A Rogues Proposal (Cynster 4)

Amanda's eyes glittered. "We're going to look them over, and decide who we'll choose, not wait to be chosen."

Flick laughed-an arm about each, she hugged them. "Indeed, from what I've seen thus far, it would definitely be wise to take the matter into your own hands."

"So we think," Amanda declared.

"But tell us." Amelia drew back to study Flick's face. "Did you choose Demon, or did he choose you?"

Flick looked across the ballroom to where Demon stood, to her eyes the most superbly handsome man in the ton. He was wearing black, with ivory shirt and cravat; under the glow of the chandeliers, he looked even more dangerous than in daylight. He was chatting to a gentleman; despite that, Flick knew he knew exactly where she was.

Her lips slowly curved-he looked, and to her senses was, the embodiment of her dream, her desire, a far better reflection than any sculpture, any picture in a book.

She glanced at the twins. "I chose him." She looked across the ballroom. "I was only ten at the time, so I didn't really understand, but… yes, I definitely chose first."

"Well, there you are." Amanda nodded decisively. "That's all of you-Honoria said she didn't choose first, but she definitely chose. Patience and Catriona both said they chose first. And so did you. So choosing is obviously the best way forward."

Flick glanced at them again, at their beautiful faces, and saw the stubborn wills underneath. She nodded. "Yes, that's probably true." The twins were very much like her.

"We'd better circulate." Amelia nudged them from their nook. "Mama is looking for us."

Adopting easy smiles, they slid into the crowd.

Smiling, Flick separated from the twins; although she forbade herself to scan the room, her senses searched for Demon. Over the last days, she'd seen him only fleetingly at the park, and once, by accident, in Bond Street. They'd exchanged no more than a few whispered phrases about the syndicate. And not once had his ever-so-slightly bored social mask slipped.

They had, however, been in public.

He'd arrived this evening at precisely the right moment to escort them down to the carriage, so they hadn't had a moment in private to catch up-on anything.

Which was becoming frustrating.

As was the fact she couldn't locate him.

She stopped before a bust of Caesar mounted on a pedestal. Dispensing with subtlety, she stretched on her toes and tried to scan the heads-she knew Demon's was somewhere in the room.

From behind, his hand closed on her arm.

She gasped and swung around.

He was standing beside the pedestal-he hadn't been there a moment before. Swiftly, he drew her to him, then swung and drew her past, until she was standing in the shallow alcove behind the pedestal. He faced her, leaning one arm on the pedestal's top, blocking her view.

Flick blinked. The ballroom possessed three semicircular alcoves; before each stood some arrangement, like the palms or the pedestal, leaving a small area behind. Those desirous of a quiet moment could avail themselves of the spot, partially private but in full view of the ballroom.

Looking into Demon's hard-featured face, she smiled gloriously. "Hello-I was looking for you."

His gaze on her face, he hesitated, then said, "I know."

She searched his face, his eyes-she couldn't quite place his tone. "Have you… ah, learned anything about the money?"

Demon drank in the sight of her, wallowed in the eager, welcoming light in her eyes, basked in the sensual glow that lit her face. She was screened from the ballroom by his shoulders. He drew a deep breath, and shook his head. "No. But we are making progress."

"Oh?" Her gaze lowered, and fixed on his lips; briefly, she moistened hers.

Clenching the fist hidden from the room by the bust, Demon nodded. "Montague has eliminated various securities-financial instruments through which that much money might have been hidden. While so far the results have been negative, we're narrowing our search."

She continued to stare at his lips, then realized they'd stopped moving; catching her breath on a little hitch, she looked up. And blinked. "It seems like we've been chasing the syndicate forever. Catching them seems like a dream." She paused, her eyes softening as they locked with his. Her "Do you think we ever will?" was softer yet.

Demon held her gaze and fought to remain still, to resist the impulse to lean forward, slide one arm about her and bring her against him. To bend his head, set his lips to hers, and answer the question in her eyes. Her gown, a sheath of silver-blue silk caught beneath her breasts with silver cords, then flaring over her hips into skirts that flirted about her ankles, didn't help. Its only claim to modesty lay in a froth of filmy silk gauze artfully looped about the neckline and over the points of her shoulders. It was an

effort to remember her question. "Yes." His tone was deep, harsh; she blinked free of his hold, clearly puzzled when she saw his face harden.