A Rogues Proposal

Chapter 7

He'd seen her face so often in his dreams that he didn't notice when he fell asleep. Her face was his last image before his lids fell-it was the first thing he saw, through the dimness, when he woke.

Frowning, Demon eased his stiff neck and glanced at the fire to see it a pile of cooling ash. He froze, staring at the grey pile, then whipped around to look at the windows.

The heavy shutters were in place, but a thin shaft of pale light edged each slat.

Swearing beneath his breath, he glanced at Flick, still softly sleeping, an angel in repose. Jaw setting, he rose and strode silently to the door. Opening it confirmed his worst fear-the day had dawned.

Drawing the door wide, Demon hauled in a deep breath. The scent of the wet forest flowed into him; he held it in, then slowly exhaled.

A sound behind him had him turning; silent and still in the doorway, he watched Flick awake.

She didn't simply open her eyes. Instead, consiousness slowly invested her features, enlivening her brows, curving her full lips. Eyes still closed, she hummed softly in her throat. Her breasts swelled as she drew in a deep breath, then she stretched languorously, straightening her spine, arching slightly, then she relaxed and her lashes fluttered.

Then, and only then, did her lids slowly rise.

She looked straight at him, then blinked her eyes wide, but no hint of consternation disturbed her content expression. Instead, her lips softened into a sleepily warm smile.

"Is it morning?"

The husky tones of her voice, still drunk with sleep, flowed over him, about him, slid under his skin and seized him. He couldn't speak, couldn't think-he could only want. Want with a searing desire that shocked him, with an absolute possessive need that nearly floored him. Containing that force, reining it in, holding it back, left him rigid. And shaking.

She was still smiling, still waiting for his answer; realizing that, with him framed in the doorway with all light coming from outside, she couldn't see his passion-blank expression, or anything else, he summoned every last ounce of his strength and managed to utter, "Almost."

His tone was harsh and uneven; he didn't wait to see her reaction but turned away to ensure she got no chance to study him further, to see the evidence of that rabid desire. Ostensibly surveying the clearing, he cleared his throat. "I'll get the horses saddled."

With that, he escaped.

Of course, within a few minutes, she came to help.

Ivan was grumpy and fractious; Demon made that his excuse for barely glancing Flick's way. He felt her puzzled gaze; jaw clenched, he ignored it. He didn't even dare help her saddle Jessamy-if she put her hand on his thigh this morning, he couldn't guarantee his reaction-or rather, his inaction. As soon as he had Ivan's girths tight, he grabbed his bridle and led the restless stallion out of the tight space.

The charcoal makers' hut had been constructed in that particular clearing because it was the natural confluence of four paths through the park. One was the path they'd travelled last night, another led onward to the manor. A third struck across to join the eastern bridle path Flick usually used to reach the ruined cottage and his farm. Halting Ivan in the middle of the clearing, Demon glanced toward the opening of the fourth path, leading in from a small country lane to the west.

To see Hugh Dunstable, the General's middle-aged steward, ambling up through the morning.

Demon froze.

Dunstable had already seen him; smiling, he raised his hand to his hat. "Ah! 'Morning, sir."

Demon nodded easily, urbanely, but he couldn't for the life of him summon a smile. His mind raced while Dunstable's cob plodded closer, ever closer.

" 'Spect you got caught in last night's squall." Drawing rein beside him, Dunstable beamed down at him. "No doubt but it was heavy. Got caught out myself, it came up so quick. I'd been off to the Carters, playing a hand of whist-I was on my way back when it hit. I was drenched by the time I reached home."

"As you say." Demon glanced surreptitiously at the shadowed stable. "It was too heavy to risk riding on."

Dunstable snorted. "On these paths? You'd have risked that fine beast."

The fine beast chose that moment to snort, paw and prance, heavily shouldering Dunstable's cob. Demon swore and drew in Ivan's reins. Settling his placid cob, Dunstable chuckled. "Aye-riding him must be an adventure. Not hard to see how you came by your name."

It wasn't his expertise in riding high-bred horses that had earned him his nickname, but Demon let the comment pass; he was too busy praying.

Much good it did him. His fervent appeal to the highest authority that Flick would have the sense to remain out of sight was refused; she appeared at that instant, smiling sunnily up at Dunstable as she led Jessamy out.

"Good morning, Mr. Dunstable."

She glanced up at the sky, and so failed to notice the expression on Dunstable's face-sheer shock to begin with, rapidly transmuting into horror, momentarily displaced by speculation, only to revert to righteous horror again.

