Demon snorted. "That was a foregone conclusion-she could hardly scold while in alt. It's her dream come true-to organize a wedding."
"I'm only glad, after all her worrying, that we could leave her so happy."
Demon merely snorted-distinctly unfilially-again.
Two minutes later, in a quiet street, he drew in to the curb, tossed the reins to Gillies, and jumped down. Flick looked around. "What?…
Demon impatiently waved her to him; she shuffled along the seat and he lifted her down. "I want to show you something." Taking her hand, he led her up the steps of the nearest house-a gentleman's residence with a portico held aloft by two columns. In the portico, he pulled a set of keys from his pocket, selected one, opened the front door, and pushed it wide. With an elegant bow, he waved her in, merely lifting his brows at her questioning look.
Wondering, Flick entered a pleasant rectangular hall-from the echoes and absence of furniture it was apparent the house stood empty. Pausing in the middle of the hall, she turned and raised her brows.
Demon waved her on. "Look around."
She did, starting with the reception rooms opening from the front hall, then on up the stairs, going faster and faster as excitement gripped her. The pleasant, welcoming aura that hung in the hall recurred throughout the rooms, all airy and gracious, the morning sun streaming in through large windows. The master bedroom was large, the other bedrooms more than adequate; she eventually reached the nursery, under the eaves.
"Oh! This is wonderful!" She darted down the corridor that led to the small bedrooms, then crossed to peek into the nanny's domain. Then, her heart swelling so much she thought it would burst, she turned and looked at Demon, lounging, all rakish elegance, in the doorway, watching her. She met his gaze, smiling but watchful.
He studied her face, then raised one brow. "Do you like it?"
Flick let her heart fill her eyes; her smile was ecstatic. "It's wonderful-perfect!" Reining in her excitement, she asked, "How much is it? Could we possibly?…"
His slow smile warmed her. Drawing his hand from his pocket, he held up the keys. "It's ours-we'll live here while in town."
"Oh!" Flick flew at him, hugged him wildly, kissed him soundly-then raced off again. She didn't need further explanation-this would be their home-this the nursery they would fill with their children. After the last weeks, she knew family was a vital part of him, the central concept around which he was focused. Even if he didn't know it, she did-this, from him, was the ultimate declaration-she needed no further vows. This-the home, the family-would be theirs.
Demon grinned and watched her. He still found her joy deeply refreshing, her open delight infectious. As he trailed her once more through the house, he wryly admitted he could now understand why so many generations of his forebears had found pleasure in indulging their wives.
That had been an abiding mystery before-it no longer was. He-Demon by name, demon by nature-had been vanquished by an angel. He no longer viewed her as innocent and youthful in the sense of being less able than he. After last night, he knew she could match him in any venture, any challenge. She was the wife for him.
And so here he was, trailing in her wake. She led-he followed, with his hand oh-so-lightly on her reins. What he'd found with her he'd found with no other-she was his and he was hers, and that was how it had to be. It was that simple. This was love-he was long past denying it.
Regaining the drawing room, she stopped at its center. "We'll have to shop for furniture."
Demon quelled a shudder. He followed her in, slid one arm around her waist, drew her against him, paused for one instant to watch the sudden flaring of awareness in her eyes, then kissed her.
She sank into his embrace; he tightened it about her. The kiss deepened-and they said all they needed with their lips, their bodies, their hearts. For one long moment, they clung, then he lifted his head.
The evidence he carried in his pocket crackled.
His chest swelled as he drew in a breath; she looked up-he met her eyes. "Let's take these to Newmarket." So they could get on with the rest of their lives.
She nodded briskly. They disengaged, straightened their clothes, then hurried out to the curricle.
By ten o'clock, they were bowling northward, the enclosed spaces of London far behind. Joyfully, Flick breathed deep, then turned her face to the sun. "We'll have to go to Hillgate End first-to tell the General and Dillon."
"I'll drive to the farm. We can leave your things there for the moment, ride to the cottage and collect Dillon, ride on to the manor and tell the General, then go straight on to the Jockey Club. I want to get that information before the Committee as soon as possible." His face hardened; he reached for the whip.
Flick wondered if his grim urgency stemmed from concern for the industry he'd so long been a part of, or from the nebulous feeling that they hadn't, yet, defeated Stratton. That feeling hadn't left her since Stratton had walked in on them last night-like a specter, it hovered at her shoulder, growing blacker, weightier. As they rounded a curve, she looked back, but there was no one there.
They drove through Newmarket in the early afternoon and headed straight for the farm. While Demon organized their horses, Flick hurried upstairs and changed into her riding habit. In less than half an hour, they were riding into the clearing behind the ruined cottage.
"It's us, Dillon," Flick called as she slid from the saddle. "Me and Demon. We're back!"
Her excitement rang in her voice. Dillon appeared through the lean-to, struggling to contain the hope lightening his haggard features.
One glance was enough to tell Demon that Dillon had changed-somewhere, somehow, he'd found some backbone. He said nothing, however, but joined Flick as she headed for the cottage.
Even before she reached him, Dillon stiffened. Demon had never seen him stand so tall, so determined. Fists clenched at his sides, he met Flick's gaze directly. "I've been to see the General."