"Heard him quizzing the innkeep," Gillies had said, "about the special coaches they've put on, running direct from here to London."
After his lack of activity the previous night, it seemed likely Bletchley had dallied in Newmarket purely to attend the prizefight, but… they couldn't be certain he didn't have a meeting arranged to take place amid the crowd about the ring. Neither he nor Gillies had believed that-discussing race-fixing surrounded by a crowd containing so many potentially interested ears smacked of rank stupidity, something the syndicate had shown no sign of being. Gillies hadn't followed Bletchley, but waited for orders.
"He went out this morning with the same crew he was chatting with last night, heading straight for the field."
There was an outside chance of a meeting occurring after the prizefight, although given the aftermath of such events, that, too, seemed unlikely. Still…
Demon had rejigged his plans, sending Gillies after Bletchley to watch and to follow, to London if necessary.
"Gillies knows who to contact in London-we'll set up a watch on Bletchley. He'll have to meet with his masters soon."
Flick humphed impatiently; Demon ignored it. He was relieved that Bletchley was heading south. With him gone, the chances of Flick running headlong into danger were considerably diminished.
With Gillies at the fight, he'd first arranged for a coachman to drive the manor carriage back to Hillgate End, then broken his fast at a leisurely pace, then paid Flick's shot with no explanation whatever, and returned upstairs to escort her, concealingly cloaked and veiled, down to the waiting carriage.
By that time, the fight had started, so there was no one of note left at the inn to witness their joint departure. The only wrinkle in his plan was Ivan the Terrible, presently tied behind the carriage.
Ivan hated being led-especially by a carriage. He was going to be in a foul mood when it came time to ride home.
Demon wasn't, however, disposed to worry about Ivan-before he rode home, he had a number of pressing matters to resolve. The most pressing sat beside him, idly gazing at the scenery, with not the slightest sign of fluster showing in her angelic face.
Which really did surprise him.
He was thirty-one and had bedded scores of women-she was just twenty, and had just spent her first night with a man. Him. Yet her composure was patently genuine. She'd been flustered enough, blushing rosily, when he'd left her in the room and gone to look for breakfast. But by the time he'd returned, she had been perfectly composed, her usual straightforward, openly confident self. Of course, by then, she had dressed.
She'd removed her veil as they'd rolled out of Bury; a quick glance revealed a serene expression, with a slight smile tilting her lips and a soft light in her eyes. As if she was recalling the events of the night and enjoying her memories.
Demon shifted, then looked out of the window-and went over his plans.
Flick was indeed reflecting on the events of the night, and those of the morning, and, further, on how much she'd enjoyed them. She still felt curiously glorious-as if she was glowing all the way to her toes. If this was satiation, she thoroughly approved. Which only made her even more determined on her course.
It seemed clear enough. Demon could love her-of that she felt sure. All she needed to do was to make sure he did before she agreed to marry him.
She needed to make him fall in love with her-she would have scoffed at the thought a mere month ago and labelled it an impossible task. Now, however, the prospects looked good. If last night and this morning were any guide, he was already halfway there.
He cared for her-was very careful of her; he clearly enjoyed giving her pleasure. He'd pleasured her to her toes. In a variety of ways. And remained considerate and caring afterward, in his usual overbearing way.
She spent the drive sunk in pleasant memories, but when they rolled through Newmarket, she inwardly shook herself, and sternly told herself to stop thinking of such things. She'd get precious little pleasuring in the days to come-at least until he came to love her.
She slanted a glance at him, then looked away, and rehearsed her plans yet again.
He spoke as they turned through the gates of Hillgate End.
"In case you're wondering, I intend telling the General that, due to an inadvertent circumstance, you and I were seen together in a chamber at The Angel last night by one of the ton's most rabid scandalmongers, and consequently, you've agreed to marry me."
She turned her head and met his eyes. "I haven't."
His face grew hard. "You've done rather a lot since last evening-precisely what is it you don't believe you've done?"
His tone was precise, his words excessively clipped. She ignored the warning. "I haven't agreed to marry you."
The sound he made was frustration incarnate. Abruptly, he sat up. "Flick-you have been well and truly and very thoroughly compromised this time. You have no choice-"
"On the contrary." She held his gaze. "I can still say no."
Demon stared at her, then narrowed his eyes. "Why would you want to say no?"
"I have my reasons."