By the time Flick looked down and cheerily remarked, "And a fine morning it seems to be," Dunstable's features were set in stone, his expression impassive. He mumbled an incoherent reply to Flick; the look in his eyes when he shifted his gaze to Demon was coldly censorious.

Demon reacted in the only way he could-with a high hand. Cool arrogance in his eyes, he met Dunstable's gaze levelly; his expression hard, he raised a challenging brow.

Dunstable, only one step up from a servant, albeit an old and trusted one, was at a loss to know how to respond. Demon regretted putting the old man in his place, but every instinct he possessed refused to let anyone even imagine any ill-any indiscretion-of Flick.

To his relief, she, busy adjusting her stirrups, missed their exchange entirely.

"It looks like the clouds have blown away. I dare say it'll be quite warm by lunchtime." She straightened and glanced around for a log to use as a mounting block.

Demon dropped his reins and crossed to her side; closing his hands about her waist, he lifted her, setting her lightly on Jessamy's back.

That got her attention; she sucked in a breath and blinked at him, then quickly rearranged her legs and her skirts. "Thank you."

Lifting her chin, she fixed her blue eyes on Dunstable. "I can't believe how overgrown the park has become-we must get Hendricks to cut back rather more. Why, you can barely see the sky, even here, even on such a wonderful morning. I rather think-"

She chattered blithely on, unaware that, with her cheeks still delicately flushed from sleep, her hair tousled and her velvet skirts badly crushed, she presented a perfect picture of a youthful damsel who had recently engaged in an energetic morning romp.

Predictably, she led the way along the path to the manor.

Dunstable followed close behind. To give him his due, while remaining stony-faced, he managed to make the appropriate noises whenever Flick paused in her paean to the morning.

Hands on his hips, Demon watched them amble off, then exhaled through his teeth. Returning to the hut, he secured the door, then mounted Ivan. And paused.

For one long moment, he stared down the path at Flick's and Dunstable's backs. Then, lips thinning, jaw firming, he shook Ivan's reins. And followed.

By the time their party reached Hillgate End, Demon had a firm grip on the situation. There was no doubt that he'd compromised Flick, albeit entirely innocently.

He'd caught up with her and Dunstable, only to hear her gaily state that they'd taken shelter soon after the rain had started. So Dunstable now knew that they'd been at the hut, together and alone, from the dead of night to dawn. Of course, focused on protecting Dillon, Flick had said not a word about what had occasioned her presence, in company with a rake, deep in the park in the middle of the night.

It was no great feat to imagine what Dunstable was thinking. Indeed, it was difficult to conceive of a more damning scenario for a young, unmarried gentlewoman than being discovered at dawn leaving an evening rendezvous in company with a rake of the first order.

Demon had had ample time to consider every facet of their night alone, every nuance, every likely repercussion-their journey to the manor had been slow, the ground very wet, soft beneath their horses' hooves. They'd plodded along, Flick in the lead, followed by Dunstable, with him in the rear. In brooding silence, he'd debated their options-not many-and what that therefore meant, while Flick had entertained Dunstable with her sunny patter.

She'd described the small stable, and exclaimed over the fact that Jessamy and Ivan had been quite dry; she'd continually paused to declaim the wonders of the morning. She had not, however, mentioned the mouse-on consideration, remembering the long moments she'd spent in his arms, he'd decided that was just as well.

God only knew what picture she might paint for Dunstable if she started on that topic.

Finally, they'd reached the manor's grounds; minutes later, they trotted into the stable yard.

Stifling a huge sigh of relief, her mind full of the wonders of a hot bath, Flick reined in. She untangled her legs and skirts from her sidesaddle; she was about to slide to the ground when Demon appeared beside her. He reached for her; his hands closed about her waist, then he lifted her down, and set her on her feet before him.

Quickly catching her breath-she was almost used to the effect of his touch, to the sudden seizing of her lungs-she beamed a sunny smile up at him, and held out her hand. "Thank you so much for taking pity on me last night and seeing me home. I'm really very grateful."

He looked at her-she could read nothing in his eyes, in his oddly set expression. He took her hand, but instead of squeezing it and letting go, he wrapped his fingers about hers and turned. "I'll walk you to the house."

Flick stared at him-at his back. She would have tugged and argued, but Dunstable, having dismounted more slowly, was hovering. Demon started walking-stalking; throwing a bright smile over her shoulder at Dunstable, she had to hurry to keep up.

