A Rogues Proposal

"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 i

For one definable instant, his brain literally reeled.

Flick, thank heaven, was as stu

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 gri

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?" Stu

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 the directions he relayed from Flick. Sitting forward, she sca

"It was just a little farther-there!" She pointed to the little tavern on the corner. "He was there, standing by that barrel." Bletchley wasn't, unfortunately, there now.

"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 i

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."