A Rogues Proposal

Chapter 1O

For Flick, their journey to the library was the start of a most peculiar week.

Demon drove her back to the manor by the longest possible route, ostensibly to try the blacks' paces. As he consented to let her handle the ribbons again, she refrained from making any comment on his high-handed arrogance-as it happened, she hadn't had anything better to do.

At least, nothing to compare with the sensation of bowling along, the breeze ruffling her hair, the ribbons taut in her hands. The sheer exhilaration of tooling his curricle, well-sprung and built for speed, with the blacks high-stepping down the lanes, had worked its addictive magic-she was hooked.

When he drew up before the manor, she was smiling so brightly that she couldn't possibly have admonished him.

Which, from the gleam in his eye, was precisely as he'd planned.

He was back the next morning, although this time, it wasn't her he had come to see; he spent an hour with the General, discussing a line of horses the General was investigating. Of course, the General invited him to stay for luncheon, and he accepted.

Later, she strolled with him to the stable. She waited, but, other than an artful comment about enjoying the view-it was a brisk day and her skirts were flapping-he said nothing. His eyes, however, seemed unusually brilliant, his gaze especially attentive; despite the breeze, she didn't feel cold.

Day followed day; his visits highlighted each one. She could never be certain when or where he would appear, which was doubtless why she found herself listening for his footsteps.

And it wasn't just his gaze that was attentive.

Occasionally, he would touch her, just a hand at her back, or a sliding of his fingers from her hand to her wrist. Such touches always made her catch her breath-and flush in a most peculiar way.

Her worst moment came when he called one afternoon and inveigled her into joining him to watch the strings exercising on the Heath-he was still watching Bletchley during morning and afternoon stables.

"Hills and Cross are doing the bulk of it these days. They're less identifiable than Gillies or me."

They were standing by the Heath, she with her hands clasped on the handle of her furled parasol. "Has Bletchley made any further arrangements-fixed any more fixes?"

Demon shook his head. "I'm starting to wonder…"

When he said nothing more, she prompted, "What?"

He glanced at her, then grimaced and looked across the close-cropped turf to where his string was going through their paces. Bletchley lounged under his favorite oak; from there, he could see three separate strings working.

"I'm starting to wonder," Demon mused, "whether he's got any more fixes to place. He's been chatting up the jockeys, true enough, but lately it's been more in the nature of ingratiating himself with them. Other than those three fixes we know of, all of which are for major Spring Carnival races, he hasn't made any further arrangements."

"So?"

"So it's possible all the fixes the syndicate want for the Spring Carnival are now in place-just those three. Considering the races involved, they should clear enough for the greediest of men. I'm wondering if Bletchley is simply whiling away time until his masters are due to check with him, and putting in his hours by learning as much as he can about the race jockeys with a view to making his next round of fixes, most likely in a few months-maybe at the July meeting-easier to arrange."

Flick studied Bletchley. "He's looking for weaknesses? Something to give him a hold over the jockeys?"

"Hmm. Possibly."

She knew the instant he switched his gaze from Bletchley to her, knew precisely when his mind shifted from fixes to… whatever it was he was thinking about her.

A gentle tug on one curl had her turning her face, only to find him much nearer, closer…

"Stop staring at him so deliberately-he'll notice."

"I'm not staring at Bletchley." She was staring at his lips. They curved, then drew fractionally nearer…

She stiffened, blinked and dragged her eyes up to his. "Perhaps we'd better stroll." Dalliance was all very well, but she was not about to indulge in any of his mind-whirling kisses-not on the open Heath.

His lips quirked, but he inclined his head. "Perhaps we had."

He turned her; with her hand on his sleeve, they strolled along the Heath's edge-while she hoped he'd exercise his usual initiative and find an empty stable.

To her unreasoning annoyance, he didn't.

The next morning, he took her into town, so they could savor the scones at The Twig and Bough, which he insisted were a cut above excellent. After their repast, they strolled down the High Street, where Mrs. Pemberton beamed at them from her carriage, exchanging gracious greetings.

Flick was quite sure the vicar's wife had never before looked at her with such patent approval.

