On A Wicked Dawn Read Online Free
Author: Stephanie Laurens
ticked by. She was about to go back and tug the bellpull again when she heard a door squeak. A glimmer of light appeared down the corridor leading to the kitchens; it steadily grew brighter. Then its bearer halted, gasped, then with a muttered exclamation hurried forward.
Amelia watched as Cottsloe, Lucâs butler, bent over his master, checking the pulse at his throat. Relieved, Cottsloe straightened and stared; she hoped he imagined Luc had been in the drawing room, rung for assistance, then staggered into the hall and collapsed. She waited for Cottsloe to summon a footman. Instead, the old man shook his head, picked up Lucâs cane, and set it on the hall table along with his candle.
Then Cottsloe bent and tried to heft Luc to his feet.
Amelia suddenly realized there might be reasons Cottsloe, kind old Cottsloe, who doted on Luc and the whole family, might not want to summon help, might not want it known that Luc was drunk. But it was ludicrousâCottsloe was in his fifties, shortish and tending toward rotund. He managed to get Luc half-upright, but there was no way he could support such a heavy and unwieldy body far, especially not up the stairs.
Not alone.
With an inward sigh, Amelia opened the door. âCottsloe?â
With a hiss, he turned, wide-eyed. Slipping through the door, she waved him to silence. âWe had a private meetingâwe were talking, and he collapsed.â
Even in the dimness, she saw the old manâs blush.
âIâm afraid heâs a touch under the weather, miss.â
âIndeed, heâs quite drunk. If I help, do you think we can get him upstairs? His roomâs on the first floor, isnât it?â
Cottsloe was nonplussed, uncertain of the proprieties, but he did need help. And Luc had first call on his loyalty. He nodded. âJust along from the top of the stairs. If we can get him that far. . . .â
Amelia ducked under Lucâs dangling arm and hauled it across her shoulders. She and Cottsloe staggered until theyâd hefted Luc upright; supporting him like a sack of meal between them, they turned toward the stairs. Luckily, Luc regained some degree of consciousness; when they reached the first stair, he got his feet under him and started, with their assistance, to climb, albeit in a sagging, lurching way. Amelia tried not to think of what might happen if he fell backward. Pressing against him, steadying him, brought home just how solid and muscled he was underneath his elegant clothes.
Guessing which way his stagger would send him next, and countering his tipping weight, became a game that left both her and Cottsloe puffing by the time they gained the top of the stairs. Their charge remained oblivious, his lips gleefully curved, his brow unfurrowed under his midnight black hair. His eyes hadnât opened. Amelia was sure that if she and Cottsloe both let go, Luc would crumple in a heap once more.
Between them, they steered him down the corridor, then Cottsloe reached ahead and flung open a door. Her hands sunk in Lucâs coat, Amelia pulled, then shoved, and sent him reeling into the room; she hurriedly followed, hauling to keep him from sprawling facedown on the floor.
âThis way.â Cottsloe tugged Luc toward the huge four-poster bed. Amelia pushed. They got him to the bed, then had to shuffle him about. Finally, he stood with his back to the bed.
They both let go; he stood there, swaying. Amelia placed her palm against his chest and pushed. Like a felled tree he toppled, landing flat on his back on the silk counterpane.The counterpane was quite old, but looked comfortable; as if to illustrate, Luc sighed and turned, snuggling his cheek into the midnight blue softness.
On another sigh, every last remnant of tension left his body. He lay relaxed, lips curved as if hugging some pleasant memory close.
Despite all, Amelia felt her lips lift. He was so atrociously handsome, the silky locks of his jet-black hair
Amelia watched as Cottsloe, Lucâs butler, bent over his master, checking the pulse at his throat. Relieved, Cottsloe straightened and stared; she hoped he imagined Luc had been in the drawing room, rung for assistance, then staggered into the hall and collapsed. She waited for Cottsloe to summon a footman. Instead, the old man shook his head, picked up Lucâs cane, and set it on the hall table along with his candle.
Then Cottsloe bent and tried to heft Luc to his feet.
Amelia suddenly realized there might be reasons Cottsloe, kind old Cottsloe, who doted on Luc and the whole family, might not want to summon help, might not want it known that Luc was drunk. But it was ludicrousâCottsloe was in his fifties, shortish and tending toward rotund. He managed to get Luc half-upright, but there was no way he could support such a heavy and unwieldy body far, especially not up the stairs.
Not alone.
With an inward sigh, Amelia opened the door. âCottsloe?â
With a hiss, he turned, wide-eyed. Slipping through the door, she waved him to silence. âWe had a private meetingâwe were talking, and he collapsed.â
Even in the dimness, she saw the old manâs blush.
âIâm afraid heâs a touch under the weather, miss.â
âIndeed, heâs quite drunk. If I help, do you think we can get him upstairs? His roomâs on the first floor, isnât it?â
Cottsloe was nonplussed, uncertain of the proprieties, but he did need help. And Luc had first call on his loyalty. He nodded. âJust along from the top of the stairs. If we can get him that far. . . .â
Amelia ducked under Lucâs dangling arm and hauled it across her shoulders. She and Cottsloe staggered until theyâd hefted Luc upright; supporting him like a sack of meal between them, they turned toward the stairs. Luckily, Luc regained some degree of consciousness; when they reached the first stair, he got his feet under him and started, with their assistance, to climb, albeit in a sagging, lurching way. Amelia tried not to think of what might happen if he fell backward. Pressing against him, steadying him, brought home just how solid and muscled he was underneath his elegant clothes.
Guessing which way his stagger would send him next, and countering his tipping weight, became a game that left both her and Cottsloe puffing by the time they gained the top of the stairs. Their charge remained oblivious, his lips gleefully curved, his brow unfurrowed under his midnight black hair. His eyes hadnât opened. Amelia was sure that if she and Cottsloe both let go, Luc would crumple in a heap once more.
Between them, they steered him down the corridor, then Cottsloe reached ahead and flung open a door. Her hands sunk in Lucâs coat, Amelia pulled, then shoved, and sent him reeling into the room; she hurriedly followed, hauling to keep him from sprawling facedown on the floor.
âThis way.â Cottsloe tugged Luc toward the huge four-poster bed. Amelia pushed. They got him to the bed, then had to shuffle him about. Finally, he stood with his back to the bed.
They both let go; he stood there, swaying. Amelia placed her palm against his chest and pushed. Like a felled tree he toppled, landing flat on his back on the silk counterpane.The counterpane was quite old, but looked comfortable; as if to illustrate, Luc sighed and turned, snuggling his cheek into the midnight blue softness.
On another sigh, every last remnant of tension left his body. He lay relaxed, lips curved as if hugging some pleasant memory close.
Despite all, Amelia felt her lips lift. He was so atrociously handsome, the silky locks of his jet-black hair