Striding purposefully, Demon headed up the gravel path, ducking under the wisteria to pass beneath the old trees and cut across the lawn to the terrace. He didn't set her hand on his arm and stroll; instead, he kept his hand locked about hers and towed her along.

Flick tried an outraged glare, but he refused to even notice. His expression was set, determined. Determined on what she had no idea.

Glancing back, she saw Dunstable, watching from beneath the stable arch. She flashed him a reassuring smile and wondered what devil had possessed Demon.

He didn't stop until they were on the terrace, before the open morning room windows. Releasing her, he gestured her inside; with a speaking glance, she stepped over the threshold. Swinging her heavy skirts, she faced him as he followed her into the room. "Why aren't you heading off to the Heath? We have to watch Bletchley."

Halting in front of her, he looked down at her and frowned. "Gillies and the others will keep watching until I arrive to take over. At present, I have matters of greater moment to settle."

She blinked. "You do?"

His jaw set ominously. "I need to speak with the General."

Flick felt her eyes, locked on his, widen. "What about?" She had no idea why, but she was starting to feel uneasy.

Demon saw her question-her lack of understanding-etched in her eyes. Inwardly, he cursed. "I need to talk to him about our current situation."

"Situation? What situation?"

Jaw clenching, he went to step around her; quick as a flash, she blocked his way. "What are you talking about?"

He caught her eye and frowned even more. "I'm talking about the past night, which we spent together, alone." He gave the last two words particular weight; comprehension dawned in her eyes.

Then she blinked and frowned at him. "So?" Her gaze raced over his face. "Nothing-nothing indiscreet-happened."

"No," he agreed, his voice tight, controlled, "but only you and I know that. All society will see is that the potential for indiscretion was present, and that, in society's eyes, is all that counts."

The sound she made was elementally dismissive. His eyes locked on hers, Demon knew that if she questioned the potential, denied it had existed, he'd wring her neck.

She hovered on the brink-he saw it in her eyes. But, after studying his expression, she swung onto a different tack. "But no one knows. Well"-she waved-"only Dunstable, and he didn't imagine anything scandalous had happened."

Stunned, he stared at her. "Tell me, is Dunstable always so stony-faced?"

She grimaced. "Well, he is rather taciturn. I always do most of the talking."

"If you'd done a little more looking this morning, you'd have seen he was shocked to his toes." Again, he went to step past her; again, she blocked his way.

"What are you going to do?"

He didn't want to lay hands on her-didn't want to risk it in his present state. He pinned her with a glare. "I am going to speak to the General, and explain to him exactly what occurred."

"You're not going to tell him about Dillon?"

"No. I'll simply say I came upon you riding alone through my fields late last night, and insisted on escorting you home." He took a step toward her; to keep his face in clear view, she backed away. "I'll leave it to you to explain what you were doing in your saddle at midnight."

She blinked; he pressed his advantage and took another step. She gave ground without noticing. Her eyes, now wide, flicked up to his; before she could interrupt, he stated, "The General will see instantly that, regardless of what truly transpired at the cottage, all society-certainly every matron of standing in Newmarket-will believe you and I spent the best part of the night heating a single pallet in the charcoal makers' hut."

A light blush tinged her cheeks; her gaze flickered, then steadied. Abruptly, she stood her ground. "That's ridiculous." The statement was emphatic. "You didn't lay a finger…" Her words trailed away; her gaze blanked.

"On you?" Demon grinned tightly. "Not one-all ten." He trapped her gaze as she refocused. "Can you deny you were in my arms?"

Her lips compressed, her expression turned mutinous, her chin set like rock. Her eyes-those usually soft orbs-positively flared. "That was because of a mouse!"

"The cause is irrelevant. As far as society's concerned, having spent the night alone with me, your virtue and reputation are in question. The accepted code of behavior decrees I offer you the protection of my name."

Flick stared at him, then determinedly shook her head. "No."

He looked down at her, and coolly raised his brows. "No?"

"No, that's positively stupid." Flinging her hands in the air, she swung away. "You're blowing this up out of all proportion. Society's not going to say anything because they'll know nothing about it. Dunstable won't talk." Swinging about, she paced back. "I'll see him and explain-" Lifting her head, she saw Demon almost at the door. "No! Wait!"

She raced across the room. She would have caught him, but he turned and caught her instead. His hands about her upper arms, he held her away from him. And glared at her.