Which, more than anything else-far more than the insistence of her silly senses or the wonderings of her ill-informed mind-made her question what Demon was about. Really about.

She'd ridden high-bred horses all her life; she'd long ago learned the knack of putting aside all unnerving thoughts and emotions. She had, she thought, been doing an excellent job of ignoring the uncertainties his constant squiring of her had evoked. But after their meeting with Mrs. Pemberton, she could no longer ignore the fact that it really did appear that he was wooing her. Courting her.

Just like he'd said.

Had the moonlight addled his wits-or hers?

The question demanded an answer, not least because his continuing presence was stretching her nerves taut. As it was the same question, albeit in slightly different form, that had been circling in her brain for the past week without answer, there was obviously only one way forward.

And, after all, it was Demon-she'd known him nearly all her life. She hadn't shied away from asking for his help with Dillon, and he'd given it. So…

She waited until they were rolling down the manor drive the next morning for a tool about the lanes so she could hone her driving skills on his powerful bays. He was still holding the reins. Without giving herself time to think, to balk, she asked, "Why are you behaving like this-spending so much time with me?"

His head whipped around; an incipient frown darkened his eyes. "I told you. I'm wooing you."

She blinked; the storm warning in his eyes wasn't encouraging, but she was determined to have all clear. "Yes," she admitted, evenly, carefully. "But that was just…" With one hand, she gestured airily.

His frown crystallized; he slowed the bays. "Just what?"

"Well," she shrugged. "Just that night. In the moonlight."

Demon hauled the bays to a halt. "What about the past days? It's been nearly a week." He was appalled. Swearing, not entirely under his breath, he pulled on the brake, tied off the reins and faced her. "Don't tell me"-narrowing his eyes, he trapped her gaze-"that you haven't noticed. That you haven't been paying attention."

She stared at him, her eyes widening, and widening, as she read the message in his. "You're serious."

Her patent astonishment nearly did him in.

"Serious?" He clenched one fist on the railing in front of her, slapped the other on the seat behind her and locked his gaze on her face. "Of course I'm serious! What in all creation do you imagine these last days have been about?"

"Well…" Given the anger vibrating in his tone, Flick decided she'd be wiser not to say. He wasn't yelling-she almost wished he was. His clipped, forcefully enunciated words were somehow more menacing than bellows.

"I am not in the habit of dancing attendance on fresh-faced chits just for the pleasure of their innocent smiles."

She blinked. "I suppose not."

"You may be certain not." His jaw hardened to match the rest of his face; his eyes narrowed to slits. "So what the devil have you been imagining?"

If there had been a way of avoiding the question, she'd have taken it, but the look in his eyes declared he wasn't about to drop the subject. And she had been the one to bring it up-and she did still want to know. Holding his gaze, she carefully said, "I thought it was just dalliance."

It was his turn to blink. "Dalliance?"

"A way to fill in the time." Spreading her hands, she shrugged. "For all I know, telling a lady you're wooing her while alone in a courtyard in the moonlight might be standard practice, entirely unremarkable behavior for-"

Caution caught her tongue. She glanced at him; he smiled-all wolf. "For a rake such as I?"

She suppressed a glare. "Yes! How am I supposed to know how you go on?"

Narrow-eyed, he studied her face; his softened not at all. "You may take it from me that when I say I'm courting you, I am." Turning forward, he started to untie the reins.

Flick straightened. "Yes, all right. But you still haven't told me why."

His gaze on his horses, Demon exhaled through set teeth. He released the brake. "Because I want to marry you, of course."

"Yes, but that's what I don't understand. Why do you want to marry me?"

He was going to throttle her if she didn't leave off with her whys; jaw setting, he nicked the reins-the bays stepped out. He felt her irate glance.

"You can't expect me to believe you've suddenly taken it into your head that you need to marry me. You didn't even know I existed-well, not other than a pigtailed brat-not until you caught me on The Flynn's back." She swung on the seat to face him. "So why?"

