A Rogues Proposal

Chapter 14

"Drive on!" Demon climbed into the manor's carriage; a groom shut the door behind him. The carriage lurched, then rumbled out of The Angel's stable yard.

"Are you sure Gillies will be able to cope?" Flick asked. "There's no need for you to escort me all the way to Hillgate End."

Settling beside her, Demon glanced at her, then leaned back against the squabs. "Gillies is perfectly capable of locating Bletchley and following him back to London."

He'd gone down to breakfast and to order a tray to be taken up to Flick, only to find Gillies kicking his heels by the main door. Bletchley, it transpired, had already left for the prizefight field.

"Heard him quizzing the innkeep," Gillies had said, "about the special coaches they've put on, running direct from here to London."

After his lack of activity the previous night, it seemed likely Bletchley had dallied in Newmarket purely to attend the prizefight, but… they couldn't be certain he didn't have a meeting arranged to take place amid the crowd about the ring. Neither he nor Gillies had believed that-discussing race-fixing surrounded by a crowd containing so many potentially interested ears smacked of rank stupidity, something the syndicate had shown no sign of being. Gillies hadn't followed Bletchley, but waited for orders.

"He went out this morning with the same crew he was chatting with last night, heading straight for the field."

There was an outside chance of a meeting occurring after the prizefight, although given the aftermath of such events, that, too, seemed unlikely. Still…

Demon had rejigged his plans, sending Gillies after Bletchley to watch and to follow, to London if necessary.

"Gillies knows who to contact in London-we'll set up a watch on Bletchley. He'll have to meet with his masters soon."

Flick humphed impatiently; Demon ignored it. He was relieved that Bletchley was heading south. With him gone, the chances of Flick running headlong into danger were considerably diminished.

With Gillies at the fight, he'd first arranged for a coachman to drive the manor carriage back to Hillgate End, then broken his fast at a leisurely pace, then paid Flick's shot with no explanation whatever, and returned upstairs to escort her, concealingly cloaked and veiled, down to the waiting carriage.

By that time, the fight had started, so there was no one of note left at the inn to witness their joint departure. The only wrinkle in his plan was Ivan the Terrible, presently tied behind the carriage.

Ivan hated being led-especially by a carriage. He was going to be in a foul mood when it came time to ride home.

Demon wasn't, however, disposed to worry about Ivan-before he rode home, he had a number of pressing matters to resolve. The most pressing sat beside him, idly gazing at the scenery, with not the slightest sign of fluster showing in her angelic face.

Which really did surprise him.

He was thirty-one and had bedded scores of women-she was just twenty, and had just spent her first night with a man. Him. Yet her composure was patently genuine. She'd been flustered enough, blushing rosily, when he'd left her in the room and gone to look for breakfast. But by the time he'd returned, she had been perfectly composed, her usual straightforward, openly confident self. Of course, by then, she had dressed.

She'd removed her veil as they'd rolled out of Bury; a quick glance revealed a serene expression, with a slight smile tilting her lips and a soft light in her eyes. As if she was recalling the events of the night and enjoying her memories.

Demon shifted, then looked out of the window-and went over his plans.

Flick was indeed reflecting on the events of the night, and those of the morning, and, further, on how much she'd enjoyed them. She still felt curiously glorious-as if she was glowing all the way to her toes. If this was satiation, she thoroughly approved. Which only made her even more determined on her course.

It seemed clear enough. Demon could love her-of that she felt sure. All she needed to do was to make sure he did before she agreed to marry him.

She needed to make him fall in love with her-she would have scoffed at the thought a mere month ago and labelled it an impossible task. Now, however, the prospects looked good. If last night and this morning were any guide, he was already halfway there.

He cared for her-was very careful of her; he clearly enjoyed giving her pleasure. He'd pleasured her to her toes. In a variety of ways. And remained considerate and caring afterward, in his usual overbearing way.

She spent the drive sunk in pleasant memories, but when they rolled through Newmarket, she inwardly shook herself, and sternly told herself to stop thinking of such things. She'd get precious little pleasuring in the days to come-at least until he came to love her.

