A Rogues Proposal (Cynster 4)

In the next heartbeat, his grip tightened. "What's wrong?"

His tone was oddly flat. Flick didn't dare look up-she shook her head. "Nothing."

His grip tightened, his fingers iron shackles about her upper arms, "Dammit, Flick-!"

"It's nothing." She squirmed. Because of his size, and because they were standing just inside the door, thus far they'd attracted no attention. "You're hurting me," she hissed.

Immediately, his grip eased. His hands remained on her upper arms, holding her away from him but sliding soothingly up and down, warm palms to her bare skin, slipping beneath the silk folds that formed her sleeves. His touch was so evocative-so tempting; she was wracked by the urge to sob and launch herself into his arms-

She couldn't do that.

Stiffening her spine, she hauled in a breath and lifted her head. "It's nothing," she restated, looking past his shoulder to where couples were milling on the dance floor.

Eyes narrowed, Demon stared over her head, into the shadows of the corridor. "What did your aunt say to upset you?" His voice was even-too even. It sounded deadly, which was precisely how he felt.

Flick shook her head. "Nothing!"

He studied her face, but she wouldn't meet his eyes. She was as white as a sheet and… fragile was the word that leapt to mind. "Was it one of those puppies-the ones yapping at your heels?" If it was, he'd kill them.

"No!" She shot him a venomous look; her chin set. "It was nothing."

The effort she was making to pull herself together was visible. He didn't move-while he stood before her, she was screened from curious eyes.

"It was nothing," she repeated in a steadier voice.

She was trembling, more inside than outwardly-he could sense it. His impulse was to drag her off to some quiet room where he could wrap her in his arms, wear down her resistance and learn what was wrong-but he didn't trust himself alone with her. Not in his current state. It had been bad enough before. Now…

He drew in a breath and seized the moments she needed to calm herself to steady his own wracked nerves. And reshackle his demons.

The cross he'd fashioned and willingly taken up was proving much heavier than he'd expected. Not spending any time with her-even by her side in a ballroom-was eating at his control. But he'd set the stage; now he had to play his part and stick by the script he'd written.

For her good, for her protection, he had to keep his distance.

That sentence was hard enough to bear-he didn't need anyone adding to his burden. Bad enough that he'd had to force himself to swallow every instinct he possessed and watch as she waltzed with other men. Until she agreed to marry him and they made a public announcement, he didn't dare waltz with her in public. And, given who he was-a much older, infinitely more experienced rake-and the fact that she was transparently innocent, they could never be private, not until they were formally engaged.

Straightening, he let his arms fall-she shivered at the loss of his touch. Jaw clenching, he drew in a patient breath and waited.

How long he could wait, he didn't know. Every night, the ordeal of the waltz grew worse. Those who'd previously been his partners had tried to tease him onto the floor, but he had no desire to waltz with them. He wanted his angel and only her, but he'd used the others for distraction-

not his, but the ton's.

Tonight, it had been Celeste-he'd almost managed to distract himself by giving the salacious countess her conge in no uncertain terms, for she'd proved she understood nothing else. Miffed, she'd peeled herself from him and swanned off in a snit, from which he sincerely hoped she never recovered. For one moment, he'd felt good-buoyed by success. Until he'd glanced up and seen Flick in that puppy Bristol's arms.

Half-turning, his gaze raked the dance floor. Couples were forming sets for the next country dance, the second of the dances he permitted himself with Flick. As far as he could tell, all her puppies were somewhere on the floor. So who had upset her?

He looked back at her; she was calmer-a touch of color had returned to her cheeks. "Perhaps we should stroll, rather than dance."

She shot him a startled look. "No! I mean-" Shaking her head wildly, she looked away. "No, let's dance."

She sounded suddenly breathless; Demon narrowed his eyes.

"I owe you a dance-it's on my dance card." Gulping in a breath, she nodded. "That's what you want from me, so let's dance. The music's starting."

He hesitated, then, using his grace to camouflage her state, he bowed and led her to the nearest set.

The instant he took her hand in his, he knew he'd been right to acquiesce-she was so brittlely tense, so fragile, that if he pressed her she'd shatter. She was holding herself together by sheer force of will-all he could do was support her as best he could.

It was just as well he was there. He could perform any dance with his eyes closed, but she'd only learned the steps in the last weeks. She needed to concentrate, but that was presently beyond her. So he guided her as if she was a nervous filly with his hand on her reins. For most of the dance, their hands were locked-by squeezing her fingers, this way or that, he directed her through the figures.