Feathering the turn into the road, he set the bays pacing. "I want to marry you because you're the right wife for me." Anticipating her next why, he stated, "You're an eligible parti-you're well-born, your connections are commendable. You're the General's ward-you've grown up around here, and you're remarkably knowledgeable about horses." He had his excuses down pat. "All in all, we're an excellent match." He glanced at her sharply. "A fact everyone seems to have realized except you."

She looked ahead, and he turned back to his horses. He wasn't sure he trusted his ears, but he thought she sniffed. She certainly put her nose in the air.

"That sounds horridly cold-blooded to me."

Cold-blooded? He was going to throttle her. Just the thought of how heated his blood had been, simmering uncomfortably for more than a week, hot need flaring every time she drew close-and as for those times she'd been in his arms, stretched, flush, body to body against him…

He set his teeth and heard his jaw crack. His leader jibbed; dragging in a breath, he held it, carefully resettled his horses, then exhaled slowly.

"I also want to marry you"-he forced the words out through gritted teeth-"because I desire you."

He felt her questioning, innocently curious gaze-he wasn't fool enough to meet it-that puzzled look that invited him to demonstrate, to teach her. She'd perfected that look until it could lure even him into deep waters. His gaze locked on his leader's ears, he kept driving.

"What, exactly?…"

He hauled in a breath. "I want you warming my bed." He wanted her warming him. "The fact that I desire you as a man desires a woman is incidental. It merely adds another element to my wooing of you, and our eventual marriage." He quickly changed tacks, focusing on the one aspect he suspected had most contributed to her confusion. She was direct and straightforward-she'd misinterpreted his subtlety. She equated subtleties with playing, with teasing-by definition not serious. "Given your age and lack of experience, as I wish to marry you, a period of courtship is deemed mandatory, during which time my behavior must follow a prescribed pattern."

He was driving dangerously fast. He didn't want to, but he drew back on the reins, slowing to a safer pace. He'd taken a circuitous route; it wasn't necessary to stop and turn in order to return to Hillgate End. Which was just as well. Stopping with him in his present mood and her in her curious one was the definition of unwise.

She'd been listening carefully; he heard the frown in her voice as she repeated, "Prescribed pattern."

"Society dictates that I can squire you about, but I can't press my suit too openly, certainly not forcefully. That would be improper. I have to be subtle. I shouldn't tell you how I feel outright-that's not the way things are done. I shouldn't seek to see you in any clandestine manner. I shouldn't kiss you-and I should certainly not mention that I desire you-even let you get any hint of that fact. You're not supposed to know about desire."

He checked the bays for a corner, then set them pacing again. "In fact, this entire conversation shouldn't be occurring-Mrs. Pemberton and company would unhesitatingly class it as exceedingly improper."

"That's ridiculous! How will I know if I don't ask? And I can't ask anyone else about this-only you."

Demon heard the uncertain note in her voice; much of his tension left him, swamped by a surge of emotion he was growing accustomed to-one Flick and only Flick could evoke. It encompassed an urge to protect, but that wasn't the sum of it.

He sighed, but didn't look at her-he wasn't yet sure how much in control he was, wasn't yet sure he could resist that puzzled, questioning look in her blue eyes. "It's all right to ask me as long as we're alone. You can say whatever you wish to me, but you must be careful not to let anything we discuss privately influence how you behave when we're not private."

Flick nodded. The possibility that he might forbid her to question him, especially about subjects like desire, had shaken her-for an instant she'd feared he would erect a wall between them. Thankfully not.

Yet she still didn't entirely understand.

That he seriously wanted to marry her was hard enough to accept. That he wanted to marry her because he desired her-that was beyond her comprehension. She'd assumed she'd always be a child in his eyes. Apparently not.

As the curricle rolled on, she pondered desire. The whole concept, both in general and specifically, intrigued her. She recalled very well the shimmering net he could throw, the temptation, the promise in the moonlight. Her experience beyond that was nonexistent-all she'd known previously came from overhearing maids comparing notes on their swains. But… there was one point that, no matter how she construed it, remained unexplained.

Drawing a deep breath, her gaze, like his, fixed on the ribbon of lane stretching before them, she asked, "If you desire me"-she felt her blush heat her cheeks, but she doggedly plowed on-"as a man desires a woman, why do you go rigid when we touch?"

