A Rogues Proposal c-4

by Stephanie Laurens

  He half turned and gestured to the pallet and the chair. "Which do you prefer?"

  She blinked, and struggled to calm her rioting senses, to find her voice. She drew in another breath. "I'll take the pallet-you can have the chair."

  He nodded; without meeting her eyes, he waved her to her selected seat. Uncertain-of him, of herself, of what shimmered in the air-she went; sitting on the pallet, she shuffled back and drew up her knees so she could balance her boots on the end strut, out of reach of any further rodents. Hugging her knees, she settled her chin atop them, and stared into the flames.

  Demon built up the fire, then subsided into the armchair. He, too, fixed his gaze on the flames, denying the urge to gaze at Flick-to look, to wonder…

  That moment of unexpected awareness had very nearly defeated him, nearly overcome the defenses he'd erected between her and himself, between her innocence and his demons. Only her abiding innocence-the innocent confusion, laced with equally innocent, equally open, curiosity, in her blue eyes-had saved them. Given him the strength to resist. The effort had left him aching, far more intensely than before. And inwardly shaking, as if his strength had been depleted to dangerously low levels.

  Which meant he was in trouble-that matters between them had gone much farther than he'd thought. Than he'd been aware of.

  Even now, although he'd recognized the danger, at least half his mind was fully engaged in wondering what having an angel beneath him would be like. In fantasizing, as he had so often that afternoon, about how far her delicate blush extended. But his thoughts of her were no longer merely sensual-they were possessively so. Intent, with an underlying, clawing need that he knew no way of easing, bar one. Which, in this case, by extension, meant…

  The very thought made him shudder. Marriage was not a word he willingly used, not even in his mind.

  A rustling had him glancing her way; he watched as, drowsy, her lids heavy, she turned on her side. Tucking her legs up in her skirts, she settled on the mattress, her gaze still fixed on the fire. Demon forced his gaze to follow hers to the flames. And tried, very hard, not to think at all.

  Outside, the drops still pattered down in a steady, soaking rain.

  When his mind started to wander, he tried to guess the time, but he had no idea how long they'd taken on the path through the park. An hour? Less?

  A soft sigh had him turning, looking-after that, he didn't look away.

  She was sleeping.

  A hand curled beneath her cheek, her long lashes lay still, brown crescents brushing rose-tinted skin. Her lips, slightly parted, sheened softly, their curves the gentlest temptation imaginable. The firelight gilded her jaw and set golden lights in her hair.

  Demon looked, and watched-watched the steady swell and ebb of her breathing reflected in the movement of her breasts, tightly encased in blue velvet, watched the ruffle at her throat rise and fall.

  He still wasn't sure how she felt about Dillon, but he'd detected no sign of any sensual awareness between them. He'd initially wondered if they were simply too young, too innocent, to have developed that susceptibility, but he now knew Flick, at least, was more than capable of feeling it.

  Which brought him to wondering how she saw him…

  He watched, and pondered. There was no need to look away.

  Chapter 7

  He'd seen her face so often in his dreams that he didn't notice when he fell asleep. Her face was his last image before his lids fell-it was the first thing he saw, through the dimness, when he woke.

  Frowning, Demon eased his stiff neck and glanced at the fire to see it a pile of cooling ash. He froze, staring at the grey pile, then whipped around to look at the windows.

  The heavy shutters were in place, but a thin shaft of pale light edged each slat.

  Swearing beneath his breath, he glanced at Flick, still softly sleeping, an angel in repose. Jaw setting, he rose and strode silently to the door. Opening it confirmed his worst fear-the day had dawned.

  Drawing the door wide, Demon hauled in a deep breath. The scent of the wet forest flowed into him; he held it in, then slowly exhaled.

  A sound behind him had him turning; silent and still in the doorway, he watched Flick awake.

  She didn't simply open her eyes. Instead, consiousness slowly invested her features, enlivening her brows, curving her full lips. Eyes still closed, she hummed softly in her throat. Her breasts swelled as she drew in a deep breath, then she stretched languorously, straightening her spine, arching slightly, then she relaxed and her lashes fluttered.

