A Rogues Proposal (Cynster 4)

Flick snipped the stem of a cornflower and considered how best to place it. She held it up, her hand hovering-

Long fingers plucked the bloom from her grasp.

She gasped, but even before her gaze collided with his, she knew who stood beside her. She knew his touch-knew the sen

se of strength he projected. "Have you seen the General?" she gabbled, frantically trying to slow her racing heart.

"Hmm." Eyes half-closed, he lazily angled the stem this way, then that, then slid it home into the vase. He surveyed his handiwork, then, apparently satisfied, turned to her. "I did see him, yes."

His lazy, indolent-sleepy-expression deceived her not at all; beneath his heavy lids, his eyes were sharp, his gaze incisive. She lifted her chin and picked up the garden shears. "I told you there was no need for any drama."

His lips lifted in a slight smile. "So you did."

Flick stifled a sniff at his tone; she had, indeed, expected his thanks, once he'd had time to consider, to realize what his offer would have meant. She supposed he would marry sometime, but he was only thirty-one, and he definitely didn't want to marry her.

But he made no further comment. Instead, he lounged, shoulders propped against the wall, and, with the same lazy, unnerving air, watched her place her flowers. As the silence stretched, it occurred to her that perhaps he thought she didn't fully appreciate the sacrifice he'd been prepared to make. "It's not that I'm not grateful." She kept her gaze firmly fixed on her blooms.

Her comment succeeded in dissipating a little of his indolence. She felt the sudden focusing of his attention.

"Grateful?"

She continued to snip and set. "For your kind offer to save my reputation. I appreciate it would have entailed a considerable sacrifice on your part-thankfully, there was no need."

His gaze locked on her profile, Demon fought to remain where he was-and not haul her into his arms and kiss her, just to shut her up. "Sacrifice? Actually, I hadn't viewed taking you to wife in quite that light."

"Hadn't you?" She blinked at him in patent surprise, then smiled and turned back to her flowers. "I dare say you would have, once you'd stopped to think the idea through."

Demon simply stared at her. He'd never felt so… dismissed in his life.

"Luckily, there was no reason for worry. I did tell you so."

Luckily for her, what next he might have said, and done, neither of them were destined to learn; Jacobs appeared in the doorway with the information that lunch was awaiting them in the dining parlor.

Flick led the way. Demon no longer expected anything else; he prowled just behind her, making no effort to fully catch up-in his present mood, it was probably wisest if she remained just out of reach.

Lunch was not a success.

Flick grew increasingly impatient with their guest as the meal progressed. He contributed nothing to the conversation beyond answering questions the General threw his way. Instead, broodingly intent, he watched her, as if studying some incomprehensible being of whom he nevertheless disapproved, leaving her to chatter with increasingly feigned brightness until her head ached.

By the time the meal ended and they pushed back their chairs, she was ready to snap at him-if he deigned to give her the chance.

"Well, m'boy-let me know if you detect any weakness in those horses." The General shook hands with Demon, then smiled at Flick. "Why don't you see Demon to the stable, m'dear? It's a lovely day out there." With his usual benign smile, the General waved at the French doors, open to the terrace. "Enjoy the fine weather while you may."

Across the table, Flick met Demon's level gaze. The last thing she wanted to do was, all sweet comfort, accompany him to the stable-she was annoyed with him, at the way he was behaving. It was as if he'd been denied something he wanted, for heaven's sake. He was sulking! All because things hadn't gone as he'd planned-because she'd rescripted his grand gesture for him, and he hadn't got to play the role he'd expected. That of heroic sacrifice.

Drawing a deep breath, she held it; lips compressed, she held his gaze challengingly. Very nearly belligerently.

He merely raised one brow-even more challengingly, more defiantly; stepping back, he gestured to the terrace.

Flick could almost hear the gauntlet thud down on the table between them.

Lifting her head, she stepped around the table, preceding him out the doors, down the steps and across the lawn. Pacing briskly, irritatedly, she was halfway across the lawn before she realized he wasn't with her.

Abruptly stopping, she glanced back. He was strolling slowly, leisurely, exceedingly unhurriedly, in her distant wake. Gritting her teeth, she waited, and waited, for him to catch up. The instant he did, she turned and, elevating her nose to an angle worthy of her ire, she matched her pace to his, strolling at crawling pace just ahead of him.

Two paces later, a warm flush washed over her nape, exposed above her neckline. The odd sensation drifted lower, spreading across her shoulders, then sliding down her spine. It lingered in the hollow of her waist, then, at a telling pace, washed lower, and yet lower-

She caught her breath and stopped to brush an imaginary wrinkle from her skirts. The instant Demon drew level with her, she straightened and stepped out-at his side-praying her fading blush was no longer visible.