A Rogues Proposal (Cynster 4)

His arm still about her, his cheek against her golden curls, Demon closed his eyes tight and again told himself-the being who dwelled deep inside-that it really was all right, that Flick was still with him, that he hadn't lost his angel so soon after finding her. Flick was a lot shorter than he was-if Dillon hadn't shielded her, Stratton's bullet would have hit her in the back of her beautiful head.

He really couldn't think of it-not without coming apart-so he pushed the image away, locked it deep inside. Lifting his head, he looked down at Dillon, to whom he now owed more than his life. Flick was still staunching the flow of blood, but it seemed to be easing. Demon considered, then looked into her face. She was still pale, but composed.

Part of him wanted to shake her-to swear and rant at her for throwing herself across him; the saner part realized there really was no point. She would simply set her little chin and get that stubborn look on her face and refuse to pay the slightest attention. And she'd do it again in a blink.

The realization only made him want to hug her, hold her tight, keep her forever safe in his arms.

Drawing a deep breath, he reached out and gently tugged her hands from the bloody pad. "Come." She turned to him; he met her gaze. "Leave that to me-you're going to have to ride for help."

Sorting it out took the rest of the day. Flick rode to the farm-Gillies and the Shephards took over from there, summoning the doctor, the magistrate and constable while Flick rode to Hillgate End. She stayed with the General, soothing and reassuring, until the doctor's gig arrived from the cottage with Demon driving and Dillon in the back.

They got Dillon inside-the doctor, a veteran of the Peninsula Wars, had extracted the bullet at the cottage, so Dillon was quickly made comfortable. He was still unconscious-the doctor warned he probably wouldn't wake until the next day. Mrs. Fogarty installed herself at his bedside; the General, after seeing his son still breathing, and hearing from both Flick and Demon of Dillon's bravery, finally consented to retire to the library.

The magistrate and the constable met them there; the members of the Committee, at Newmarket for the Spring Carnival that week, joined them. Tabling Dillon's account, then an explanation of the investigations that had resulted in Montague's estimations, then laying out Stratton's accounts for all to see, Demon led the assembled company through the details of Sir Percival's race-fixing racket.

While Dillon's involvement was frowned upon, in light of the greater crimes involved and his clear repentance, his misdemeanors were set aside, to be dealt with later by the Committee, once he was fully recovered. At present, they had greater fish to fry-the extent of Stratton's manipulation of their industry fired them with fury. They left, faces stiff, vowing to make an example of him. An aim Demon openly supported.

The instant they'd gone, the General slumped. Flick fussed and fretted and worried him into bed; Jacobs assured her he would watch over him. Leaving the General propped on his pillows, Flick paused in the corridor; shutting the General's door behind him, Demon studied her face, then walked to her side and drew her into his arms.

She stood stiffly for an instant, then the iron will and sheer stubbornness that had kept her going until then dissolved. She sank into his arms, sliding hers about him, laying her cheek against his chest.

Then she started to shake.

Demon carried her downstairs and coaxed a small glass of brandy past her lips. Her color improved marginally, but he didn't like the distant look in her eyes. He racked his brain for something with which to distract her.

"Come on." Abruptly standing, he drew her to her feet. "Let's go back to the farmhouse. Your luggage is there, remember? Mrs. Shephard can feed us, then you can look around and decide what changes you'd like to make."

She blinked at him. "Changes?"

He towed her to the door. "Remodelling, redecorating-how should I know?"

They rode back. He watched her every step of the way, but she was steady in her saddle. His staff were very pleased to see them; it instantly became clear Gillies had spread their news. Which was probably just as well, as Demon had every intention of dining alone with his angel.

Mrs. Shephard was on her mettle, laying a nourishing meal quickly before them. Demon was relieved to note Flick's appetite hadn't evaporated. They sat quietly as the evening lengthened, making comments at random, slowly winding down.

Finishing his port, Demon rose, rounded the table, and drew Flick to her feet. "Come-I'll give you the grand tour." He showed her all around the ground floor, then climbed the stairs; his tour ended in his bedroom, above the parlor at whose window she used to come a-tapping.

Much, much later, Flick lolled, utterly naked, in Demon's big bed. She had, she decided, never felt more comfortable, more at peace, more at home, in her life.

"Come on." A sharp smack on her bottom followed. "We'd better get dressed and I'll drive you home."

Flick didn't look around. She didn't lift her head-she sank it deeper into the pillow and shook it. "You can drive me home early in the morning, can't you?"

Lounging beside her, as naked as she, Demon looked down at her-what he could see of her-the tousled guinea gold curls gilding his pillow, one sweetly rounded shoulder and delicately curved arm, one slender leg, and one firm, absolutely perfect buttock, all clothed in the silkiest ivory skin, presently lightly flushed. All the rest of her-all that he'd enjoyed for the past several hours-was provocatively draped in his satin sheets.

She was going to be a never-ending challenge, demanding all his skill to let her run as free as she wished, with only the very lightest hand on her reins.

A slow smile curved his lips as he reached for the sheet. "Yes-I suppose I can."

Epilogue

April 30, 1820

St. Georges Church, Hanover Square

Everyone attended. The Duke and Duchess of St. Ives sat in the first row, with the Dowager beside them. Vane, of course, was best man; he and Patience had returned to London the week before. Of all the family and its myriad connections, only Richard and Catriona hadn't been able to attend, and that only because of the short notice.

The twins were Flick's bridesmaids, with Heather, Henrietta, Elizabeth, Angelica and little Mary as flower girls. Such a crowd had been needed, Demon had discovered, to manage Flick's long train. But from the instant she'd appeared and walked down the nave to join him, to the moment they were pronounced man and wife, he couldn't recall any detail beyond the sheer beauty of her angelic face.