A Rogues Proposal

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.

Chapter 8

'I wondered if you'd care for a drive?'

Gasping, Flick whirled; the large vase she was carrying shook, slipped-

Demon reached out and steadied it; his fingers brushed hers.

Flick trembled. She drew her hands away, leaving him holding the vase. Standing in the sunshine streaming through the gallery windows, she stared at him, disjointed phrases tangling on her tongue. She wanted to rail at him for creeping up on her-again. She wanted to scowl or at least frown-she hadn't forgiven him for his behavior of yesterday.

She wanted to ask what he'd meant by his parting comment. 'A drive?' Her head was still whirling.

He shrugged, his lids veiling his eyes. 'Just a tool about the lanes for half an hour or so.'

She drew in a steadying breath. Twenty-four hours had passed since he'd driven away-twenty-four hours in which she'd thought of little else but him. Swinging to the windows, she looked out on another glorious spring day. Simultaneously, she felt the warm flush she was growing accustomed to slide down her back.

'The breeze is warm. You won't need a spencer.'

Just as well; she didn't have one that wouldn't look hideous with this gown-white mull muslin sprinkled with tiny gold and purple daisies. Flick nodded, determination filling her. 'A drive would be very nice.'

She turned to face him-he was still holding the vase.

'Where do you want this?'

She gestured down the gallery. 'If you'll put it on the table at the end, I'll get my parasol and meet you in the hall.'

She didn't wait for his nod but headed for her room-her steps eager, her heart lighter, even if she'd yet to meet his eyes directly. They had to get past this silly hitch in their friendship, over the hurdle of yesterday-a drive would be a good start.

A good start to what she was no longer sure by the time Demon turned his bays back up the manor drive. She'd imagined they'd simply slide back to their earlier, easy friendship-she'd expected, after the initial, inevitable stiffness evaporated, to once again encounter the teasing light she'd so often seen in his blue eyes.

Instead…

Angling her parasol, she studied his face as he tooled the curricle up the drive. Shadows from the enclosing trees wreathed his features, but they did nothing to soften the patriarchal lines of his nose and chin. His was an angular face, high cheekbones shadowing the long planes of his cheeks, a broad forehead above large eyes. A hard face, its austerity seductively flavored by the frankly sensual line of his thin lips, the brooding languor of his heavy lids.

She had never really looked, not so deeply. His had been the face of a man she'd thought she'd known. She was no longer so sure of that.

Realigning her parasol, she looked ahead as they swept out of the trees and bowled along beside the lawns. The end of the drive was in sight, and she'd yet to understand why his teasing looks had been replaced by glances much more direct, much more unnerving. Much more intent. She'd yet to determine where he thought they were heading. Only then could she decide whether she agreed with him or not.

Demon sent the bays into a tight curve so that the curricle fetched up neatly before the steps. He tied off the reins and stepped down, hiding his satisfied smile, along with his awareness of the puzzled looks Flick continued to direct his way.

Strolling around the carriage, he helped her down; releasing her hand, he strolled beside her up the steps. Glancing at her, he met her blue gaze, his expression mild and urbane. 'If you would, tell the General that I'm checking into those horses he mentioned yesterday. I'll call on him tomorrow.'

She searched his eyes, then nodded. 'Yes, of course.'

He smiled easily. 'I hope you enjoyed our drive.'

'Oh-yes. It was very pleasant. Thank you.'

His smile deepened. 'Your enjoyment is all the thanks I need.' Reaching beyond her, he jangled the doorbell. Releasing it, he held her gaze for an instant, then bowed, exquisitely correct. 'I'll leave you then. Good-