She slanted a glance at him, then looked away, and rehearsed her plans yet again.

He spoke as they turned through the gates of Hillgate End.

"In case you're wondering, I intend telling the General that, due to an inadvertent circumstance, you and I were seen together in a chamber at The Angel last night by one of the ton's most rabid scandalmongers, and consequently, you've agreed to marry me."

She turned her head and met his eyes. "I haven't."

His face grew hard. "You've done rather a lot since last evening-precisely what is it you don't believe you've done?"

His tone was precise, his words excessively clipped. She ignored the warning. "I haven't agreed to marry you."

The sound he made was frustration incarnate. Abruptly, he sat up. "Flick-you have been well and truly and very thoroughly compromised this time. You have no choice-"

"On the contrary." She held his gaze. "I can still say no."

Demon stared at her, then narrowed his eyes. "Why would you want to say no?"

"I have my reasons."

"Which are?"

She considered him, then said, "I told you I needed something more than mere circumstance to persuade me to marriage. What you did last night wasn't it."

He frowned, then shook his head, his expression turning grim. "Let me rephrase my intention. I'll tell the General what I said before, then, if you still won't agree to our marriage, I'll tell him the rest-how I spent all night in your bed-and half the night in you."

She raised her brows, considered him steadily, then looked away. "You know you'll never tell him that."

Demon stared at her, at her pure profile, at her chin resolutely firm, her nose tip-tilted-and fought down the urge to lay his hands on her.

She was right, of course-he would never do anything to harm her standing with the General, one of the few people she cared about. The General would very likely understand why he'd acted as he had, but he wouldn't understand her refusal. Any more than he did.

Forcing himself to relax, he sank back against the seat and stared out of the window. The horses clopped on.

"What story did you concoct for the household to explain your trip to Bury?" He asked the question without looking at Flick; he felt her glance, then she answered.

"That I was going to see Melissa Blackthorn-her family lives just past Bury. We often visit on the spur of the moment."

Demon considered. "Very well. You intended visiting Miss Blackthorn-Gillies offered to drive you in the hope of seeing the fight, but when you reached Bury, the street was blocked with incoming traffic and you got trapped in the melee. It got dark-you were still trapped. Not being au fait with prizefights, you sought refuge at The Angel." He glanced at Flick. "Hopefully, no one will learn of your disguise or your story to gain a room."

She shrugged. "Bury's far enough away-none of the staff have family that far afield."

Demon humphed. "We can but hope. So-you were at The Angel when I arrived, intending to stay for the fight. I saw you… and then Lord Selbourne saw us. Thus, this morning, I brought you straight home so we can deal with the current situation." He glanced at Flick. "Can you see any holes?"

She shook her head, then grimaced. "I do hate misleading the General, though."

Demon looked out of the window. "Given we've struggled to avoid all mention of Dillon and the syndicate thus far, I can't see any point mentioning them now." It would only upset the General more to know the current imbroglio was a result of Flick's championing Dillon.

The shadows of the drive fell behind them; ahead, the manor basked in sunshine. The carriage rocked to a stop. Demon opened the door, stepped out, then handed Flick down. Jacobs opened the front door before they knocked; Demon led Flick into the cool hall, then released her.

Mrs. Fogarty came bustling up, fussing about Flick, who slid around her questions easily. Flick cast a watchful, questioning glance at Demon-he met it with his blandest expression. She frowned fleetingly, but had to reorganize her expression to deal with Mrs. Fogarty. With the housekeeper in close attendance, Flick headed to her room.

Demon watched her go, then his lips lifted, just a little at the ends. Challenges-more challenges. Swinging on his heel, he headed for the library.

"So-let me see if I've got this right."

