The door was hauled open.
"Gillies!"
Flick jumped-and stared, wide-eyed, into Demon's face, watched his snarling expression transform in a blink to utter blankness.
In utter, abject disbelief, Demon stood in his shirtsleeves on the threshold of his bedroom, fury still wreathing his faculties, one hand imprisoning the wrists of his importuning ex-mistress, his gaze locked with the wide blue eyes of his innocent wife-to-be.
For one definable instant, his brain literally reeled.
Flick, thank heaven, was as stunned as he-she stared up at him and uttered not one peep.
Then Gillies shuffled into the hall. "Yessir?"
Demon looked down the stairs. Behind him, Celeste hissed and clawed at his hands. He filled the doorway so she couldn't see Flick, now shrinking back into the corner of the tiny landing, tugging her cap low, pulling her muffler over her face.
Hauling in a breath, he stepped forward and turned, squashing Flick into the corner behind him. "The countess is leaving. Now." He yanked Celeste out of his room and released her; stony-faced, he gestured down the stairs.
Celeste paused for one instant, black eyes spitting fury, then she uttered three virulent words he was quite happy not to understand, stuck her nose in the air, hitched her cloak about her shoulders, and swept down the stairs.
Gillies opened the door. "Your coach awaits, madam."
Without a backward glance, Celeste swept out of the house. Gillies shut the door.
Behind Demon, Flick grinned, having watched the entire proceedings from under his arm.
Then she jumped, plastering herself against the wall as he swung on her and roared, "And what the damn hell do you think you're doing here?"
"Heh?" Stunned, Gillies looked up. "Good God."
Considering what she could see in Demon's eyes, Flick didn't think God would be much help to her. She could barely remember the answer to his question. "I saw Bletchley."
He blinked and drew marginally back. "Bletchley?"
She nodded. "On one of the corners we passed on the way home from the musicale."
"From Guilford Street?"
She nodded again. "There was a tavern on the corner-he was drinking and chatting to some grooms. And"-she paused dramatically-"he was in livery, too!"
Which, of course, explained why they hadn't found him, why he hadn't appeared at any of the usual places to meet with the gentlemen of the syndicate. He was, quite possibly, in the household of one of the syndicate.
Demon studied Flick's face while his mind raced. "Gillies?"
"Aye-I'll fetch a hackney." Pulling on his coat, he went out.
Straightening, Demon drew in a huge breath, his gaze steady on Flick's eyes. "Which corner was it?"
"I don't know-I don't know London streets very well." She tilted her chin and looked straight back at him. "I'd know it if I saw it again."
He narrowed his eyes at her; she widened hers and stared back.
Muttering an oath, he spun on his heel. "Wait there."
He fetched his coat, shrugged into it, then escorted her down the stairs and into the hackney. At his order, Gillies came too, scrambling up onto the seat beside the driver.
"Guilford Street. As fast as you can." Demon pulled the door shut and sat back.
The jarvey took him at his word; neither Demon nor Flick spoke as they rattled through the streets and swung around corners. On reaching Guilford Street, Demon told the jarvey to head for Berkeley Square, following the directions he relayed from Flick. Sitting forward, she scanned the streets, unerringly picking out their way.