  Then, and only then, did her lids slowly rise.

  She looked straight at him, then blinked her eyes wide, but no hint of consternation disturbed her content expression. Instead, her lips softened into a sleepily warm smile.

  "Is it morning?"

  The husky tones of her voice, still drunk with sleep, flowed over him, about him, slid under his skin and seized him. He couldn't speak, couldn't think-he could only want. Want with a searing desire that shocked him, with an absolute possessive need that nearly floored him. Containing that force, reining it in, holding it back, left him rigid. And shaking.

  She was still smiling, still waiting for his answer; realizing that, with him framed in the doorway with all light coming from outside, she couldn't see his passion-blank expression, or anything else, he summoned every last ounce of his strength and managed to utter, "Almost."

  His tone was harsh and uneven; he didn't wait to see her reaction but turned away to ensure she got no chance to study him further, to see the evidence of that rabid desire. Ostensibly surveying the clearing, he cleared his throat. "I'll get the horses saddled."

  With that, he escaped.

  Of course, within a few minutes, she came to help.

  Ivan was grumpy and fractious; Demon made that his excuse for barely glancing Flick's way. He felt her puzzled gaze; jaw clenched, he ignored it. He didn't even dare help her saddle Jessamy-if she put her hand on his thigh this morning, he couldn't guarantee his reaction-or rather, his inaction. As soon as he had Ivan's girths tight, he grabbed his bridle and led the restless stallion out of the tight space.

  The charcoal makers' hut had been constructed in that particular clearing because it was the natural confluence of four paths through the park. One was the path they'd travelled last night, another led onward to the manor. A third struck across to join the eastern bridle path Flick usually used to reach the ruined cottage and his farm. Halting Ivan in the middle of the clearing, Demon glanced toward the opening of the fourth path, leading in from a small country lane to the west.

  To see Hugh Dunstable, the General's middle-aged steward, ambling up through the morning.

  Demon froze.

  Dunstable had already seen him; smiling, he raised his hand to his hat. "Ah! 'Morning, sir."

  Demon nodded easily, urbanely, but he couldn't for the life of him summon a smile. His mind raced while Dunstable's cob plodded closer, ever closer.

  " 'Spect you got caught in last night's squall." Drawing rein beside him, Dunstable beamed down at him. "No doubt but it was heavy. Got caught out myself, it came up so quick. I'd been off to the Carters, playing a hand of whist-I was on my way back when it hit. I was drenched by the time I reached home."

  "As you say." Demon glanced surreptitiously at the shadowed stable. "It was too heavy to risk riding on."

  Dunstable snorted. "On these paths? You'd have risked that fine beast."

  The fine beast chose that moment to snort, paw and prance, heavily shouldering Dunstable's cob. Demon swore and drew in Ivan's reins. Settling his placid cob, Dunstable chuckled. "Aye-riding him must be an adventure. Not hard to see how you came by your name."

  It wasn't his expertise in riding high-bred horses that had earned him his nickname, but Demon let the comment pass; he was too busy praying.

  Much good it did him. His fervent appeal to the highest authority that Flick would have the sense to remain out of sight was refused; she appeared at that instant, smilin
g sunnily up at Dunstable as she led Jessamy out.

  "Good morning, Mr. Dunstable."

  She glanced up at the sky, and so failed to notice the expression on Dunstable's face-sheer shock to begin with, rapidly transmuting into horror, momentarily displaced by speculation, only to revert to righteous horror again.

  By the time Flick looked down and cheerily remarked, "And a fine morning it seems to be," Dunstable's features were set in stone, his expression impassive. He mumbled an incoherent reply to Flick; the look in his eyes when he shifted his gaze to Demon was coldly censorious.

  Demon reacted in the only way he could-with a high hand. Cool arrogance in his eyes, he met Dunstable's gaze levelly; his expression hard, he raised a challenging brow.

  Dunstable, only one step up from a servant, albeit an old and trusted one, was at a loss to know how to respond. Demon regretted putting the old man in his place, but every instinct he possessed refused to let anyone even imagine any ill-any indiscretion-of Flick.