In the chair behind his desk, the General sat back and steepled his fingers. "You and Felicity were again caught in an apparently compromising situation, only this time by someone who will take great delight in ruining Felicity's good name. You, however, are perfectly prepared to marry the chit, but she's proving headstrong, and jibbing at the bit. So, instead of pressing marriage on her in such an abrupt manner, you suggest I agree to send her to your mother, Lady Horatia, to enjoy the delights of the Season in London. Under your mother's wing, even without a formal declaration, it will be surmised that she's your intended, but the interlude will give Felicity time to adjust to the position, and accept marriage to you as the sensible course." He looked up at Demon. "Is that right?"

Standing before the windows, Demon nodded. "Naturally, if, in the course of her time in London, she meets any other gentleman and forms a lasting attachment that is returned, I give you my word to release her without complaint. It's her happiness-her reputation-I'm interested in securing."

"Indeed. Hmm." The General's eyes twinkled. "Well then, no reason whatever she should take exception to a sojourn in London. Do her good anyway, to see all she's missed stuck up here with an old man."

The lunch gong boomed; the General chuckled and rose. "Capital notion all around. Let's go tell her, what?"

Demon smiled easily. Beside the General, he strolled toward the dining room.

"London?" Flick stared at Demon, sitting directly opposite across the luncheon table.

"Hmm-the capital. My mother would love to have you stay with her."

It was all so transparent. Flick glanced to her right, to where the General, nodding mildly, was helping himself to more peas. He seemed serenely unconcerned about her reputation, for which she was honestly grateful to Demon; she couldn't have borne it if the old dear had been distressed. Yet she was fairly certain the only reason he was in such fine fettle, knowing her reputation was, if not precisely in shreds, then certainly rather tattered, was because he believed a stay in London under Lady Horatia's wing would make her change her mind and accept his protege as her husband.

There was a good chance he was right-she certainly hoped so.

And there were a number of good reasons for falling in with Demon's plan. Not least was the fact that Bletchley had gone to London. And while she'd never before felt any interest in tonnish affairs, if she was to marry Demon, then she would need to find her feet in that arena. She was also suddenly insatiably curious as to how, and with whom, he spent his days in London.

Quite aside from all else, if she was going to make him fall in love with her, she needed to be with him.

Her eyes locked on his, she nodded. "Yes-I think I'd like that."

He smiled. "Good. I'll drive you up tomorrow."

"How on earth did that happen?"

Early the next morning, already on the road to London, drawn thence by Demon's powerful bays, Flick swivelled on the curricle's seat and glanced back at Gillies, perched behind. "I thought you were following him?"

Gillies looked pained; Demon answered. "We thought Bletchley was planning to take one of the special coaches back to London from Bury-Gillies heard him asking where to catch them. After watching Bletchley throughout the fight-and learning nothing-at the end, Gillies, quite reasonably, moved to the gate leading back to Bury and waited for Bletchley to pass him. He never did."

"Oh?" Flick glanced back at Gillies.

He grimaced. "He must have caught a ride on some cart back to Newmarket."

"And then hired a horse and, bold as you please, came cantering up the manor drive." Demon set his teeth. That had been too close for his liking-luckily, Bletchley had not seen Flick, nor she, him.

Flick sat back. "I nearly dropped a vase when Jacobs mentioned he'd called, asking after Dillon."

"Thankfully, Jacobs sent him on his way." Demon eased the bays past a farm cart, then let the reins run free. "Bletchley returned to the Rutland Arms and caught the evening mail to London."

"So we've lost him."

He glanced at Flick, relieved to see nothing more than a frown on her face. "For the moment. But we'll come up with him again, never fear."

"London's very big."

"True, but it's possible to keep watch on the likely places Bletchley might meet with a group of gentlemen. The classes don't mix freely at all that many venues. Limmers, Tattersalls, and a few other, less savory haunts."

"Still, isn't it like looking for the proverbial needle?"

Demon hesitated, then grimaced. "There might be another way to identify likely members of the syndicate independent of any meeting, which should make it easier, if a meeting does occur, to track someone to it-and so identify all the syndicate."

"Another way?"

Flick's eyes were firmly fixed on his face. With his gaze on his speeding horses, he outlined his discussions with Heathcote Montague, and what they hoped to discover.

