the directions he relayed from Flick. Sitting forward, she scanned the streets, unerringly picking out their way.
'It was just a little farther-
'Sit back.' Demon tugged her back from the window, then ordered the jarvey to draw up after the next corner. As the coach rocked to a halt, Gillies swung down and came to the door. With his head, Demon indicated the tavern. 'See what you can learn.'
Gillies nodded. Hands in his pockets, he sauntered off, whistling tunelessly.
Sinking back against the leather seat, Flick stared into the night. Then she looked down and played with her fingers. Two minutes later, she drew in a deep breath and lifted her head. 'The countess is very beautiful, isn't she?'
'No.'
Startled, she looked at Demon. 'Don't be ridiculous! The woman's gorgeous.'
Turning his head, he met her gaze. 'Not to me.'
Their eyes locked, silence stretched, then he looked down. Lifting one hand, he reached out, tugged one of hers from her lap, and wrapped his long fingers about it. 'She-and all the others-they came before you. They no longer matter-they have no meaning.' He slid his fingers between hers, then locked their palms together.
'My taste,' he continued, his tone even and low as he rested their locked hands on his thigh, 'has changed in recent times-since last I visited Newmarket, as a matter of fact.'
'Oh?'
'Indeed.' There was the ghost of a smile in his voice. 'These days, I find gold curls much more attractive than dark locks.' Again, he met her eyes, then his gaze drifted over her face. 'And features that might have been drawn by Botticelli more beautiful than the merely classical.'
Something powerful stirred in the dark between them-Flick felt it. Her heart hitched, then started to canter. Her lips, as his gaze settled on them, started to throb.
'I've discovered that I much prefer the taste of sweet innocence, rather than more exotic offerings.'
His voice had deepened to a gravelly rumble that slid, subtly rough, over her flickering nerves.
His chest swelled as he drew breath. His gaze lowered. 'And I now find slender limbs and firm, svelte curves much more fascinating-more arousing-than flagrantly abundant charms.'
Flick felt his gaze, hot as the sun, sweep her, then it swung up again. He searched her eyes, then lifted his other hand, shoulders shifting as he reached for her face. Fingers closing about her chin, his gaze locked with hers, he held her steady, and slowly, very slowly, leaned closer.
'Unfortunately'-he breathed the word against her yearning lips-'there's only one woman who meets my exacting requirements.'
She deserted the sight of his long, lean lips-lifting her lids, she looked into his eyes. 'Only one?'
She could barely get the words out.
He held her gaze steadily. 'One.' His gaze dropped to her lips, then his lids fell as he leaned the last inch nearer. 'Only one.'
Their lips touched, brushed, molded-
Gillies's tuneless whistle rapidly neared.
Smothering a curse, Demon let her go and sat back.
Flick nearly cursed, too. Flushed, breathless-absolutely ravenous-she struggled to steady her breathing.
Gillies appeared at the door. 'It was Bletchley, right enough. He's somebody's groom, but no one there knows who his master is. He's not a regular. The place is the local haunt for the coachmen waiting for their gentlemen to finish at the-' Gillies stopped; his features blanked.
Demon frowned. He leaned forward, looked out at the street, then sank back. 'Houses?' he suggested.
Gillies nodded. 'Aye-that's it.'
Flick glanced along the row of well-tended terrace houses. 'Maybe we could learn which houses had guests tonight, then ask who the guests were?'
'I don't think that's a viable option.' Demon jerked his head; Gillies leapt at the chance to scramble up top. 'On to Berkeley Square.'
The carriage lurched forward. Demon sat back and pretended not to notice Flick's scowl.
'I can't see why we couldn't ask at the houses-what harm could there be?' She sat back, folding her arms. 'They're perfectly ordinary residences-there must be some way we can inquire.'
'I'll put some people onto it tomorrow,' Demon lied.
Better a lie than have her decide to investigate herself. That particular row of ordinary residences hosted a number of high-class brothels, none of which would welcome inquiries as to the identity of their evening's guests. 'I'll see Montague first thing tomorrow, and swing all our people into the fashionable areas.' Inwardly, Demon nodded. Things were starting to make sense.
Flick merely humphed.
Demon had the hackney drop them off just around the corner from Berkeley Square, then take Gillies on to Albemarle Street. He checked the Square, but it was late-there was no one about to see him bring Flick the lad home. He only hoped he could sneak her past Highthorpe.
'Come on.' He strolled along the pavement; Flick strolled beside him.
As they climbed the steps to his parents' door, he glanced down at her. 'Go straight up the stairs as silently as you can-I'll distract Highthorpe.' He gripped the doorknob and turned it-'Damn!' He turned the knob fully and pushed. Nothing happened. He swore. 'My father must have come home early. The bolts are set.'
Flick stared at the door. 'How will I get in?'
Demon sighed. 'Through the back parlor.' He glanced around, then took her hand. 'Come on-I'll show you.'
Striding back down the steps, he led her down the narrow gap between his parents' house and the next, into a lane running along the backs of the mansions. A stone wall, more than seven feet tall, lined the lane.
He tried the gate in the wall; it, too, was locked.
Flick eyed the wall and groaned. 'Not again.'
' 'Fraid so. Here.' Demon linked his hands. Grumbling, Flick placed her boot in them-he threw her up. As in Newmarket, he had to slap his hand under her bottom and heave her over-she grumbled even more.
Demon caught the top of the wall, hauled himself up, then dropped down to join Flick in the bushes below. Grabbing her hand, he led her through the rhododendrons, across the shadowed lawn, and onto the back terrace. He signalled her to silence, then, using a small knife, he set to work on the French doors of the back parlor. In less than a minute, the lock clicked and the doors swung open.
'There you are.' Pocketing the knife, he gestured Flick in. Hesitantly, she crossed the threshold. He stepped in behind her to get off the open terrace-
She clutched his sleeve. 'It all looks so different in the dark,' she whispered. 'I've never been in this room- your mother doesn't sit here.' Her fingers tightened; she looked up at him. 'How do I get to my room?'
Demon stared at her. He wanted to see her alone-to talk to her privately-but a more formal setting in daylight was imperative, or he'd never get out what he had to say. Not before he forgot himself and kissed her. Screened by the dark, he scowled. 'Where's your room?'
'I turn left from the gallery-isn't that the other wing?'
'Yes.' Stifling a curse, he locked the French doors, then found her hand. 'Come on. I'll take you up.'
The house was large, disorientating in the dark, but he'd slipped through its corridors on countless nights past. He'd grown up in this house-he knew his way without looking.
Flick bided her time, trailing him up the stairs and into the long gallery. The curtains at the long windows were open; moonlight streamed in, laying silver swaths across the dark carpet. She waited until they drew abreast of the last window, then she tripped, stumbled-
Demon bent and caught her-
Quick as a flash, she straightened, lifted her arms, framed his face and kissed him, wildly, wantonly-she wasn't going to wait to learn if he was planning to kiss her. What if he wasn't?
Her preemptive action rendered Demon's plans academic. Curses rang in his head-he didn't hear them.
