A Rogues Proposal

He moved closer, as did the first rogue, crowding her between them. "I don't think my particular gentleman would like that," Flick stated.

"We weren't suggesting you tell him, sweetheart," the first all but whispered in her ear.

Flick turned her head to him, then had to turn the other way as his friend did the same thing.

"We wouldn't want to cause any ructions-just a friendly bit of slap and tickle to keep my friend and me going until the orgy starts."

Orgy! Flick's jaw dropped.

"That's it-just think of it as a case of mutual tummy-rubbing. Here we are, with our peckers twitching but the action some way off-"

"And here you are, a plump little, pigeon just waiting to be plucked, but with your chosen plucker not yet in sight."

"Right-a bit of hot fumbling and a few good pokes would ease things all around. What do you say?"

They both leaned closer, voices low, increasingly hoarse as they whispered, in quick fire exchanges, a stream of suggestive suggestions directly into Flick's ears.

Behind her mask, her eyes grew rounder, and rounder. Toes? Tongues? Rods…

Flick had had enough. First Stratton, now these two. They'd pressed close; jerking both elbows outward, she jabbed them in the ribs. They fell back gasping-she whirled on them. "I have never met with such arrogant presumption in my life! You should be ashamed of yourselves-propositioning a lady in such terms! And without the slightest invitation! Just think how horrified your poor mamas would be if they ever heard you speaking like that." They stared at her as if she'd gone mad; Flick glared, then hissed, "And as for your twitching appendages, I suggest you take them for a long walk in the rain-that should cure them of their indisposition!"

She glared one last time, then swung on her heel-

And collided with another male.

Hers. His arms closed about her before she bounced off. Clutching his domino, she looked up into his masked face. For a moment, his gaze remained levelled over her head, then he glanced down.

Flick frowned. "How did you recognize me?"

She was the only woman there with hair like spun gold and she drew his senses like a lodestone. Demon narrowed his eyes. "What in heaven possessed you-"

"Ssh!" Her eyes darted about. "Here-kiss me." Stretching on her toes, she did the honors. As their lips parted, she whispered, "This appears to be a bacchanal-by-another-name-we have to do our best to fit in." Sliding her arms beneath his domino, she sank against him.

Demon gritted his teeth and backed her into the space she'd recently vacated.

"Those two gentlemen who were talking to me-you'll never guess what-" She broke off. "Where did they go?"

"They suddenly remembered pressing engagements elsewhere."

"Oh?"

She shot him a glance. Demon ignored it, and her distraction. "What I want to know is why you thought fit-" He broke off on a hiss, sucking in a breath as she twined her arms about his neck and shifted her hips against him.

He stared blankly down at her-she smiled, and laid her head on his chest.

"I found Bletchley. He's Sir Percival's groom."

He studied her eyes, lit with anticipation, with expectant excitement, and inwardly sighed. "So your note said." Gathering her more comfortably into his arms, he shifted so he could view the room. "I suppose you've decided the syndicate will meet tonight."

"It's the perfect occasion."

He could hardly disagree-looking over the sea of heads, he noted the spontaneous distractions arising here and there in the crowd. "Those attending wouldn't even risk being recognized." He looked down and met her gaze. "Let's take a look around-Stratton's occasions are always open house." Aside from anything else, he wanted her away from the center of activity, although, as things went, Sir Percival's masquerade had a long way yet to go.

Boldly curving a palm about her bottom, he steered her toward the nearest door. Glancing down, he met her shocked glance, and raised a far from i

He flexed his fingers-behind her mask, her eyes flared, then a dangerous glint entered the soft blue. Before he could stop her, she swayed close, slipped one slim hand through the opening of his domino and stroked, tantalizingly, up his length.

Sucking in a breath, he froze; she chuckled wickedly. Catching his hand, she swung to the door. "Come along." The look she threw him as she led him out would have convinced the most suspicious observer that her fell aim was entirely in keeping with Sir Percival's masquerade.

Drawing a steadying breath, Demon went along with her charade while considering a few elaborations to her scheme. Once in the corridor, he drew her closer, settling her within his arm, his hand returning to its former, stridently possessive position. Any others coming upon them in the dimly lit corridors would simply see two revellers searching for a quiet nook.

Many others were doing the same. Pausing before every door, Demon urged Flick to kiss him, then opened the door and half stumbled in, sca

A fact he tried not to think about. Some of what she was seeing she was definitely not up to. Yet.

"No meetings," Flick murmured as they turned back to the front hall. "Couldn't we just watch Stratton, then follow when he leaves the ballroom?"

"That might not help us. Remember what I said about Bletchley's employer not necessarily being one of the syndicate?"

Flick frowned. "Stratton's phaeton is brand new-his horses would have done you credit."

"Maybe so, but while Stratton's a deuced cold fish, he's also exceedingly wealthy." Demon gestured to their surroundings. "He inherited a massive fortune."

Flick grimaced. "He seemed such a promising candidate."

"Yes, well-" Reaching the hall, Demon turned her up the stairs. "I think we should check all the rooms."

Other couples, flushed and subtly dishevelled, laughing breathlessly, were descending the stairs as they went up. Demon drew Flick suggestively close as they climbed-with her one step ahead of him, their bodies slid against each other as they ascended.

They reached the gallery. Flick paused and whispered breathlessly, "Shouldn't we be checking outside? If it's not Stratton but some of his guests come to meet with Bletchley, wouldn't they use the garden?"

"It's raining-it started as I arrived. I think we can assume no meeting had taken place earlier. Now, it'll have to be held indoors-in some area open to the guests."

They continued their search. Some of the bedrooms and suites were occupied, others were empty. While they stumbled upon meetings aplenty, none were of the type they sought. Flick's shoulders had slumped long before they reached the last door at the end of the last corridor.

Demon tested the handle, then carefully turned it fully and tried the door. "It's locked." He started to turn back; Flick stood in the way, frowning at the locked door.

"Why locked?" She glanced back up the corridor. "His bedroom wasn't locked." She looked at the door behind which two couples were engaged in an energetic romp on Stratton's huge bed. "Nor was his dressing room or study." She nodded at each of those doors, then turned to stare at the last door. "Why would he lock this room and not any other in the house?"

Demon looked at her face, at her stubbornly set chin, and sighed. Placing his ear to the panel, he listened, then glanced down at the bottom of the door; no telltale strip of light showed. "There's no one in there."