"There's no point arguing-I'm going to see the General."

His determination was blazoned in his eyes; Flick couldn't mistake it. Her mind raced; she licked her lips. "He'll be at breakfast." Dragging her gaze from his, she sent it skimming down, over his rumpled clothes.

He looked down, too, then frowned; extending one leg, he scowled at the muddy streaks marring his Hessians. And swore. Releasing her, he took stock of his disreputable state. "I can't go in to see him like this."

Flick kept her eyes wide and innocent, and held her tongue. Even when-especially when-his gaze, hard and blue, returned to her face.

After a moment, lips compressed, he nodded. "I'll go home and change-then I'll be back." Eyes narrowing, he held her gaze. "And then we can discuss this fully-with the General."

She merely raised her brows and maintained a strategic silence.

He hesitated, looking into her eyes, then, with a curt nod, turned and stalked out.

Flick watched him go, drifting back to the French doors to watch him stride across the lawn. Only when he'd disappeared into the shadows of the trees did she turn back into the room-grit her teeth, clench her fists, and give vent to a frustrated scream.

"He's impossible! This is impossible." After a moment, her eyes darkened. "He's out of his mind."

With that, she stalked off to clear the matter up.

Two hours later, Demon drove his bays up the drive of Hillgate End. Under his expert guidance, the curricle came to a flourishing halt immediately before the steps. Handing the reins to the groom who came running, he stepped down. Drawing off his gloves, he strode to the house.

He was perfectly attired in a blue morning coat and ivory breeches, ivory cravat and shirt, with an elegantly restrained blue-and-black-striped waistcoat. His Hessians, another pair, gleamed. His appearance was precisely as he considered it should be, given his errand.

Jacobs opened the door to his knock. Demon returned his greeting with a nod and headed straight for the library. He was somewhat surprised to gain the door without encountering Flick; he'd expected some last-ditch effort on her part to interfere with his plans-his immolation on the altar of the right and proper.

Turning the handle, he opened the door and entered, swiftly scanning the long room for any sign of an angel.

She wasn't there.

The General was, seated as usual at his desk, and sunk behind a huge tome. He looked up as Demon closed the door-and smiled warmly, delightedly.

Demon strolled nearer and saw his mentor's eyes twinkling. Inwardly, he cursed.

The General held up a hand before he could speak. "I know," he declared, "all about it."

Demon came to a dead halt facing the desk. "Flick." His tone was flat. His left hand slowly clenched.

"Eh? Oh, yes-Felicity." The General grinned and leaned back in his chair, waving him to the chair beside the desk. Although Demon moved in that direction, he couldn't sit-he prowled to the window beyond.

The General chuckled. "You needn't worry. A potential imbroglio it might have been, but Felicity took the bit between her teeth and sorted it all out."

"I see." His features under rigid control, his expression utterly bland, Demon turned his head and raised a brow. "How very helpful of her." Even to him, his tones sounded steely. "How did she manage it?"

"Well-;' If the General was aware of his tension, he didn't show it; he pushed his chair back the better to beam up at him. "She came straightaway to me, of course, and explained what happened-how she'd felt the need of some air and so gone riding late last night, and forgot the time, and wound up past your farm." The General's smug expression clouded. "Have to say, m'boy, I'm not at all sanguine about her riding off like that alone, but she's promised me she won't do it again." His wide smile returning, he looked up. "One good thing about this little fright she's had, what?"

Demon said nothing; the General grinned and continued, "Luckily, this time, you saw her-very good of you to insist on escorting her home."

"It seemed the least I could do." Especially as it had been him she'd ridden out to see.

"Silly of her to take that old path-Hendricks gave up on it years ago. As for the rain-I can't tell you how relieved I am that you were with her. Goodness knows, she's a reliable miss, but still, she's young, and inclined to press on regardless. Your decision to stop at the hut until the rain passed was unquestionably correct. After that, of course, all the rest followed-no one's fault it happened as it did. Hardly surprising you both fell asleep."

The General looked up and frowned-as severely as he ever did-at him. "And don't think you have to reassure me that nothing happened. I know you-known you from a boy. I know nothing untoward occurred. I know my Felicity would be safe with you."

The unexpected fierceness in the General's eyes held him silent; with a satisfied nod, the General sat back.

"Yes, and she told me about the mouse, too. She's petrified of the silly things-always has been. Just what I'd have expected-you had the sensitivity not to laugh at her, but to soothe her. Nothing scandalous there."

