A Rogues Proposal

"Let's look," Flick urged. "Can you unlock it?"

Demon considered reiterating that Stratton was not a good candidate for race-fixer, but her sudden excitement was infectious. He drew out the small tool he carried everywhere-a multi-pronged pick and knife useful for destoning horses' hooves. In less than a minute, he had the door open. The room within was empty; standing back, he let Flick in. Glancing back up the corridor, he confirmed it was empty, then shut the door behind them.

A warm glow suffused the room. Flick adjusted the wick on a lamp set on a wide desk, then reset the glass. They both looked around.

"An office." Demon glanced at ledgers and books of accounts filling one bookshelf. It wasn't a large room. A padded leather chair stood behind the desk; a wooden chair faced it. One wall was filled with windows looking out over the river-they presently displayed a landscape of driving rain and thick grey clouds backlit by sheet lightning. Thunder rumbled, drawing nearer.

"Half a library, too." Flick considered the wall of bookshelves opposite the windows. "I wonder why he keeps them up here. The library was barely half full."

Demon turned from the elemental rage outside and sauntered to the shelves. Sca

His voice had changed-he read the titles again, then rose and turned to the desk, his frame radiating purpose.

Flick looked at him questioningly. He met her gaze as he joined her behind the desk, shrugging off his domino, slipping off his mask.

"Those"-with his head he indicated the bottom shelf of books-"are the full race records for the past two years."

Flick blinked. "The full records?"

Demon nodded and pulled open the top desk drawer. "Not something one finds in your usual library. I don't even have a set."

"How?…" Without finishing her question, Flick drew out the top drawer on her side of the desk.

"A set went missing last year-never to be found. But he's also added the most recent volumes-those from last season."

"A most useful tool for fixing races."

"Indeed. Look for anything that even mentions horses."

They were the ideal team for the task-they both knew the names of all recent wi

"Nothing." Blowing an errant curl from her forehead, Flick turned and sat on the desk.

Grimacing, Demon dropped into the padded chair. Without enthusiasm, he lifted the last item from the bottom drawer, a leather-bound ledger. Propping it on the desk, he opened it and sca

"Anything else?"

"Caviar's gone up two pounds an ounce in the last year-his account-keeping habits are as stultifyingly rigid as he is. He enters every single transaction-even the lost wagers he's paid."

Studying the grim set of his face, Flick grimaced. "No entries under race-fixing, I take it?"

Demon started to shake his head, but he froze as one particular figure danced before his eyes. Slowly straightening, he flicked back a page, then another…

"What is it?"

"Remind me we owe Montague an enormous bonus." If it hadn't been for the agent's accuracy, he'd never have seen it. "Those amounts we were looking for-the sums cleared from each fixed race?"

"Yes?"

"They show up here. According to this, they're his main source of income."

"I thought you said he was rich."

Flicking back through the ledger, Demon bit back a curse. "He was-he must have lost it." He tapped an entry. "His income from the Funds was miniscule last year, then it ends. There've been huge debts paid-Hazard, at a guess." He looked up. "He never went to the wall-no one realized he'd been rolled up because he substituted income from race-fixing to cover his lost investment income. He's always been a lavish spender-nothing appeared to have changed. He simply carried on as he always had."

"Except he corrupted and blackmailed Dillon, and jockeys, and goodness knows what happened to Ickley."

"Or any others." Demon studied the ledger. "This is too wieldy to smuggle out." He flicked through the pages, then laid the book on the desk and ripped out five pages.

"Will that do?"

"I think so-they show the amounts from three fixed races going in, and five major purchases that can be traced to Stratton, as well as four very large debts paid to members of the ton who I'm sure will verify from whom they received those sums. On top of that, his writing's distinctive." He sca

He shut the drawer and looked at Flick.

A board creaked in the corridor-footsteps paused, some way away-then quickly, purposefully, strode toward the office.

Chapter 22

What occurred next happened so quickly that to Flick it was just a blur. Demon stood, shifted her to the desk's center, her back to the door, yanked the neck ties of her domino free, and flung the garment off so it pooled about her. He tugged-a button on her bodice popped, then he hauled her gown and chemise down, dragging her sleeves down her arms, fully exposing her shoulders and breasts.

"Free your arms-lean back on them."

His words were a sibilant hiss-instinctively, she obeyed. He sat before her, throwing her skirts up, pushing her knees wide.

The door opened. He clamped his mouth over one nipple; Flick gasped-his mouth was hot!

He licked, and suckled, and slid his hand between her thighs, slid his long fingers into her soft flesh, stroking, then probing…

Flick moaned; her arms locked. She let her head roll back, helplessly arching as he suckled and probed simultaneously.

Then he lifted his head, looking beyond her. She forced her lids up-in the glow from the lamp bathing her bare breasts, sheening the skin showing above her garters, his eyes were glazed, dazed, as he blinked at the door.

"Problem, Stratton?"

Flick didn't look around-Demon's fingers were still playing teasingly between her thighs. It wasn't hard to imagine the tableau their host was seeing as he stood in the doorway. From her quivering back it must be clear she was bare to the waist, and that, with her skirts rucked up so, she must, to Demon, be exposed below as well. The only thing she was still truly wearing was her feathered mask.,

She could barely breathe, all too conscious of the slick wetness Demon's long fingers were reveling in. Her heart thudded in her throat; excitement sizzled in her veins.

Sir Percival's hesitation was palpable. In the stillness, she heard the rain pelting the windows, heard her own ragged breathing. Then he shifted, and drawled, "No, no. Do carry on."

The door clicked softly shut; Flick hauled in a relieved breath-and promptly lost it as Demon's mouth closed over her nipple again. He suckled strongly-she barely restrained her shriek. "Demon?" Her voice shook.

He suckled more fiercely.

"Harry!"

Two fingers slid deep, probing evocatively.

She arched-on a long, shuddering gasp, she managed, "Here?"

"Hmm." He stood, easing her back to lie across the desk.

"But…" Flat on her back, she licked her dry lips. "Stratton might come back."