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!"
She raced across the room. She would have caught him, but he turned and caught her instead. His hands about her upper arms, he held her away from him. And glared at her.
"There's no point arguing-I'm going to see the General."
His determination was blazoned in his eyes; Flick couldn't mistake it. Her mind raced; she licked her lips. "He'll be at breakfast." Dragging her gaze from his, she sent it skimming down, over his rumpled clothes.
He looked down, too, then frowned; extending one leg, he scowled at the muddy streaks marring his Hessians. And swore. Releasing her, he took stock of his disreputable state. "I can't go in to see him like this."
Flick kept her eyes wide and innocent, and held her tongue. Even when-especially when-his gaze, hard and blue, returned to her face.
After a moment, lips compressed, he nodded. "I'll go home and change-then I'll be back." Eyes narrowing, he held her gaze. "And then we can discuss this fully-with the General."
She merely raised her brows and maintained a strategic silence.
He hesitated, looking into her eyes, then, with a curt nod, turned and stalked out.
Flick watched him go, drifting back to the French doors to watch him stride across the lawn. Only when he'd disappeared into the shadows of the trees did she turn back into the room-grit her teeth, clench her fists, and give vent to a frustrated scream.
"He's impossible! This is impossible." After a moment, her eyes darkened. "He's out of his mind."
With that, she stalked off to clear the matter up.
Two hours later, Demon drove his bays up the drive of Hillgate End. Under his expert guidance, the curricle came to a flourishing halt immediately before the steps. Handing the reins to the groom who came running, he stepped down. Drawing off his gloves, he strode to the house.
He was perfectly attired in a blue morning coat and ivory breeches, ivory cravat and shirt, with an elegantly restrained blue-and-black-striped waistcoat. His Hessians, another pair, gleamed. His appearance was precisely as he considered it should be, given his errand.