A Rogues Proposal

Which was precisely what he wanted them to see.

At the end of the measure, he bowed elegantly and surrendered her to the coterie of admirers, eagerly awaiting their turn. Satisfied he'd weathered the worst of the night and made the best of it, he retreated to the end of the room.

Gabriel and Lucifer joined him there.

"Why do we do this?" Lucifer grumbled. "Amanda all but ripped up at me, little shrew. Just because I insisted on waltzing with her."

"I got the ice treatment," Gabriel returned. "I can't remember when last I waltzed with an iceberg. If ever."

He glanced at Demon. "If this is a taste of what the Season will bring, I think I'll take a holiday."

When Demon, staring over the assembled heads, said nothing, Gabriel followed his gaze to where Flick was holding court. "Hmm," Gabriel murmured. "Didn't see you waltzing, coz."

Demon didn't shift his gaze. "I was otherwise occupied."

"So I noticed-discussing the fate of the Roman legions, no doubt."

Demon gri

"Hundreds of thousands," Gabriel repeated. "You're unquestionably right-it's got to show somewhere."

"But," Lucifer countered, "not necessarily where you're looking."

Demon raised a brow invitingly.

"There's collectibles-jewelry's the obvious, but there's paintings, too, and other artifacts."

"You could check on them."

"I'll check-but if those are the sums that should have been appearing over the past months, I'd already have heard." Lucifer grimaced. "Despite the possibility, I doubt collectibles are where the money's gone."

Demon nodded and looked at Gabriel, whose gaze remained distant. "What?"

Gabriel refocused. "I was wondering…" He shrugged. "I've acquaintances who would know if money's changed hands underground. I'll put the word out. Then, if Montague's covering the legitimate side of business, we should have all avenues through the city covered."

Demon nodded. "Which leaves one large area yet to be canvassed."

"Indeed," Lucifer agreed. "Our own domain, as it were."

"Hmm." Gabriel raised a brow. "So we'll need to flap our ears for any hint of unexpected blunt-old aunts no one heard of before dying, gamblers supposedly under the hatches suddenly resurrected, and so on."

"Anyone sporting any unexpected blunt." Demon nodded decisively. His gaze drifted back to Flick.

Lucifer and Gabriel murmured agreement, then a blond in green silk caught Lucifer's eye-he prowled off in her wake. After a moment, Gabriel tapped Demon's sleeve. "Don't bite-and don't grind your teeth-I'm going to have a word with your guinea-gold delight."

Demon humphed-the Bar Cynster never poached on each other's preserves. He wasn't worried about Gabriel.

He was, however, worrying. Gabriel's description validated his concern. Flick was highly visible, even in a crowd. Her crowning glory drew all eyes-her angelic features held them. In sunlight, her hair was bright gold-in candlelight, it glowed richly, a true yellow gold much more distinctive than the twins' pale gold locks.

She drew eyes wherever she was, wherever she went. Which severely compounded their problem. His problem-he didn't want her to know about it.

It was one of the things he delighted in-her ope

Therein lay his problem.

When they were close and she focused on him, the sensual co

She was too mature, too composed, to imagine she was infatuated. No one who viewed her response to him would believe infatuation was the cause. What they would believe was the truth-that they'd already been intimate-he, a rake of extensive experience and she, a very i

To his mind, all blame-if any was to be laid-should rest squarely at his door. Society, unfortunately, wouldn't see it that way.

Her reputation would be shredded-not even the backing of the Cynsters would protect her. For himself, he didn't care-he'd marry her in an instant, but it would be too late; although the furor might fade, it would never be forgotten. Her reputation would be irreparably tarnished-she'd never be welcomed into certain circles.

Their problem, of course, would not have occurred if she'd married him before they came to town, or even agreed to marry him so they could make some a

Watching her confidently chatting and laughing, her heart obviously light, he toyed with the idea of seeing her tomorrow-alone-and explaining the matter fully. She might not believe him at first, but he could call on his mother, and even his aunts, for verification. They wouldn't be horrified, but Flick would. She would, he was sure, agree to marry him immediately.

Which was what he wanted, wasn't it?

Lips compressing, he shifted, and wondered when, and why, a woman's wishes-her tender feelings, her inexplicable feminine emotions-had become so important. An unanswerable question, but there was no ducking the fact. He couldn't pressure her to agree in that way.

Straightening, he drew in a breath. If he told her her expression showed too much, she might recognize the danger and agree to marry him purely to avoid any scandal. Which wasn't what he wanted. He wanted her open-hearted commitment-a commitment to him, to their future-not an agreement compelled by society's whip.

But if she didn't realize the deeper implications and opt for marriage, then she would try to hide, to dampen, her instinctive reaction. And she might succeed.

He didn't want that to happen, either.

He'd consorted with too many women who manufactured their emotions, who in reality cared little for anyone or anything. Flick's transparent joy was precious to him-had been from the first. He couldn't bring himself to douse the golden glow in her eyes, not even for this.

Which meant… he was going to have to find some way to protect her.

He watched her go down a country dance, laughing gaily but without that special delight she reserved just for him. Despite his worry, despite the irony, his lips quirked at the sight. Ambling around the ballroom, his gaze fixed on her-his delight, his desire-he considered how best to protect her good name.

Part of his answer was a drive in the park. Simple, effective-and she wouldn't know enough to realize what he was doing. He drove into Berkeley Square at the earliest possible hour. Ignoring Highthorpe's smugly understanding look, he climbed the stairs to his mother's private parlor, knocked once, then entered.

Seated on the chaise, a pair of spectacles perched on her nose, his mother looked up, then smiled. As he'd expected, she was sorting the morning's invitations. Seated on an ottoman before her, Flick was assisting.