A Rogues Proposal

The glance he sent her was hard. 'As absolute as such things can be. I could not, in all honor, let a fixed race run.'

'Hmm. I agree it's impossible to let a fixed race run-that's quite out of the question. But…' She let her words trail away, her gaze, questioning, fixed on Demon.

He halted, and looked her way. Then he raised a brow. 'But can I-' He broke off, his gaze on her, then briefly inclined his head. 'Can we legitimately withhold the information until closer to the race, to give ourselves time to follow this contact back to the syndicate?'

'Exactly. That race is next month-more than a couple of weeks away. And the stewards could stop it even if we told them just before the start.'

'Not quite, but if we hold back the information until the week before the race, it would leave us five weeks in which to trace the syndicate.'

'Five weeks? That's plenty of time.'

Demon suppressed a cynical humph. Flick's face was triumphantly aglow; although it was partly at his expense, he had no wish to dim it. When she'd come through the window, he'd been thinking solely in the singular; he was now talking in the plural. Which was what she'd intended; that was why she'd come.

Now she sat, perched victorious on the arm of his settee, one boot swinging, a satisfied smile in her eyes. Her understanding of the honor and responsibilities involved in his position intrigued him. She understood racing, the fraternity and its traditions-not something he'd encountered in a woman before.

But discussing such matters with a sweet innocent felt odd. Especially late in the evening, in his front parlor.

Entirely unchaperoned.

He resumed his pacing-this time, in her direction.

'So'-she almost bobbed in her eagerness-'how do we find the man we saw this evening? Shouldn't we be trying to locate him?'

He halted beside her, his gaze on her face. 'We are. At this instant, three of my men are rolling around the town, searching the inns and taverns.'

She beamed at him. 'Excellent! And then?'

'And then…' He reached for her hand; she surrendered it readily. Smoothly, he drew her to her feet. 'Then we follow him'-holding her gaze, he lowered his voice to a deep purr-'until we learn all we need to know.'

Trapped in his gaze, her hand in his, eyes widening, she mouthed an 'Oh.'

He smiled intently. Wrapping his fingers about her hand, he waited, just a heartbeat, until she trembled.

'We'll find the contact and follow him.' His lids veiling his eyes, he lowered his gaze to her lips, soft, sheening, succulent pink. 'Until he leads us to the syndicate-and then we'll tell the stewards all they need to know.'

When he spoke of 'we' he didn't mean her-but he'd tell her that tomorrow; no need to mar the night.

Raising his lids, he recaptured her gaze, marvelling at the softness of her clear blue eyes. The two of them stood, handfast, gazes locked, mere inches distant, with her trapped between the settee and him. Without conscious thought, he shifted his fingers, brushing the backs of hers.

Her eyes widened even more; her lips parted slightly. Her breath hitched-

Then she blinked, and narrowed her eyes. Frowning, she tugged her hand free. 'I'll leave you now.'

Blinking himself, he released her.

She stepped sideways, heading for the window.

He followed. Close.

She glanced back and up at his face, eyes very wide, her breathing too rapid. 'I dare say I'll see you tomorrow at the stables.'

'You will.'

With fluttering hands, she pushed at the curtains. He reached over her head and drew them wide.

She tugged at the sash. To no avail.

He stepped behind her and reached for the handles, one on either of the pane's lower frame.

Trapping her between his arms, between the window and him. His fingers brushed hers, clasped about the handles. She sucked in a breath and snatched her hands away. Then froze as she realized he surrounded her.

Slowly, he raised the sash-all the way up.

As he straightened, she straightened, too. Her spine stiff, she turned her head and looked him in the eye. 'I'll bid you a good night.'

There was ice and frost in her words. Turning to the window, she sat on the sill; behind her, Demon smiled, slowly, intently.

She swung her legs over and slipped into the darkness. 'Good-bye.'

Her voice floated back to him; in seconds, she'd become a shadow among many, and then she was gone.

Demon's smile deepened, his lips curving as triumphantly as hers had. She wasn't averse to him-the signs had been there, clear for him to read. He didn't know why she'd pulled back, why she'd shaken free of his hold, but it would be easy to draw her back to him.

And then…

He stood at the window for a full five minutes, a smile of anticipation on his lips, staring into the night and dreaming-before reality struck.

Like a bolt.

It transfixed him. Chilled him.

It effectively doused his fire.

Face hardening, he stood in the middle of his parlor and wondered what the hell had got into him.

He rose before dawn and headed for the racecourse, for his stables and Carruthers, who was not at all pleased to learn that he'd lost the services of the best work rider he'd ever employed. For once declining to remain and watch his string exercise, Demon left Carruthers grumbling and set his horses ambling back down the road to his farm. The same road led to the cottage.

Fine mist wreathed the hedgerows and blanketed the meadows; it turned golden as dawn tinged the sky. Flick appeared through the gilded haze, a sleepy stable lad atop the plodding cob, heading in for the start of a new day. Demon reined in his bays and waited for her to reach him.

By the time she halted the cob beside his curricle, she was frowning; deep suspicion glowed in her eyes. He nodded, ineffably polite. 'I've tendered your resignation to Carruthers-he doesn't expect to see you again.'

Her frown deepened; to her credit, she didn't ask why. 'But-'

'The matter's simple. If you hadn't resigned, I would have had to dismiss you.' He trapped her gaze and raised a brow. 'I thought you'd prefer to resign.'

Flick studied his eyes, his face. 'Put like that, I don't have much choice.'

The ends of his lips lifted fractionally. 'None.'

'What story did you tell Carruthers?'

'That your ailing mother slipped away, and you'll be joining your aunt's household in London.'

'So I'm not even supposed to be in the vicinity?'

'Precisely.'

She humphed, but without much heat; they'd found Dillon's contact-she was already thinking ahead. 'What about identifying the contact? Have your men turned up anything?'

Because she was watching closely, she saw his hesitation-the swift weighing of his options.

'We've located him, yes.' His gaze swept her consideringly. 'Gillies is currently doing the honors, with strict instructions to miss nothing. If you'd consent to get properly dressed, perhaps we might confer in more conventional style?'

She raised her brows in question.

His smile-a teasing, alluring temptation to dalliance- flashed. 'Go home and change. I'll call at eleven and take you for a tool about the lanes.'