  To his relief, she, busy adjusting her stirrups, missed their exchange entirely.

  "It looks like the clouds have blown away. I dare say it'll be quite warm by lunchtime." She straightened and glanced around for a log to use as a mounting block.

  Demon dropped his reins and crossed to her side; closing his hands about her waist, he lifted her, setting her lightly on Jessamy's back.

  That got her attention; she sucked in a breath and blinked at him, then quickly rearranged her legs and her skirts. "Thank you."

  Lifting her chin, she fixed her blue eyes on Dunstable. "I can't believe how overgrown the park has become-we must get Hendricks to cut back rather more. Why, you can barely see the sky, even here, even on such a wonderful morning. I rather think-"

  She chattered blithely on, unaware that, with her cheeks still delicately flushed from sleep, her hair tousled and her velvet skirts badly crushed, she presented a perfect picture of a youthful damsel who had recently engaged in an energetic morning romp.

  Predictably, she led the way along the path to the manor.

  Dunstable followed close behind. To give him his due, while remaining stony-faced, he managed to make the appropriate noises whenever Flick paused in her paean to the morning.

  Hands on his hips, Demon watched them amble off, then exhaled through his teeth. Returning to the hut, he secured the door, then mounted Ivan. And paused.

  For one long moment, he stared down the path at Flick's and Dunstable's backs. Then, lips thinning, jaw firming, he shook Ivan's reins. And followed.

  By the time their party reached Hillgate End, Demon had a firm grip on the situation. There was no doubt that he'd compromised Flick, albeit entirely innocently.

  He'd caught up with her and Dunstable, only to hear her gaily state that they'd taken shelter soon after the rain had started. So Dunstable now knew that they'd been at the hut, together and alone, from the dead of night to dawn. Of course, focused on protecting Dillon, Flick had said not a word about what had occasioned her presence, in company with a rake, deep in the park in the middle of the night.

  It was no great feat to imagine what Dunstable was thinking. Indeed, it was difficult to conceive of a more damning scenario for a young, unmarried gentlewoman than being discovered at dawn leaving an evening rendezvous in company with a rake of the first order.

  Demon had had ample time to consider every facet of their night alone, every nuance, every likely repercussion-their journey to the manor had been slow, the ground very wet, soft beneath their horses' hooves. They'd plodded along, Flick in the lead, followed by Dunstable, with him in the rear. In brooding silence, he'd debated their options-not many-and what that therefore meant, while Flick had entertained Dunstable with her sunny patter.

  She'd described the small stable, and exclaimed over the fact that Jessamy and Ivan had been quite dry; she'd continually paused to declaim the wonders of the morning. She had not, however, mentioned the mouse-on consideration, remembering the long moments she'd spent in his arms, he'd decided that was just as well.

  God only knew what picture she might paint for Dunstable if she started on that topic.

  Finally, they'd reached the manor's grounds; minutes later, they trotted into the stable yard.

  Stifling a huge sigh of relief, her mind full of the wonders of a hot bath, Flick reined in. She untangled her legs and skirts from her sidesaddle; she was about to slide to the ground when Demon appeared beside her. He reached for her; his hands closed about her waist, then he lifted her down, and set her on her feet before him.

  Quickly catching her breath-she was almost used to the effect of his touch, to the sudden seizing of her lungs-she beamed a sunny smile up at him, and held out her hand. "Thank you so much for taking pity on me last night and seeing me home. I'm really very grateful."

  He looked at her-she could read nothing in his eyes, in his oddly set expression. He took her hand, but instead of squeezing it and letting go, he wrapped his fingers about hers and turned. "I'll walk you to the house."

  Flick stared at him-at his back. She would have tugged and argued, but Dunstable, having dismounted more slowly, was hovering. Demon started walking-stalking; throwing a bright smile over her shoulder at Dunstable, she had to hurry to keep up.

  Striding purposefully, Demon headed up the gravel path, ducking under the wisteria to pass beneath the old trees and cut across the lawn to the terrace. He didn't set her hand on his arm and stroll; instead, he kept his hand locked about hers and towed her along.