Glancing at his desk, the General frowned. "Where were we? Ah, yes. Dunstable. Him coming across you this morning was neither here nor there-he's an old friend and lucidly no gabblemonger. Flick insisted on speaking with him after she'd seen me, and he dropped by to see me half an hour ago. Just to reassure me that he would never say a word to harm our Felicity." Grinning, the General glanced up. "Dunstable also asked me to convey his apologies to you for jumping to unwarranted conclusions."

Demon met the General's eye. Flick had plugged every hole, countered every argument.

"So," the General said, his tone one of conclusion, "I hope you can see that I'm perfectly convinced there's no reason for any sacrifice on your part. As you haven't in any way harmed Felicity's reputation, there's absolutely no reason you need offer for her, is there?"

Demon held his gaze, but didn't answer; the General smiled.

"It was all perfectly innocent-and now we'll say nothing more about it, what?" He hauled his tome back into position before him. "Now tell me. I've just been checking these offshoots of the Barbary Arab. What have you heard about this colt, Enderby?"

As if in compensation, the General invited him to lunch. Demon accepted-then, offering to carry word of his joining the table to Jacobs, left the General to his records.

Shutting the library door, Demon paused in the quiet of the corridor, trying, yet again, to regain a sense of equilibrium. He understood what had happened; rationally, logically, he knew all was well. Unfortunately, he didn't feel it. He felt… deprived.

As if a long-desired object of paramount importance had slipped-been whisked-from his grasp, just as he was about to close his hand.

Frowning, he went to find Jacobs.

He discovered him in the butler's pantry; his message delivered, Demon returned to the front hall and, without a heartbeat's pause, set out to hunt down Flick. Feeling very much like a hungry leopard, he prowled through the downstairs rooms. She would be somewhere close, he was sure, just in case he had raised some quibble she hadn't foreseen and the General had sent for her.

He found her in the garden hall.

She was snipping the stems of flowers and slipping them into a vase. Humming, she tilted her head this way and that, studying her creation. Demon watched her for a full minute, taking in her crisp, cambric morning gown, noting her hair, newly brushed, a gilded frame about her face.

After drinking his fill, he quit the doorway; on silent feet, he approached her.

Flick snipped the stem of a cornflower and considered how best to place it. She held it up, her hand hovering-

Long fingers plucked the bloom from her grasp.

She gasped, but even before her gaze collided with his, she knew who stood beside her. She knew his touch-knew the sense of strength he projected. "Have you seen the General?" she gabbled, frantically trying to slow her racing heart.

"Hmm." Eyes half-closed, he lazily angled the stem this way, then that, then slid it home into the vase. He surveyed his handiwork, then, apparently satisfied, turned to her. "I did see him, yes."

His lazy, indolent-sleepy-expression deceived her not at all; beneath his heavy lids, his eyes were sharp, his gaze incisive. She lifted her chin and picked up the garden shears. "I told you there was no need for any drama."

His lips lifted in a slight smile. "So you did."

Flick stifled a sniff at his tone; she had, indeed, expected his thanks, once he'd had time to consider, to realize what his offer would have meant. She supposed he would marry sometime, but he was only thirty-one, and he definitely didn't want to marry her.

But he made no further comment. Instead, he lounged, shoulders propped against the wall, and, with the same lazy, unnerving air, watched her place her flowers. As the silence stretched, it occurred to her that perhaps he thought she didn't fully appreciate the sacrifice he'd been prepared to make. "It's not that I'm not grateful." She kept her gaze firmly fixed on her blooms.

Her comment succeeded in dissipating a little of his indolence. She felt the sudden focusing of his attention.

"Grateful?"

She continued to snip and set. "For your kind offer to save my reputation. I appreciate it would have entailed a considerable sacrifice on your part-thankfully, there was no need."

His gaze locked on her profile, Demon fought to remain where he was-and not haul her into his arms and kiss her, just to shut her up. "Sacrifice? Actually, I hadn't viewed taking you to wife in quite that light."

"Hadn't you?" She blinked at him in patent surprise, then smiled and turned back to her flowers. "I dare say you would have, once you'd stopped to think the idea through."

Demon simply stared at her. He'd never felt so… dismissed in his life.

"Luckily, there was no reason for worry. I did tell you so."

Luckily for her, what next he might have said, and done, neither of them were destined to learn; Jacobs appeared in the doorway with the information that lunch was awaiting them in the dining parlor.