At the end of his explanation, Flick sat back. "Good. So we haven't given up on helping Dillon-it's just that our investigations have changed direction."

"Speaking of Dillon, does he know you've left Newmarket?"

"I sent a message with Jiggs-I told him to tell Dillon that we had to follow up clues in London, that I didn't know when we'd be back, but that he should stay in hiding until we returned. I promised I'd write and tell him what we discover. Jiggs will deliver my letters."

Demon nodded. If nothing else, he'd distanced her from Dillon-while in London, she could concentrate on him, and herself. He was certain his mother would encourage her in that endeavor, while at the same time helpfully denying Flick-a young lady in her charge-the license she would need to pursue Bletchley, the syndicate, or any other villain. Despite the fact both Bletchley and the syndicate were in London, he felt perfectly sanguine about taking Flick there.

As for the danger posed by Lord Selbourne, that was, at least temporarily, in abeyance; his lordship had gone directly into Norfolk to visit with his sister.

The curricle sped south through the bright morning, wheels rolling smoothly along the macadam. Despite losing Bletchley, despite having to revise his plans to accommodate a certain angel's stubbornness, Demon felt in remarkable charity with the world. Their current direction felt right-this was obviously the way to get Flick to say yes. She was, beyond question, already his, but if they had to go through a formal wooing, he was content to remove to London. It was, after all, his home ground. He was looking forward to showing her about-showing her off. Her bright-eyed innocence continued to delight him; through her eyes, he saw aspects of his world he'd long considered boring in an entirely new light.

He slanted a glance at her; the breeze was tugging at her curls, setting her bonnet ribbons twirling. Her eyes were wide, her gaze fixed ahead; her lips, delicate rose, were full, lush, lightly curved. She looked good enough to eat.

Abruptly, he looked ahead, the memory of the taste of her flooding him. Gritting his teeth, he willed the distraction away. He was going to have to keep his demons caged for the foreseeable future-there was no sense in teasing and taunting them. That was the one drawback in placing Flick under his mother's wing-she would be safe from all others, but also safe from him.

Even should she wish otherwise, which was an intriguing, potentially helpful, notion. Mulling over the possibility, he sent his whip out to tickle his leader's ear and urge his horses on.

Beside him, Flick watched the countryside roll past with a keen and eager eye. Anticipation grew with every mile-it was hard to preserve a proper calm. Soon they would reach London; soon, she would see Demon in his other milieu, his other guise. She knew he was considered a rake extraordinaire, yet, until now, her knowledge of him had been restricted to Demon in the country; she had a shrewd notion his tonnish persona would be different from the one she knew. As the miles sped past, she spent the time imagining,, envisioning a more graceful, more elegant, more potent presence-the glittering glamor he would assume when in society, a cloak donned over his true character, all the traits so familiar to her. She couldn't wait to see it.

Despite losing Bletchley, it was impossible to remain sober. Her mood was buoyant, her heart light-she was looking forward to life in a completely new way-facing in a completely unlooked-for direction.

Marriage to Demon-it was a dizzying thought, a dream she had never dared dream. And now she was committed to the enterprise-totally and absolutely. Not that she entertained any doubts about success. In her present mood, that was impossible.

From all she'd heard of London, it would provide the setting-one with the best opportunities-for her to encourage Demon to give her his heart. Then all would be perfect, and her dream would come true.

She sat beside him with barely concealed impatience, waiting for London to appear.

When it did, she blinked. And wrinkled her nose. And winced at the raucous cries. The streets were packed with carriages of every description, the pavements teeming. She had never imagined such close-packed humanity-fresh from the broad plain of Newmarket Heath, she found it disturbing. She felt hemmed in on every side with the sheer weight of humankind. And the noise. And the squalor. And the urchins-everywhere.

She'd lived in London for only a short time before, with her aunt at her London house. She couldn't remember any sights such as those she now saw, but it had, after all, been a long time ago. As Demon concentrated on his horses, deftly tacking through the traffic, she edged closer until she could feel the warmth of his body through her pelisse.

