A Rogues Proposal

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