A Rogues Proposal (Cynster 4)

"We weren't suggesting you tell him, sweetheart," the first all but whispered in her ear.

Flick turned her head to him, then had to turn the other way as his friend did the same thing.

"We wouldn't want to cause any ructions-just a friendly bit of slap and tickle to keep my friend and me going until the orgy starts."

Orgy! Flick's jaw dropped.

"That's it-just think of it as a case of mutual tummy-rubbing. Here we are, with our peckers twitching but the action some way off-"

"And here you are, a plump little, pigeon just waiting to be plucked, but with your chosen plucker not yet in sight."

"Right-a bit of hot fumbling and a few good pokes would ease things all around. What do you say?"

They both leaned closer, voices low, increasingly hoarse as they whispered, in quick fire exchanges, a stream of suggestive suggestions directly into Flick's ears.

Behind her mask, her eyes grew rounder, and rounder. Toes? Tongues? Rods…

Flick had had enough. First Stratton, now these two. They'd pressed close; jerking both elbows outward, she jabbed them in the ribs. They fell back gasping-she whirled on them. "I have never met with such arrogant presumption in my life! You should be ashamed of yourselves-propositioning a lady in such terms! And without the slightest invitation! Just think how horrified your poor mamas would be if they ever heard you speaking like that." They stared at her as if she'd gone mad; Flick glared, then hissed, "And as for your twitching appendages, I suggest you take them for a long walk in the rain-that should cure them of their indisposition!"

She glared one last time, then swung on her heel-

And collided with another male.

Hers. His arms closed about her before she bounced off. Clutching his domino, she looked up into his masked face. For a moment, his gaze remained levelled over her head, then he glanced down.

Flick frowned. "How did you recognize me?"

She was the only woman there with hair like spun gold and she drew his senses like a lodestone. Demon narrowed his eyes. "What in heaven possessed you-"

"Ssh!" Her eyes darted about. "Here-kiss me." Stretching on her toes, she did the honors. As their lips parted, she whispered, "This appears to be a bacchanal-by-another-name-we have to do our best to fit in." Sliding her arms beneath his domino, she sank against him.

Demon gritted his teeth and backed her into the space she'd recently vacated.

"Those two gentlemen who were talking to me-you'll never guess what-" She broke off. "Where did they go?"

"They suddenly remembered pressing engagements elsewhere."

"Oh?"

She shot him a glance. Demon ignored it, and her distraction. "What I want to know is why you thought fit-" He broke off on a hiss, sucking in a breath as she twined her arms about his neck and shifted her hips against him.

He stared blankly down at her-she smiled, and laid her head on his chest.

"I found Bletchley. He's Sir Percival's groom."

He studied her eyes, lit with anticipation, with expectant excitement, and inwardly sighed. "So your note said." Gathering her more comfortably into his arms, he shifted so he could view the room. "I suppose you've decided the syndicate will meet tonight."

"It's the perfect occasion."

He could hardly disagree-looking over the sea of heads, he noted the spontaneous distractions arising here and there in the crowd. "Those attending wouldn't even risk being recognized." He looked down and met her gaze. "Let's take a look around-Stratton's occasions are always open house." Aside from anything else, he wanted her away from the center of activity, although, as things went, Sir Percival's masquerade had a long way yet to go.

Boldly curving a palm about her bottom, he steered her toward the nearest door. Glancing down, he met her shocked glance, and raised a far from innocent brow. "We have to do our best to fit in."

He flexed his fingers-behind her mask, her eyes flared, then a dangerous glint entered the soft blue. Before he could stop her, she swayed close, slipped one slim hand through the opening of his domino and stroked, tantalizingly, up his length.

Sucking in a breath, he froze; she chuckled wickedly. Catching his hand, she swung to the door. "Come along." The look she threw him as she led him out would have convinced the most suspicious observer that her fell aim was entirely in keeping with Sir Percival's masquerade.

Drawing a steadying breath, Demon went along with her charade while considering a few elaborations to her scheme. Once in the corridor, he drew her closer, settling her within his arm, his hand returning to its former, stridently possessive position. Any others coming upon them in the dimly lit corridors would simply see two revellers searching for a quiet nook.