"It was just a little farther-there!" She pointed to the little tavern on the corner. "He was there, standing by that barrel." Bletchley wasn't, unfortunately, there now.
"Sit back." Demon tugged her back from the window, then ordered the jarvey to draw up after the next corner. As the coach rocked to a halt, Gillies swung down and came to the door. With his head, Demon indicated the tavern. "See what you can learn."
Gillies nodded. Hands in his pockets, he sauntered off, whistling tunelessly.
Sinking back against the leather seat, Flick stared into the night. Then she looked down and played with her fingers. Two minutes later, she drew in a deep breath and lifted her head. "The countess is very beautiful, isn't she?"
"No."
Startled, she looked at Demon. "Don't be ridiculous! The woman's gorgeous."
Turning his head, he met her gaze. "Not to me."
Their eyes locked, silence stretched, then he looked down. Lifting one hand, he reached out, tugged one of hers from her lap, and wrapped his long fingers about it. "She-and all the others-they came before you. They no longer matter-they have no meaning." He slid his fingers between hers, then locked their palms together.
"My taste," he continued, his tone even and low as he rested their locked hands on his thigh, "has changed in recent times-since last I visited Newmarket, as a matter of fact."
"Oh?"
"Indeed." There was the ghost of a smile in his voice. "These days, I find gold curls much more attractive than dark locks." Again, he met her eyes, then his gaze drifted over her face. "And features that might have been drawn by Botticelli more beautiful than the merely classical."
Something powerful stirred in the dark between them-Flick felt it. Her heart hitched, then started to canter. Her lips, as his gaze settled on them, started to throb.
"I've discovered that I much prefer the taste of sweet innocence, rather than more exotic offerings."
His voice had deepened to a gravelly rumble that slid, subtly rough, over her flickering nerves.
His chest swelled as he drew breath. His gaze lowered. "And I now find slender limbs and firm, svelte curves much more fascinating-more arousing-than flagrantly abundant charms."
Flick felt his gaze, hot as the sun, sweep her, then it swung up again. He searched her eyes, then lifted his other hand, shoulders shifting as he reached for her face. Fingers closing about her chin, his gaze locked with hers, he held her steady, and slowly, very slowly, leaned closer.
"Unfortunately"-he breathed the word against her yearning lips-"there's only one woman who meets my exacting requirements."
She deserted the sight of his long, lean lips-lifting her lids, she looked into his eyes. "Only one?"
She could barely get the words out.
He held her gaze steadily. "One." His gaze dropped to her lips, then his lids fell as he leaned the last inch nearer. "Only one."
Their lips touched, brushed, molded-
Gillies's tuneless whistle rapidly neared.
Smothering a curse, Demon let her go and sat back.
Flick nearly cursed, too. Flushed, breathless-absolutely ravenous-she struggled to steady her breathing.
Gillies appeared at the door. "It was Bletchley, right enough. He's somebody's groom, but no one there knows who his master is. He's not a regular. The place is the local haunt for the coachmen waiting for their gentlemen to finish at the-" Gillies stopped; his features blanked.
Demon frowned. He leaned forward, looked out at the street, then sank back. "Houses?" he suggested.
Gillies nodded. "Aye-that's it."
Flick glanced along the row of well-tended terrace houses. "Maybe we could learn which houses had guests tonight, then ask who the guests were?"
"I don't think that's a viable option." Demon jerked his head; Gillies leapt at the chance to scramble up top. "On to Berkeley Square."