To her relief, the fashionable areas were more as she recalled-quiet streets lined with elegant houses, neat squares with fenced gardens at their centers. Indeed, this part of London was better, neater, more beautiful than her memories. Her aunt had lived in Bloomsbury, which was not nearly as fashionable as Berkeley Square, which was where Demon took her.

He reined in the bays before a large mansion, as imposing as the most imposing she'd seen. As Gillies took the reins and Demon stepped down, Flick stared up at the three-storeyed facade and suddenly knew what "being not quite up to snuff" felt like.

Then Demon took her hand; stilling her fears, she shuffled along the seat and let him hand her to the ground. Clutching her parasol's handle tightly, she took his profferred arm, and climbed the steps beside him.

If the house was imposing, slightly scarifying, the butler, Highthorpe, was worse. He opened the door to Demon's knock and looked down his beaked nose at her.

"Ah, Highthorpe-how's the leg?" With an affectionate smile at the butler, Demon handed Flick over the threshold. "Is her ladyship in?"

"My leg is quite improved, thank you, sir." Holding the door wider, Highthorpe bowed deferentially; he closed it after them, and turned, his starchy demeanor somewhat softer. "Her ladyship, I believe, is in her sanctuary."

Demon's smile deepened. "This is Miss Parteger, Highthorpe. She'll be staying with Mama for the nonce. Gillies will bring her bags around."

It might have been a trick of the light beaming through the fanlight, yet Flick could have sworn a gleam of interest flashed in Highthorpe's eyes. He smiled as he bowed again to her. "Miss. I'll mention to Mrs. Helmsley to prepare a room for you at once-I'll have your bags taken there. No doubt you'll wish to refresh yourself after your journey."

"Thank you." Flick smiled back-Highthorpe suddenly sounded much more comfortable. Demon drew her on.

"I'll leave you in the drawing room while I fetch Mama." He opened a door and ushered her inside.

One glance about the elegant blue-and-white room had her turning back to him. "Are you sure this is a good idea? I could always stay with my aunt-"

"Mama will be delighted to meet you." He made the statement as if she hadn't spoken. "I won't be above a few minutes."

He went out, closing the door behind him. Flick stared at the white painted panels-he didn't come back in. Sighing, she looked around.

She considered the white damask settee, then looked down at her plain, definitely old, outmoded pelisse. Putting one in contact with the other seemed like sacrilege. So she stayed on her feet and shook out her skirts, trying vainly to rearrange them to hide the creases. What would Lady Horatia-the lady who presided over such a well-appointed drawing room-think of her in her far-from-elegant attire?

The point proved academic.

The latch clicked, the door swung wide, and a tall, commandingly elegant lady swept in.

And descended on her, a huge smile on her face, her eyes alight with a welcome Flick could not imagine what she'd done to deserve. But there was no mistaking the warmth with which Lady Horatia embraced her.

"My dear!" Touching a scented cheek to hers, Lady Horatia straightened and held her at arms' length, not to inspect her dowdy pelisse but to look into her face. "I'm so very delighted to meet you, and to welcome you to this house. Indeed"-she shot a glance at Demon-"I understand it will be my pleasure to introduce you to the ton." Looking back at Flick, Lady Horatia beamed. "I couldn't be more delighted!"

Flick smiled warmly, gratefully.

Lady Horatia's smile deepened; her blue eyes, very like Demon's, twinkled expressively. "Now we can send Harry away and get acquainted."

Flick blinked, then realized, as Lady Horatia turned to Demon, that she was referring to him.

"You may come back for dinner." Lady Horatia raised a brow-the gesture appeared haughtily teasing. "I presume you are free?"

Demon-Harry-merely smiled. "Of course." He looked at Flick. "I'll see you at seven." With a nod for her and another for his mother, he turned and strolled to the door; it shut softly behind him.

"Well!" Lady Horatia turned to Flick, and smiled exultantly. "At last!"