She was so disconcerted, so startled to find her heart had made up its mind long ago and not told her, that she reached the end of the walk before she could set the point aside, accept that it was decided, and move on.
"Next, does he love me?"
No answer came. She mentally replayed their conversations, but there was nothing he'd said that shed light on that point.
She grimaced. "What if he doesn't love me?"
The answer to that was absolute. If he didn't love her, she couldn't marry him. Her certainty was unshakeable, deeply embedded within her.
To her mind, love and marriage went hand in hand. She knew that wasn't society's view, but it was hers, formed by her own observations. Her parents had loved deeply-it had shown in their faces, in their demeanor, whenever they'd been in the same room. She'd been seven when she'd last seen them, waving good-bye from the rail of their boat as it pulled away from the dock. While their features had blurred with the years, that glow that had always been theirs had not-it still shone strongly in her memory.
They'd left her a fortune, and they'd left her a memory-she was grateful for the fortune, but she valued the memory more. The knowledge of what love and marriage could be was a precious, timeless legacy.
One she would not turn her back on.
She wanted that glow for herself-she always had. She'd grown up with that expectation. From all she'd gleaned about the General and his wife, Margery, theirs, too, had been a union blessed.
Which brought her back to Demon.
Frowning, she paced back and forth, considering his reasons for marrying her. His socially acceptable reasons were all very well, yet superficial and not essential. They could be dismissed, taken for granted.
Which left her with desire.
One minute was enough to summarize all she knew on that subject. Questions like Did desire encompass love? Did love encompass desire? were beyond her ability to answer. Until this past week, she hadn't even known what desire was, and while she now knew wh
at it felt like, her experience of it remained minimal. A fact their recent discussion had emphasized.
There was clearly much she had to learn about desire-love or no love.
For the next half hour, she paced and pondered; by the time the lunch gong sounded, she'd reached one clear conclusion, which raised one simple question. She had, she thought, as she strolled back to the house, made good progress.
Her conclusion was absolute and inviolable-utterly unchangeable. She would marry with love, or not at all. She wanted to love, and be loved in return-it was that or nothing.
As for her question, it was straightforward and pertinent: Was it possible to start with desire-strong desire-and progress to love?
Lifting her face to the sun, she closed her eyes. She felt reassured, certain of what she wanted, how to face what was to come.
If Demon wanted to marry her, wanted her to say yes when he asked for her hand, then he would need to teach her more about desire, and convince her that her question could be answered in the affirmative.
Opening her eyes, she lifted her skirts; climbing the steps, she went in to lunch.
Chapter 11
Demon set out for London just after dawn. He kept the bays up to their bits, eager to reach the capital and the offices of Heathcote Montague, man of business to the Cynsters. After considerable thought, he'd hit upon a possible alternative means of identifying members of the syndicate.
Unbeknown to Flick, he'd visited Dillon and extracted a list of the races he'd fixed. He'd then called in favors from all around Newmarket to get the figures, including various bookmakers' odds, necessary to gauge just how much money had been realized through the fixes. His rough estimations had sent his brows rising high-the amount had been startling enough to suggest Montague might be able to trace it. Even a portion of the total should have left some discernible mark somewhere in the financial capital.
It was worth a try.
The road sped beneath his wheels. Demon's thoughts drifted back-to Flick. Impatience gripped him, a restless urge to hurry.
So he could return to Newmarket.
Lips setting, he shook aside the nagging worry-what possible trouble could she get into in two days? He would remain in London for only one night. Bletchley seemed settled; Gillies had his orders. All would be well.
His gaze fixed on the road ahead, he urged the bays on.
Three hours later, neatly garbed in her velvet riding habit and perched upon Jessamy, Flick went riding on Newmarket Heath.