Flick led the way. Demon no longer expected anything else; he prowled just behind her, making no effort to fully catch up-in his present mood, it was probably wisest if she remained just out of reach.

Lunch was not a success.

Flick grew increasingly impatient with their guest as the meal progressed. He contributed nothing to the conversation beyond answering questions the General threw his way. Instead, broodingly intent, he watched her, as if studying some incomprehensible being of whom he nevertheless disapproved, leaving her to chatter with increasingly feigned brightness until her head ached.

By the time the meal ended and they pushed back their chairs, she was ready to snap at him-if he deigned to give her the chance.

"Well, m'boy-let me know if you detect any weakness in those horses." The General shook hands with Demon, then smiled at Flick. "Why don't you see Demon to the stable, m'dear? It's a lovely day out there." With his usual benign smile, the General waved at the French doors, open to the terrace. "Enjoy the fine weather while you may."

Across the table, Flick met Demon's level gaze. The last thing she wanted to do was, all sweet comfort, accompany him to the stable-she was annoyed with him, at the way he was behaving. It was as if he'd been denied something he wanted, for heaven's sake. He was sulking! All because things hadn't gone as he'd planned-because she'd rescripted his grand gesture for him, and he hadn't got to play the role he'd expected. That of heroic sacrifice.

Drawing a deep breath, she held it; lips compressed, she held his gaze challengingly. Very nearly belligerently.

He merely raised one brow-even more challengingly, more defiantly; stepping back, he gestured to the terrace.

Flick could almost hear the gauntlet thud down on the table between them.

Lifting her head, she stepped around the table, preceding him out the doors, down the steps and across the lawn. Pacing briskly, irritatedly, she was halfway across the lawn before she realized he wasn't with her.

Abruptly stopping, she glanced back. He was strolling slowly, leisurely, exceedingly unhurriedly, in her distant wake. Gritting her teeth, she waited, and waited, for him to catch up. The instant he did, she turned and, elevating her nose to an angle worthy of her ire, she matched her pace to his, strolling at crawling pace just ahead of him.

Two paces later, a warm flush washed over her nape, exposed above her neckline. The odd sensation drifted lower, spreading across her shoulders, then sliding down her spine. It lingered in the hollow of her waist, then, at a telling pace, washed lower, and yet lower-

She caught her breath and stopped to brush an imaginary wrinkle from her skirts. The instant Demon drew level with her, she straightened and stepped out-at his side-praying her fading blush was no longer visible.

Biting her tongue against all manner of heated phrases, she preserved a tense silence. He strolled calmly beside her and gave her not one opening to snipe at him.

The grooms saw them as they emerged from beneath the wisteria, and they ran to get his bays.

Halting at the entrance to the stable yard, Flick's patience came to an end. "I can't see why you're not grateful," she hissed. She kept her gaze on the grooms as they fussed with his horses.

"Can't you? Perhaps that's the problem."

"There isn't any problem."

"Permit me to disagree." He paused, then added, "Aside from anything else, you're glaring."

She whirled and faced him. "I'm glaring at you."

"So I noticed."

"You are impossible!"

"Me?"

For an instant, his blue eyes blinked wide-she could actually imagine he was sincere in his surprise. Swiftly, his eyes searched hers; his gaze sharpened. "Tell me," he murmured, glancing at the lads harnessing the bays, "do you think to marry Dillon eventually?"

"Dillon?" She stared at him, unmindful of the fact that her mouth had fallen open. "Marry Dillon? You are out of your mind. As if I'd marry such a… a… nobody-an inconsequential boy. A man of no real substance. A nincompoop! A-"

"All right-forget I asked."

"For your information, I have no intention of marrying any gentleman unless I want to. I will certainly not marry simply because of some nonsensical social stricture." Her voice cracked with the effort of screaming in whispers. She drew breath and forged on, "And as for your offer-well, you might as well say I must marry because of a mouse!"

The bays came trotting up, led by an eager groom. Tersely, Demon nodded his thanks and took the reins. Climbing to the box seat, he sat and looked at her.

Eyes kindling, she tartly remarked, "I can't see why you aren't grateful-you know perfectly well you don't want to marry me."

He looked down at her, his expression like stone, his eyes hard as blue diamonds. He held her defiant gaze, then his chest swelled.

"You have no idea," he murmured, his diction frighteningly precise, "what I want at all."

He clicked the reins; the bays surged. He swept out of the stable yard and bowled away down the drive.