A Rogues Proposal (Cynster 4)

"Shssh. Listen."

Balanced against him, she strained her ears.

"Let's see if I got this straight."

That had to be the jockey; the voice was clear, not scratchy.

"You'll give me three ponies the day before the Stakes, an' two ponies the day after, if I bring Cyclone in out o' the places. That right?"

"Aye-that's the deal," Bletchley grated. "Take it or leave it."

The jockey was silent, presumably ruminating; Demon looked down at her, then his arm slid further around her, better supporting her against him.

"Relax," he breathed. His lips brushed hers in the lightest of caresses, then the jockey spoke again.

"I'll take it."

"Done."

"That's our cue," Demon said sotto voce.

The next instant, he laughed aloud; his arm tightening about her, he swung her around and stood her on her feet. He grinned. "Come along, sweetheart. Wouldn't do for the local gabblemongers to start wondering where we've got to. Let alone what we've been doing."

He spoke loudly enough for Bletchley and the jockey to hear. Flick blushed and ignored their audience completely; locking both hands about her parasol handle, she turned back to the Heath with a swish of her skirts.

With another demonic laugh-one of triumph-Demon, his hand lying proprietorially on her back just a little lower than her waist, ushered her around the stable, back into the safety of the racing throng.

The instant they rounded the corner of the stable, Flick wriggled to dislodge his hand. It only pressed closer.

"We can't drop our roles yet." Demon's murmur stirred the curls above her ear. "Bletchley's following. While he can see us, we'll need to preserve our act."

She shot him a suspicious, distracted look; her bottom was heating.

He smiled, all wolf. "Who knows? An established disguise might come in handy in the following days."

Following days? Flick hoped she didn't look as scandalized as she felt; the laughing, teasing look in Demon's eyes suggested otherwise.

To her consternation, Bletchley returned to stand under the oak beside the Heath-and proceeded to watch the exercising strings for the next hour.

So they watched him, while Demon lived up to his nickname and exercised his rakish talents, using ploy after ploy to ruffle her composure. To make her blush and skitter, and act the besotted miss.

Whether it was due to his expertise or otherwise, it grew increasingly easy to act besotted. To relax and laugh and smile. And blush.

He knew just how to tease her, just how to catch her eye and invite her to laugh-at him, at them, at herself. Knew just how to touch her-lightly, fleetingly-so that her senses leapt and her heart galloped faster than any horse on the Heath. When Bletchley, after approaching one other jockey and getting short shrift, finally headed back into the town, she'd blushed more than she ever had before.

Clinging to her parasol as if it were a weapon, and her last defense, she met Demon's eye. "I'll leave you now-I'm sure you can keep him in sight for the rest of the afternoon."

His eyes held hers, their expression difficult to read; for one instant, she thought it was reluctance she glimpsed in the blue-reluctance to set aside their roles.

"I don't need to follow him." Demon looked to the edge of the Heath and raised his hand. Gillies, lounging against a post, nodded and slipped off in Bletchley's wake.

Demon looked back at his companion of the afternoon. "Come-I'll drive you home."

Her gaze trapped in his, she waved to the nearby road. "I have the groom with the gig."

"We can send him on ahead." He raised one brow and reached for her hand. "Surely you'd rather be driven home behind my bays than the nag harnessed to the gig?"

As one who appreciated good horseflesh, her choice was a foregone conclusion. With an inclination of her head t