausted… he'd have to wait until tomorrow to talk to her. But he would; hopefully she'd be sufficiently curious over his "somethings" to stay in bed long enough for him to confess.

Reaching for the doorknob, he made a silent vow that he wouldn't leave their apartments before he'd told her all.

He opened the door and entered, pushing it shut as he walked in, glancing down at a stubborn cuff button.

Belatedly registering that a candle was still burning… and that Amelia wasn't in bed but standing by the window—

He looked up.

Ducked.

Something crashed on the floor far behind him, but he didn't look back. Amelia had a heavy paperweight clutched in her fist when he grabbed her, wrestled her back against the wall and pinned her there.

Her eyes, narrowed, blazed with blue fire. "Why didn't you tell me?"

Furious, but far from cold, her tone gave him hope. "Tell you what?"

The unwise words were out before he'd thought.

"That you're filthy rich!" Eyes spitting fury, she heaved against him. "That you were even before we wed." She struggled like a demon. "That you weren't marrying me for my money! You let me believe you were, while all the while you— oooof! "

"Stand still!" Locking his hands about each of hers, he forced them back against the wall, one on either side of her head, leaned into her enough to subdue her — to keep her from damaging herself. Or him. He looked down into her furious eyes, her stubborn face. "I've been meaning to tell you." Not like this. "I told you I had things to confess. That was one."

Amelia narrowed her eyes to shards. Pinned him with her gaze. Refused to let her elation show— refused to let him off the hook — the hook he'd caught himself so wonderfully on. "And the other?"

He narrowed his eyes back. "You know." After a moment, he added, "Despite all you said to Kirby, you damn well know."

She lifted her chin. "I might guess, but with you that's plainly not the same as knowing. You'll have to tell me." She held his gaze. "Spell it out. In simple words. Crystal-clear phrases."

His jaw set. Trapped between the wall and him, she'd never been more aware — of him, of herself — of the physical and ephemeral powers that flowed between them. The blatantly sexual and the flagrantly emotional — both had always been there, but only now were they fully revealed. Only now fully acknowledged.

So powerful now that anything else was unthinkable.

He'd come to the same conclusion. His eyes still locked on hers, he drew breath. Spoke, his tone deep, low, intense.

"I let you believe I was marrying you for your dowry — that that was my reason. That was the first confession I wanted to make — that that wasn't true."

He paused. She clung to his gaze, willed him to go on, curled her fingers and when he permitted it, twined them with his.