Biting her tongue against all manner of heated phrases, she preserved a tense silence. He strolled calmly beside her and gave her not one opening to snipe at him.

The grooms saw them as they emerged from beneath the wisteria, and they ran to get his bays.

Halting at the entrance to the stable yard, Flick's patience came to an end. "I can't see why you're not grateful," she hissed. She kept her gaze on the grooms as they fussed with his horses.

"Can't you? Perhaps that's the problem."

"There isn't any problem."

"Permit me to disagree." He paused, then added, "Aside from anything else, you're glaring."

She whirled and faced him. "I'm glaring at you."

"So I noticed."

"You are impossible!"

"Me?"

For an instant, his blue eyes blinked wide-she could actually imagine he was sincere in his surprise. Swiftly, his eyes searched hers; his gaze sharpened. "Tell me," he murmured, glancing at the lads harnessing the bays, "do you think to marry Dillon eventually?"

"Dillon?" She stared at him, unmindful of the fact that her mouth had fallen open. "Marry Dillon? You are out of your mind. As if I'd marry such a… a… nobody-an inconsequential boy. A man of no real substance. A nincompoop! A-"

"All right-forget I asked."

"For your information, I have no intention of marrying any gentleman unless I want to. I will certainly not marry simply because of some nonsensical social stricture." Her voice cracked with the effort of screaming in whispers. She drew breath and forged on, "And as for your offer-well, you might as well say I must marry because of a mouse!"

The bays came trotting up, led by an eager groom. Tersely, Demon nodded his thanks and took the reins. Climbing to the box seat, he sat and looked at her.

Eyes kindling, she tartly remarked, "I can't see why you aren't grateful-you know perfectly well you don't want to marry me."

He looked down at her, his expression like stone, his eyes hard as blue diamonds. He held her defiant gaze, then his chest swelled.

"You have no idea," he murmured, his diction frighteningly precise, "what I want at all."

He clicked the reins; the bays surged. He swept out of the stable yard and bowled away down the drive.

Chapter 8

"I wondered if you'd care for a drive?"

Gasping, Flick whirled; the large vase she was carrying shook, slipped-

Demon reached out and steadied it; his fingers brushed hers.

Flick trembled. She drew her hands away, leaving him holding the vase. Standing in the sunshine streaming through the gallery windows, she stared at him, disjointed phrases tangling on her tongue. She wanted to rail at him for creeping up on her-again. She wanted to scowl or at least frown-she hadn't forgiven him for his behavior of yesterday.

She wanted to ask what he'd meant by his parting comment. "A drive?" Her head was still whirling.

He shrugged, his lids veiling his eyes. "Just a tool about the lanes for half an hour or so."

&nbs

p; She drew in a steadying breath. Twenty-four hours had passed since he'd driven away-twenty-four hours in which she'd thought of little else but him. Swinging to the windows, she looked out on another glorious spring day. Simultaneously, she felt the warm flush she was growing accustomed to slide down her back.

"The breeze is warm. You won't need a spencer."

Just as well; she didn't have one that wouldn't look hideous with this gown-white mull muslin sprinkled with tiny gold and purple daisies. Flick nodded, determination filling her. "A drive would be very nice."

Tags: Stephanie Laurens Cynster Historical
Source: readsnovelonline.net