A Rogues Proposal (Cynster 4)

He'd guessed right-her head didn't top his shoulder. Bright, guinea-gold curls formed an aureole about her face; without muffler or cap, he could see the whole clearly, and it took his breath away. Her figure, neat and trim in blue velvet, met with his instant approval. Sleek and svelte, but with firm curves in all the right places. He could now take an oath that she must have worn tight bands to appear as she had before; the swells of her breasts filled the habit's tightly fitting bodice in a distinctly feminine way.

She swept forward with an easy, confident grace, then bent to place her neatly folded stable lad's outfit on the chest, in the process giving him a reminder of why he'd first seen through her disguise.

He blinked and drew in a much needed breath.

She looked like an angel, dressed in blue velvet.

A still very angry angel. She ignored Dillon and faced Demon. "I'll keep your stables under surveillance-you can watch the other stables and other places I can't go."

"There's no need-

"The more eyes we have watching, the more likely we'll be to see him. And I'll hear things that you, as the owner, won't." She met his gaze steadily. "If they recruited Ickley, there's a good chance they'd like to hobble one of your runners-you'll have quite a few favorites in the races this season."

The Flynn, among others. Demon held her gaze, and saw her chin firm, saw it tilt, saw defiance and sheer stubborn will flash in her eyes.

"That's right," Dillon concurred. "There's a lot of Newmarket to cover, and Flick's already been accepted as one of your lads."

Demon stared, pointedly, at him; Dillon shrugged. "She's in no danger-it's me they're after."

If Demon had been closer, he would have kicked Dillon; eyes narrowing, he was tempted to do it anyway. Only the fact that he hadn't yet determined how Flick saw Dillon-if she reserved the right to kick him to herself, and would fly to Dillon's defense if he administered any of the punishment Dillon so richly deserved-kept him still.

Dillon glanced at Flick. "You could even try riding for some of the other stables."

Flick looked down her nose at him. "I'll stick to Demon's stable-he can look over the others."

Her tone was cold and distant; Dillon shrugged petulantly. "You don't have to help if you don't want to."

He looked down at the table and so missed the fury that poured from Flick's eyes. "Just so we're perfectly clear," she stated, "I am only helping you because of the General-because of what having you taken up, without any evidence of a syndicate to redeem you in any way, will do to him. That's why I'm helping you."

Head high, she swung on her heel and stalked out.

Demon paused, looking at Dillon, now staring sulkily at the table. "Stay here. If you value your life, stay out of sight."

Dillon's eyes widened; with a curt nod, Demon followed Flick into the deep twilight.

He found her saddling Jessamy, her movements swift and jerky. He didn't offer to help; he suspected she could saddle up blind-indeed, he wasn't at all sure she wasn't doing that now.

Hurt and anger poured off her; disillusionment shimmered about h

er. Propping his shoulders against a convenient tree, Demon glanced across the clearing to where Ivan was still standing in exactly the same pose as an hour ago-staring at his new lady love.

Brows quirking, Demon turned back to Flick. Her head was just visible over Jessamy's back. He considered the halo of gold, the delicate features beneath.

She was furious with Dillon, hurt that he hadn't told her the truth, and shocked by the details of that truth. But, once her fury wore thin, what then? She and Dillon were of similar age; they'd grown up together. Precisely what that meant he didn't know, but he had to wonder how accurate her last assertion was. Was she risking her reputation only for the General? Or for Dillon as well?

He studied her, but couldn't decide. Whatever the answer, he would shield her as best he could.

He looked up at the stars, just starting to appear, and heard a sniff, instantly suppressed. She was taking a long time with her saddle girths.

"He's young." Why he felt compelled to excuse Dillon he couldn't have said.

"He's two years older than me."

How old did that make her? Demon wished he knew.

"What do you think happened to Ickley?"

Demon silently considered; he didn't imagine her ensuing silence meant she didn't expect an answer. "Either he's gone to ground, in which case the last thing we'd want to do is flush him out, or… we'll never know."