“So am I.” Their eyes met. “I could not speak to you until I had settled matters with him,” Lucien said quietly.
Her heart stumbled and then soared. “I thought you had left me,” she whispered.
Lucien clasped her hands in the figures of the dance. His lips quirked ruefully. “You have so little faith in me, then?”
“Perhaps it was my own judgment I did not trust.” Her hands held his a little tighter. “I am glad you are back.”
“I must go away again soon. Amherst has given me management of his estate at Leyburn,” he explained in response to her inquiring look. “I want you to go with me. As my wife.”
Joy spread through her. The musicians had stopped playing, but inside her soul was singing.
“But . . . You could have any woman. Especially now that you no longer need to marry for money,” she added pointedly.
He grinned. “But I don’t want any other woman. Only you, mignonne.” His face turned suddenly serious. “It’s always been you.”
Ignoring the couples around them leaving the dance floor, he knelt and took both her hands in his.
Aimée held her breath. With part of her mind, she was conscious of the whispers flying around the ballroom, of Lady Basing’s frown and Julia’s delighted grin, of the Earl of Amherst’s sardonic gaze.
But with all of her heart, she was aware of Lucien kneeling before her, his hands shaking and his eyes steady on hers.
“I need you, Aimée. I love you. I thank God for every choice or chance or circumstance that brought you to me.” He kissed her hands and then her wrists and then the centers of her palms. She curled her fingers, holding happiness in her hands, as he looked up again. “You said once I had saved you. But in truth, I need you to save me. Will you marry me?”
She smiled down at him through a rainbow of tears, her heart overflowing with love and certainty. “But of course I will, mon ange.” My angel. “We will save each other.”
And she stooped and kissed him.
First Light
KIMBERLY FROST
Acknowledgments
Many thanks to my friend David Mohan, for always finding the time to read and provide feedback on my stories. I’m grateful also to my agent, Elizabeth Winick Rubinstein, for all that she does in support of my writing career. And special thanks to my editor, Leis Pederson, who invited me to write a novella to introduce readers to my Etherlin series and who provided extremely valuable suggestions during the conception and revision of this story.
Chapter One
Snow fell through rising steam. Laughter and music from the New Year’s Eve celebration drifted from the house to the deck where Kate Devane, submerged to the shoulders in her hot tub, drank a Brandy Alexander and watched a shooting star skid across the Colorado sky.
The thunk of a rock hitting the deck drew her gaze. She glanced at the smooth undisturbed mounds of snow and then up at the roof. Had it rolled from there? The night’s stillness seemed otherwise undisturbed. She rose and climbed from the water. She walked to the fallen object and crouched close. Not a rock. There were red drops splattered like a sunburst around an antique ring that was battered and crudely made. An ancient coin formed the ring’s top.
She peered into the dark sky, finding only stars and a sliver of moon. She lifted the ring, examining the dark brown metal dotted with crimson blood. This ring had a story, and she wanted to know it, just as she wanted to unravel all the world’s mysteries. She held the ring between her palms for a moment before trying it on. Sized for a man, it fit loosely on her left thumb, which tingled within its cool embrace.
Wind—because what else could it have been?—rustled the evergreens, and snow that had rested on the branches fell heavily to the ground. She followed the line of the deck rail, trying to see around the trees.
She walked to the steps. Muzzy-headed from too many New Year’s toasts, it took a few extra moments to don her ski boots and jacket. Steadying herself with the rail, she descended and wove through the trees. The snow shimmered like powdered sugar. With the house noise muted, she heard breathing. If she’d been thinking clearly, she would’ve slowed, but the night contained a secret and she wanted to share in it.
She thought him a boy at first. Panting, he rested on one knee like a knight about to be christened. When he looked up, she realized her mistake. The pale-as-moonlight hair made him look young, but his eyes were knowing. His face was so beautiful it reminded her briefly of Alissa the famous ice blond muse with whom Kate worked for inspiration. For a confused moment, Kate wondered where her camera was. She wanted to capture him the way he looked in the snow. Then she wondered what party he’d wandered away from and where he’d left his shirt.
Dazedly, her gaze traveled lower, and she saw that blood flowed lavishly over his marble white skin from a gash in his side. Her eyes widened, her heart kicking into a pounding rhythm.
“My God. You’re bleeding,” she said. “Come on. Come to my house, and I’ll call an ambulance.” Her eyes darted side to side, looking for signs of trouble that might want to put a large gash in her, too.
When she glanced back at the man, his smile was almost coy. His right hand caught her left one and raised it toward him, eyeing her thumb.
“Is it your ring? What happened to you?” she asked. When he didn’t answer, she added, “Were you at the Andersons’ party?” She gazed in the direction of her nearest neighbor’s house.
He moved with stunning speed, rising and spinning her so she faced away from him. From behind her, his right arm held her waist, his left pressed across her collarbone. She felt something prick her skin and realized that his left hand held a knife, the blade lying against the column of her throat. Her coat gaped open, exposing her skin. Ears buzzing, she tried to move.