When he didn't immediately answer, she expanded, "Like that night in the courtyard when we kissed-you stopped suddenly. Was that due to society's strictures"-she risked a glance at him-"or something else?"

He went rigid as she looked at him; she could both sense it and see it. Sense the sudden clenching as if it was her own gut, see the muscles beneath his sleeve tense until each band was clearly delineated. As for his face, when she glanced up in surprise, she found it as hard as stone.

Amazed, she lifted a finger and poked his upper arm-it was like stubbing her finger against rock. "Like that." She frowned at him. "Are you sure it's not aversion?"

"It's-not-aversion." Demon didn't know how he got the words out; his hands were locked so tightly about the reins that he could only pray the bays didn't choose this particular moment to act up. "Believe me," he reiterated, and had to struggle to draw breath. "It's not aversion."

After a moment, she prompted, "Well?"

He'd told her she could ask. If he didn't get her wed and into bed soon, she might kill him with her questions. He exhaled; his chest felt as tight as a drum. Dredging deep for strength, he took a death grip on his inner demons. His voice almost quavering with the effort of not reacting, he explained, "That night in the moonlight, if I hadn't stopped when I did-hadn't got you back into the drawing room in short order-you would have found yourself ravished under the magnolia in the vicarage courtyard."

"Oh?"

Fascinated consideration rang in her tone.

"I'd even worked out how to accomplish the deed. I would have laid you on the stone edging around the tree and lifted your skirts-you wouldn't have stopped me."

He risked a glance at her; blushing lightly, she shrugged. "We'll never know the truth of that."

He bit back a retort; narrow-eyed, he focused his gaze on her.

She glanced up, met it, and blushed more deeply. She looked ahead. After a moment, she wriggled, shifting on the seat. "All right. I understand about the courtyard, but why does it happen-you freezing like that-now? You even did it yesterday on the Heath when I accidentally bumped into you." Frowning, she looked up. "You can't want to ravish me every time we meet."

Oh, yes, he could. Demon gritted his teeth and let the bays lengthen their stride. "Desire is like a disease-once you've caught it, every further encounter makes it worse."

He was exceedingly thankful when she accepted that comment with a humph. She stared ahead, then he felt another of her considering glances.

"I won't break, you know. I won't have hysterics, or-"

"Very likely." He uttered the words as repressively as he could.

She humphed again. "Well, I still don't understand. If you want to marry me anyway…"

He couldn't miss her implication-couldn't stop himself from turning his head-and reading, blazoned in the blue of her eyes, her curiosity, and a very definite invitation…

Swallowing a virulent curse, he swung his gaze back to the lane. Explaining might just have made things worse. He'd thus far managed to hold his demons in check-but what if she picked up the whip?

Oh no, no, no, no, no. He knew what he was, and what she was, and they were literally eons apart. It would take her years-at least an intensive six months-to even come close to comprehending the level of sexual knowledge he possessed. But he could guess what she was thinking, what route her innocent thoughts had taken. He had to head her off, quash any thoughts she had of jumping into that particular sea feet first. It simply couldn't happen like that. At least, not with him.

Unfortunately, at no point had she become wary of him, much to his disgust. She'd somehow gone from regarding him as an uncle to regarding him as an equal. Which was equally erroneous. His jaw ached, along with most of his body. As for his brain, that simply hurt. "It's not going to happen like that." The effort of explaining things he didn't want to risk thinking about was wearing him down.

"Oh?"

She had those Ohs down to a fine art-they always prodded him to explain.

"Desire leads to physical seduction but, in your case-in our case-that is not going to translate to any quick, rushed, illicit tumble in a courtyard or anywhere else."

He waited for her Oh; instead, she asked, "Why?"

Because he was going to train her to be his very own fallen angel. He shook aside the thought. "Because…" He struggled, then blinked; if he hadn't been driving, he would have flung up his hands in defeat. Setting his jaw, he reached for the whip. "Because you're an innocent, and you deserve better than that. And I know better than that." Oh, yes-this impinged on his ego as well. "I'll seduce you as you deserve to be seduced-slowly. Innocence isn't something you should discard like an old shoe. It has a physical value-a passionate value-all its own."

