A Rogues Proposal (Cynster 4)

"I was hoping I might prevail upon you to honor me and my sisters with your presence on a drive to Richmond."

Flick smiled gently. "Thank you, but I'm afraid Lady Horatia and I are fully committed tomorrow."

"Oh-yes, of course. Just a thought."

Flick let regret tinge her smile-and wished it was Demon who'd asked. She didn't care a fig for the constant round of entertainments; she would have enjoyed a drive to Richmond, but she couldn't encourage Lord Bristol to imagine he had any chance with her.

Supper had come and gone; Demon had coolly claimed her, stiffly escorted her into the supper room, then sat by her side and said not a word as her court endeavored to entertain her. This waltz had followed immediately; she performed without thought, waiting for their revolutions to bring them once more in sight of her obsession. He was standing at the end of the room.

Then Lord Bristol swung her into the turn. She looked-and nearly gasped. Whirling away, she dragged in a breath, struggling to mask her shock. Her lungs constricted; she felt real pain.

Who was she-the woman all but draped over him? She was stunningly beautiful-dark hair piled high over an exquisite face atop a body that flaunted more sumptuous curves than Flick had imagined possible. Much worse, her cloying closeness, the way she looked into his face, positively screamed their relationship.

Blissfully unaware, Lord Bristol swung her up the room. Blankness descended, blessed relief from the clawing, shrieking jealousy that had raked her. The change left her dizzy.

The music faded, the dance came to an end. Lord Bristol released her-she nearly stumbled, only just remembering to curtsy.

Flick knew she was pale. Inside she was trembling. She smiled weakly at Lord Bristol. "Thank you." Turning, she walked into the crowd.

She hadn't known he had a mistress.

That word kept repeating in her mind-incessantly. As she tacked through the crowd all but blind, instinct came to her aid; she headed for a group of potted palms. There was no alcove, but in the shadow cast by the large fronds close by the wall, she found sanctuary.

Not once did she question the correctness of her assumption; she knew she was right. What she didn't know was what to do. She'd never felt so lost in her life.

The man she'd just glimpsed, heavy lids at half-mast as he traded sensuous quips with his mistress, was not the man she'd met on Newmarket Heath-the man to whom she'd willingly given herself in the best bedchamber at The Angel.

Her mind wouldn't work properly-bits of her problem surfaced, but she couldn't see the whole.

"Can't see her at present, but she's a pretty little thing. Quite suitable. Now that Horatia's taken her under her wing, all will, no doubt, go as it should."

The words came from the other side of the palms, in accents of matriarchal approval. Flick blinked.

"Hmm," came a second voice. "Well, one can hardly accuse him of being besotted, can one?"

Flick peeked through the fringed leaves-two old ladies were leaning on their sticks, scanning the ballroom.

"As it should be," the first intoned. "I'm sure it's precisely as Hilary Eckles said-he's had the sense to recognize it's time for him to take a wife, and he's chosen well-a gently reared chit, ward of a friend of the family. It's not a love match, and a good thing, too!"

"Indeed," the second old biddy nodded decisively. "So tiresomely emotional, these love matches. Can't see the sense in them, myself."

"Sense?" The first snorted. "That's because there isn't any to see. Unfortunately, it's the latest fashion."

"Hmm." The second lady paused, then, with a puzzled ah", said, "Seems odd for a Cynster to be unfas

hionable, especially on that point."

"True, but it appears Horatia's boy's the first one in a while to have his head screwed on straight. He may be a hellion but in this, he's displayed uncommon sense. Well"-the lady gestured-"where would we have been if we'd allowed love to rule us?"

"Precisely. There's Thelma-let's see what she says."

The two ladies stumped off, leaning heavily on their canes, but Flick no longer felt safe behind the palms. Her head was still spinning; she didn't feel all that well. The withdrawing room seemed her safest option.

She slipped through the crowd, avoiding anyone she knew, especially any Cynsters. Reaching the door to the corridor, she stepped into the shadows. A little maid jumped up from a stool and led her to the room set aside for ladies to refresh themselves.

The room was brightly lit along one side, which was lined with mirrors, leaving the rest of the room heavily shadowed. Accepting a glass of water from the maid, Flick retreated to a chair in the gloom. Sipping the water, she simply sat. Other ladies came and went; no one noticed her in her dim corner. She started to feel better.

Then the door swung wide, and Demon's mistress stepped through. One of the ladies preening before the mirrors saw her; smiling, she turned. "Celeste! And how goes your conquest?"