  Flick tried an outraged glare, but he refused to even notice. His expression was set, determined. Determined on what she had no idea.

  Glancing back, she saw Dunstable, watching from beneath the stable arch. She flashed him a reassuring smile and wondered what devil had possessed Demon.

  He didn't stop until they were on the terrace, before the open morning room windows. Releasing her, he gestured her inside; with a speaking glance, she stepped over the threshold. Swinging her heavy skirts, she faced him as he followed her into the room. "Why aren't you heading off to the Heath? We have to watch Bletchley."

  Halting in front of her, he looked down at her and frowned. "Gillies and the others will keep watching until I arrive to take over. At present, I have matters of greater moment to settle."

  She blinked. "You do?"

  His jaw set ominously. "I need to speak with the General."

  Flick felt her eyes, locked on his, widen. "What about?" She had no idea why, but she was starting to feel uneasy.

  Demon saw her question-her lack of understanding-etched in her eyes. Inwardly, he cursed. "I need to talk to him about our current situation."

  "Situation? What situation?"

  Jaw clenching, he went to step around her; quick as a flash, she blocked his way. "What are you talking about?"

  He caught her eye and frowned even more. "I'm talking about the past night, which we spent together, alone." He gave the last two words particular weight; comprehension dawned in her eyes.

  Then she blinked and frowned at him. "So?" Her gaze raced over his face. "Nothing-nothing indiscreet-happened."

  "No," he agreed, his voice tight, controlled, "but only you and I know that. All society will see is that the potential for indiscretion was present, and that, in society's eyes, is all that counts."

  The sound she made was elementally dismissive. His eyes locked on hers, Demon knew that if she questioned the potential, denied it had existed, he'd wring her neck.

  She hovered on the brink-he saw it in her eyes. But, after studying his expression, she swung onto a different tack. "But no one knows. Well"-she waved-"only Dunstable, and he didn't imagine anything scandalous had happened."

  Stunned, he stared at her. "Tell me, is Dunstable always so stony-faced?"

  She grimaced. "Well, he is rather taciturn. I always do most of the talking."

  "If you'd done a little more looking this morning, you'd have seen he was shocked to his toes." Again, he went to step past her; again, she blo
cked his way.

  "What are you going to do?"

  He didn't want to lay hands on her-didn't want to risk it in his present state. He pinned her with a glare. "I am going to speak to the General, and explain to him exactly what occurred."

  "You're not going to tell him about Dillon?"

  "No. I'll simply say I came upon you riding alone through my fields late last night, and insisted on escorting you home." He took a step toward her; to keep his face in clear view, she backed away. "I'll leave it to you to explain what you were doing in your saddle at midnight."

  She blinked; he pressed his advantage and took another step. She gave ground without noticing. Her eyes, now wide, flicked up to his; before she could interrupt, he stated, "The General will see instantly that, regardless of what truly transpired at the cottage, all society-certainly every matron of standing in Newmarket-will believe you and I spent the best part of the night heating a single pallet in the charcoal makers' hut."

  A light blush tinged her cheeks; her gaze flickered, then steadied. Abruptly, she stood her ground. "That's ridiculous." The statement was emphatic. "You didn't lay a finger…" Her words trailed away; her gaze blanked.

  "On you?" Demon grinned tightly. "Not one-all ten." He trapped her gaze as she refocused. "Can you deny you were in my arms?"

  Her lips compressed, her expression turned mutinous, her chin set like rock. Her eyes-those usually soft orbs-positively flared. "That was because of a mouse!"

  "The cause is irrelevant. As far as society's concerned, having spent the night alone with me, your virtue and reputation are in question. The accepted code of behavior decrees I offer you the protection of my name."

  Flick stared at him, then determinedly shook her head. "No."

  He looked down at her, and coolly raised his brows. "No?"

  "No, that's positively stupid." Flinging her hands in the air, she swung away. "You're blowing this up out of all proportion. Society's not going to say anything because they'll know nothing about it. Dunstable won't talk." Swinging about, she paced back. "I'll see him and explain-" Lifting her head, she saw Demon almost at the door. "No! Wait!"