His frown deepening, he kept his gaze fixed on his leader's ears. "Innocence shouldn't be tarnished, it shouldn't be crushed. It should be made to bloom. I know." Those last two words were as much realization as assurance. "Getting innocence to bloom takes time, takes care and attention and expertise." His voice deepened. "It takes passion and desire, commitment and devotion to coax innocence from bud to bloom, to encourage it to unfurl into full flower without a single petal bruised."

Was he still talking of her innocence, or did he mean something more-something of which he was as innocent as she?

To his relief, she said nothing but sat silently and considered. He considered, too-all that he wanted, the totality of his desire.

He was acutely conscious of her sitting beside him. He could feel his own heartbeat, thudding in his chest, pulsing in his fingertips, throbbing in his loins. For long moments, the only sounds about them were the steady clack of the bays' hooves and the repetitive rattle of the wheels.

Then she stirred.

He shot her a glance, saw her frown-saw her open her mouth-

He jerked his gaze forward. "And for God's sake, don't you dare ask why."

He felt her glare; from the corner of his eye, he saw her stick her nose in the air, shut her lips, primly fold her hands, and pointedly look over the landscape.

Jaw clenched, he whipped up his horses.

By the time they reached the gates of Hillgate End, he'd regained sufficient use of his brain to remember what he'd intended to tell Flick during the drive.

Setting the bays pacing up the shady avenue, he slanted a glance at her and wondered how much to reveal. Despite his distraction with her, he hadn't forgotten about the syndicate; he knew she hadn't, either.

The truth was, he was growing uneasy. They'd been following Bletchley for weeks and had learned nothing about the syndicate other than that it appeared exceedingly well organized. In the circumstances, he didn't feel happy about fixing all their hopes on Bletchley.

So he'd racked his brain for alternatives. He'd considered requesting help from the rest of the Bar Cynster but had yet to do so. Vane and Patience were in Kent; Gabriel and Lucifer were in London, but needed to keep their eyes on the twins. Richard was, at last report, rather busy with his witch in Scotland. And Devil would be busy with spring planting. Be that as it may, Devil was reasonably close at Somersham. If things got difficult, he'd call on Devil, but, given that all matters to do with racing fell within his particular area of expertise, there seemed little point in summoning aid just yet. He needed to sight the enemy first, before he called in the cavalry.

To which end…

He drew the curricle up before the steps with a flourish and stepped down. Taking Flick's hand, he helped her alight, then fell in beside her as she headed for the steps.

"I'm going to London tomorrow-there's some business I need to see to." He stopped at the base of the steps.

Already two steps up, she halted and swung to face him, a whole host of questions in her eyes.

"I'll be back the day after tomorrow, probably late."

"But… what about Bletchley?"

"Don't worry about him." He trapped her blue gaze. "Gillies, Hills and Cross will keep an eye on him."

Flick blinked at him. "But what if something happens?"

"I doubt it will, but Gillies will know what to do."

Flick had far less confidence in Gillies than she had in his master. However… she nodded. "Very well." She held out her hand. "I'll wish you a safe journey, then."

Taking her hand, he lifted a brow. "And a speedy return?"

She raised her brows haughtily. "I dare say I'll see you when you get back."

He trapped her gaze. His fingers shifted about her hand-raising it, he turned it and pressed his lips fleetingly to her wrist.

Her pulse leapt; she caught her breath.

He smiled devilishly. "Count on it."

Releasing her hand, he swept her an elegant bow and strode back to his waiting horses.

Flick watched as he leapt up to the seat, then wheeled the bays with matchless authority and set them pacing down the drive. She watched until he disappeared from sight, swallowed up by the shadows beneath the trees.

A frown slowly forming in her eyes, she turned and climbed the steps. The door was unlatched; she went in, closing it behind her. Crossing the hall, she greeted Jacobs with an absentminded smile, then continued on through the house, out on to the terrace and so onto the lawn. The lawn she had so often in recent times strolled with Demon.

