A Rogues Proposal

shed her beautiful gown and leave it lying on the rug.

No one to see her climb into attire that would have made any lady blush.

Ten minutes later, once more Flick the lad, she crept downstairs. The door was left unlatched until Demon's father came in, usually close to dawn. Until then, Highthorpe polished silver in his pantry, just beyond the baise door. Flick inched down the hall. The front door opened noiselessly-she eased it back just far enough to squeeze through, worried that a draft might alert Highthorpe. Only after she'd closed it again and gently set the latch down did she breathe freely.

Then she darted down the steps and into the street.

She stopped in the shadow of an overhang. Her first impulse was to retrace the carriage's journey, find Bletchley, then follow him through the night. This, however, was London, not Newmarket-it was hardly wise, even dressed as she was, to slink through the streets in the dark.

Accepting reality she headed for Albemarle Street.

Chapter 2O

Luckily, Albemarle Street wasn't far. She found the narrow house easily enough-Horatia had pointed it out when they'd driven past. Demon lived alone with only Gillies as his general factotum, for which Flick was duly grateful-at least she wouldn't have to cope with strangers.

Slipping through the shadows to the front steps, she noted a lone carriage a few doors down the street. The coachman was shuffling on the box, settling under a blanket; thankfully, his back was to her.

Flick crept up the steps. She reached for the brass knocker, steeling herself to tap gently, but the door gave, just an inch. Catching her breath, she stared at the gap. Splaying her fingers, she gently pushed-the door swung enough for her to slip through.

In the dimness beyond, she looked around, then eased the door closed. She was in a narrow hall, a flight of stairs directly before her. The wall to her right was shared with the next house; to her left lay a closed door, presumably to the parlor. A narrow corridor ran back beside the stairs.

Demon might not be home-there was no light showing beneath the parlor door. Looking up, Flick discerned a faint light low on the landing above. The room upstairs was probably his bedroom.

She bit her lip and considered the narrow stairs.

And heard a sudden scuffle, then the scrape of chair legs on polished boards.

Followed, quite distinctly, by a purring, feminine, highly accented voice: 'Harrrrry, my demon…'

Flick's feet were on the stairs before she knew it.

From above came a vibrant oath. Then, 'What the devil are you doing here, Celeste?'

'Why, I've come to keep you company, Harrrry-it's cold tonight. I've come to keep you- all of you-warrrrrrm.'

Another oath, as heated as the last, answered that. Then came, 'This is ridiculous. How did you get in here?'

'Never mind that-here I am. You should, at the very least, reward me for my enterprise.'

In the shadows on the landing, hard by the door, Flick heard a deep, aggravated, very masculine sigh.

'Celeste, I know English isn't your first language, but no is no in most tongues. I told you at least four times! It's over. Finis!'

It sounded as if the words were forced through gritted teeth.

'You don't mean that-how can you?'

Celeste's tone conveyed a purring pout. The soft shushing of silk reached Flick's straining ears-she pressed close, one ear to the panel.

An explosive expletive nearly rocked her on her heels.

'Dammit! Don't do that!'

A brief scuffle ensued. A confused medley of muttered oaths mixed with Celeste's increasingly explicit cajoling had Flick frowning-

The door was hauled open.

'Gillies!'

Flick jumped-and stared, wide-eyed, into Demon's face, watched his snarling expression transform in a blink to utter blankness.

In utter, abject disbelief, Demon stood in his shirtsleeves on the threshold of his bedroom, fury still wreathing his faculties, one hand imprisoning the wrists of his importuning ex-mistress, his gaze locked with the wide blue eyes of his innocent wife-to-be.

For one definable instant, his brain literally reeled.

Flick, thank heaven, was as stunned as he-she stared up at him and uttered not one peep.

Then Gillies shuffled into the hall. 'Yessir?'

Demon looked down the stairs. Behind him, Celeste hissed and clawed at his hands. He filled the doorway so she couldn't see Flick, now shrinking back into the corner of the tiny landing, tugging her cap low, pulling her muffler over her face.

Hauling in a breath, he stepped forward and turned, squashing Flick into the corner behind him. 'The countess is leaving. Now.' He yanked Celeste out of his room and released her; stony- faced, he gestured down the stairs.

Celeste paused for one instant, black eyes spitting fury, then she uttered three virulent words he was quite happy not to understand, stuck her nose in the air, hitched her cloak about her shoulders, and swept down the stairs.

Gillies opened the door. 'Your coach awaits, madam.'

Without a backward glance, Celeste swept out of the house. Gillies shut the door.

Behind Demon, Flick grinned, having watched the entire proceedings from under his arm.

Then she jumped, plastering herself against the wall as he swung on her and roared, 'And what the damn hell do you think you're doing here?'

'Heh?' Stunned, Gillies looked up. 'Good God.'

Considering what she could see in Demon's eyes, Flick didn't think God would be much help to her. She could barely remember the answer to his question. 'I saw Bletchley.'

He blinked and drew marginally back. 'Bletchley?'

She nodded. 'On one of the corners we passed on the way home from the musicale.'

'From Guilford Street?'

She nodded again. 'There was a tavern on the corner-he was drinking and chatting to some grooms. And'-she paused dramatically-'he was in livery, too!'

Which, of course, explained why they hadn't found him, why he hadn't appeared at any of the usual places to meet with the gentlemen of the syndicate. He was, quite possibly, in the household of one of the syndicate.

Demon studied Flick's face while his mind raced. 'Gillies?'

'Aye-I'll fetch a hackney.' Pulling on his coat, he went out.

Straightening, Demon drew in a huge breath, his gaze steady on Flick's eyes. 'Which corner was it?'

'I don't know-I don't know London streets very well.' She tilted her chin and looked straight back at him. 'I'd know it if I saw it again.'

He narrowed his eyes at her; she widened hers and stared back.

Muttering an oath, he spun on his heel. 'Wait there.'

He fetched his coat, shrugged into it, then escorted her down the stairs and into the hackney. At his order, Gillies came too, scrambling up onto the seat beside the driver.

'Guilford Street. As fast as you can.' Demon pulled the door shut and sat back.

The jarvey took him at his word; neither Demon nor Flick spoke as they rattled through the streets and swung around corners. On reaching Guilford Street, Demon told the jarvey to head for Berkeley Square, following