A Rogues Proposal

The room was brightly lit along one side, which was lined with mirrors, leaving the rest of the room heavily shadowed. Accepting a glass of water from the maid, Flick retreated to a chair in the gloom. Sipping the water, she simply sat. Other ladies came and went; no one noticed her in her dim corner. She started to feel better.

Then the door swung wide, and Demon's mistress stepped through. One of the ladies preening before the mirrors saw her; smiling, she turned. "Celeste! And how goes your conquest?"

Celeste had paused dramatically just inside the door; hands rising to her voluptuous hips, she sca

The lady before the mirrors laughed; others smiled, too.

In a sensuous glide that focused attention on her bounteous hips, tiny waist and full breasts, Celeste crossed the room. Stopping before a long mirror, hands on hips, she critically examined her reflection.

Exchanging glances and raised brows, the other ladies departed, all except Celeste and her friend, who was artfully rerouging her lips.

"You have heard, have you not," Celeste's friend murmured, "the rumors that he's to wed?"

"Hmm," Celeste purred. In the mirror, her eyes sought Flick's. "But why should that worry me? I don't want to marry him."

Her friend snickered. "We all know what you want, but he might have other ideas-at least once he marries. He is a Cynster after all."

"I do not understand this." Celeste had a definite accent, one Flick couldn't place; it only made her purring voice more sensual, more evocative. "What matter his name?"

"Not his name-his family. Not even that, but… well, they've all proved remarkably constant as husbands."

Celeste made a moue; she tilted her head-from beneath half-closed lids, her eyes glinted. Deliberately, she leaned toward the mirror, trailing her fingers tantalizingly across the full curves and deep cleavage thus revealed. Then she straightened, gracefully lifting her arms and half turning to examine her bottom, superbly displayed by her satin gown. Then her gaze locked with Flick's. "I suspect," she purred, "that this case will prove an exception."

Feeling more ill than when she'd entered, Flick rose. Summoning strength from she knew not where, she crossed to the table by the door. Shakily, she set the glass down-the click drew the attention of Celeste's friend. As she slipped through the door, Flick glimpsed a horrified face and heard a moaned "Oh, Lord!"

The door closed; Flick stood in the dim corridor, the impulse to flee overpowering. But how could she leave? Where could she go? Drawing in a huge breath, she held it and lifted her chin. Defying the sick giddiness that assailed her, refusing to let herself think of what she'd heard, she headed back to the ballroom.

She'd gone no more than three paces when a figure materialized from the shadows.

"There you are, miss! I've been chasing you for hours."

Flick blinked-into the pinched features of her Aunt Scroggs. Clinging to the tattered remnants of her dignity, she bobbed a curtsy. "Good evening, Aunt. I hadn't realized you were here."

"No doubt! You've been far too busy with those young blighters that surround you. Which is precisely what I want to speak to you about." Wrapping thin ringers about Flick's elbow, Edwina Scroggs looked toward the withdrawing room.

"There are ladies in there." Flick couldn't bear to go back, much less explain why.

"Humph!" Glancing around, Edwina drew her to the side, hard against the tapestry-covered wall. "This will have to do then-there's no one about."

The comment sent an unwelcome chill through Flick; she was already inwardly shivering. Lady Horatia had helped her locate her aunt; she'd visited her early in her stay. There was, however, nothing more than duty between them-her aunt had married socially beneath her and now lived as a pe

Edwina Scroggs had been paid by her parents to take her in for the short time they'd expected to be away. The minute news of their deaths had arrived, Mrs. Scroggs had declared she couldn't be expected to house, feed and watch over a girl of seven. She'd literally flung Flick onto the mercy of the wider family-thankfully, the General had been there to catch her.

"It's about all these youngsters you've got sniffing at your skirts." Putting her face close, Edwina hissed, "Forget them, do you hear?" She trapped Flick's startled gaze. "It's my duty to steer you right, and I'd be lacking indeed if I didn't tell you to your face. You're staying with the Cynsters-the word around town is that the son's got his eye on you."

Edwina pressed closer; Flick's lungs seized.

"My advice to you, miss, is to make it his hands. You're quick enough-and this is too good a chance to pass up. The family's one of the wealthiest in the land, but they can be high in the instep. So you take my advice and get his ring on your finger the fastest way you know how." Edwina's eyes gleamed. "Seems Cynsters are prime 'uns, always ready to take what they can get. That house is monstrous enough-no difficulty to find a quiet room to-"

"No!" Flick pushed past her aunt and fled down the corridor.

She stopped just outside the swath of light spilling from the ballroom. Ignoring the surprise in the little maid's eyes, she pressed a hand to her chest, closed her eyes and struggled to breathe. To hold back the silly tears. To still the pounding in her head.

Cynsters are prime 'uns, always ready to take what they can get.

She managed two breaths, neither deep enough, then heard her aunt's heels tapping, tapping, nearer…

Sucking in a breath, she opened her eyes and plunged into the ballroom.

And collided with Demon.

"0h!" She managed to mute her cry, then ducked her head so he couldn't see her face. Reflexively, he caught her, his hands firm about her arms as he steadied her.

In the next heartbeat, his grip tightened. "What's wrong?"

His tone was oddly flat. Flick didn't dare look up-she shook her head. "Nothing."

His grip tightened, his fingers iron shackles about her upper arms, "Dammit, Flick-!"

"It's nothing." She squirmed. Because of his size, and because they were standing just inside the door, thus far they'd attracted no attention. "You're hurting me," she hissed.

Immediately, his grip eased. His hands remained on her upper arms, holding her away from him but sliding soothingly up and down, warm palms to her bare skin, slipping beneath the silk folds that formed her sleeves. His touch was so evocative-so tempting; she was wracked by the urge to sob and launch herself into his arms-

She couldn't do that.

Stiffening her spine, she hauled in a breath and lifted her head. "It's nothing," she restated, looking past his shoulder to where couples were milling on the dance floor.

Eyes narrowed, Demon stared over her head, into the shadows of the corridor. "What did your aunt say to upset you?" His voice was even-too even. It sounded deadly, which was precisely how he felt.

Flick shook her head. "Nothing!"

He studied her face, but she wouldn't meet his eyes. She was as white as a sheet and… fragile was the word that leapt to mind. "Was it one of those puppies-the ones yapping at your heels?" If it was, he'd kill them.

"No!" She shot him a venomous look; her chin set. "It was nothing."

The effort she was making to pull herself together was visible. He didn't move-while he stood before her, she was screened from curious eyes.

"It was nothing," she repeated in a steadier voice.

She was trembling, more inside than outwardly-he could sense it. His impulse was to drag her off to some quiet room where he could wrap her in his arms, wear down her resistance and learn what was wrong-but he didn't trust himself alone with her. Not in his current state. It had been bad enough before. Now…