If anyone had told her even three weeks before that the thought of not seeing a gentleman for two whole days would dim her mood-would sap her anticipation for those same days-she would have laughed.

She wasn't laughing now.

Not that she was about to succumb to listless lassitude, she had far too much to do. Like deciding how she felt about desire.

She considered the point as she passed beneath the trees and on into the wisteria-shaded walk. Hands clasped behind her, she fell to slowly pacing up and down the gravel.

He wanted to marry her-he intended to marry her. He expected her to say yes-he clearly believed she would.

After this afternoon, and their frank conversation, she at least knew precisely where he stood. He wanted to marry her for all the socially acceptable reasons, and because he desired her.

Which left her facing one very large, formidable question. Would she accept him?

It wasn't a question she'd expected to face. Never in her wildest dreams had she imagined that he, her idol-her ideal gentleman-would want to marry her. Would look at her, a pigtailed brat reborn, and feel desire. The only reason she could state that point, and view the prospect with quite amazing equanimity, was that, deep down, she was still struggling to believe it.

It still seemed like a dream.

But…

She knew he was in earnest.

Reaching the end of the walk, she squinted at the clock above the stable arch. There was still an hour before luncheon; all about her was silent, no one else was in sight. Turning, she fell to pacing again, trying to organize her thoughts into a sensible sequence.

The first point she had to consider was obvious. Did she love Demon?

Somewhat to her surprise, the answer was easy.

"I've been secretly in love with him for years," she muttered. The admission left her with a very odd feeling in her stomach.

She was so disconcerted, so startled to find her heart had made up its mind long ago and not told her, that she reached the end of the walk before she could set the point aside, accept that it was decided, and move on.

"Next, does he love me?"

No answer came. She mentally replayed their conversations, but there was nothing he'd said that shed light on that point.

She grimaced. "What if he doesn't love me?"

The answer to that was absolute. If he didn't love her, she couldn't marry him. Her certainty was unshakeable, deeply embedded within her.

To her mind, love and marriage went hand in hand. She knew that wasn't society's view, but it was hers, formed by her own observations. Her parents had loved deeply-it had shown in their faces, in their demeanor, whenever they'd been in the same room. She'd been seven when she'd last seen them, waving good-bye from the rail of their boat as it pulled away from the dock. While their features had blurred with the years, that glow that had always been theirs had not-it still shone strongly in her memory.

They'd left her a fortune, and they'd left her a memory-she was grateful for the fortune, but she valued the memory more. The knowledge of what love and marriage could be was a precious, timeless legacy.

One she would not turn her back on.

She wanted that glow for herself-she always had. She'd grown up with that expectation. From all she'd gleaned about the General and his wife, Margery, theirs, too, had been a union blessed.

Which brought her back to Demon.

Frowning, she paced back and forth, considering his reasons for marrying her. His socially acceptable reasons were all very well, yet superficial and not essential. They could be dismissed, taken for granted.

Which left her with desire.

One minute was enough to summarize all she knew on that subject. Questions like Did desire encompass love? Did love encompass desire? were beyond her ability to answer. Until this past week, she hadn't even known what desire was, and while she now knew what it felt like, her experience of it remained minimal. A fact their recent discussion had emphasized.

There was clearly much she had to learn about desire-love or no love.

For the next half hour, she paced and pondered; by the time the lunch gong sounded, she'd reached one clear conclusion, which raised one simple question. She had, she thought, as she strolled back to the house, made good progress.

Her conclusion was absolute and inviolable-utterly unchangeable. She would marry with love, or not at all. She wanted to love, and be loved in return-it was that or nothing.

As for her question, it was straightforward and pertinent: Was it possible to start with desire-strong desire-and progress to love?

Lifting her face to the sun, she closed her eyes. She felt reassured, certain of what she wanted, how to face what was to come.

If Demon wanted to marry her, wanted her to say yes when he asked for her hand, then he would need to teach her more about desire, and convince her that her question could be answered in the affirmative.

Opening her eyes, she lifted her skirts; climbing the steps, she went in to lunch.