Which brought him to wondering how she saw him…

He watched, and pondered. There was no need to look away.

He'd seen her face so often in his dreams that he didn't notice when he fell asleep. Her face was his last image before his lids fell-it was the first thing he saw, through the dimness, when he woke.

Frowning, Demon eased his stiff neck and glanced at the fire to see it a pile of cooling ash. He froze, staring at the grey pile, then whipped around to look at the windows.

The heavy shutters were in place, but a thin shaft of pale light edged each slat.

Swearing beneath his breath, he glanced at Flick, still softly sleeping, an angel in repose. Jaw setting, he rose and strode silently to the door. Opening it confirmed his worst fear-the day had dawned.

Drawing the door wide, Demon hauled in a deep breath. The scent of the wet forest flowed into him; he held it in, then slowly exhaled.

A sound behind him had him turning; silent and still in the doorway, he watched Flick awake.

She didn't simply open her eyes. Instead, consiousness slowly invested her features, enlivening her brows, curving her full lips. Eyes still closed, she hummed softly in her throat. Her breasts swelled as she drew in a deep breath, then she stretched languorously, straightening her spine, arching slightly, then she relaxed and her lashes fluttered.

Then, and only then, did her lids slowly rise.

She looked straight at him, then blinked her eyes wide, but no hint of consternation disturbed her content expression. Instead, her lips softened into a sleepily warm smile.

"Is it morning?"

The husky tones of her voice, still drunk with sleep, flowed over him, about him, slid under his skin and seized him. He couldn't speak, couldn't think-he could only want. Want with a searing desire that shocked him, with an absolute possessive need that nearly floored him. Containing that force, reining it in, holding it back, left him rigid. And shaking.

She was still smiling, still waiting for his answer; realizing that, with him framed in the doorway with all light coming from outside, she couldn't see his passion-blank expression, or anything else, he summoned every last ounce of his strength and managed to utter, "Almost."

His tone was harsh and uneven; he didn't wait to see her reaction but turned away to ensure she got no chance to study him further, to see the evidence of that rabid desire. Ostensibly surveying the clearing, he cleared his throat. "I'll get the horses saddled."

With that, he escaped.

Of course, within a few minutes, she came to help.

Ivan was grumpy and fractious; Demon made that his excuse for barely glancing Flick's way. He felt her puzzled gaze; jaw clenched, he ignored it. He didn't even dare help her saddle Jessamy-if she put her hand on his thigh this morning, he couldn't guarantee his reaction-or rather, his inaction. As soon as he had Ivan's girths tight, he grabbed his bridle and led the restless stallion out of the tight space.

The charcoal makers' hut had been constructed in that particular clearing because it was the natural confluence of four paths through the park. One was the path they'd travelled last night, another led onward to the manor. A third struck across to join the eastern bridle path Flick usually used to reach the ruined cottage and his farm. Halting Ivan in the middle of the clearing, Demon glanced toward the opening of the fourth path, leading in from a small country lane to the west.

To see Hugh Dunstable, the General's middle-aged steward, ambling up through the morning.

Demon froze.

Dunstable had already seen him; smiling, he raised his hand to his hat. "Ah! 'Morning, sir."

Demon nodded easily, urbanely, but he couldn't for the life of him summon a smile. His mind raced while Dunstable's cob plodded closer, ever closer.

" 'Spect you got caught in last night's squall." Drawing rein beside him, Dunstable beamed down at him. "No doubt but it was heavy. Got caught out myself, it came up so quick. I'd been off to the Carters, playing a hand of whist-I was on my way back when it hit. I was drenched by the time I reached home."

"As you say." Demon glanced surreptitiously at the shadowed stable. "It was too heavy to risk riding on."

Dunstable snorted. "On these paths? You'd have risked that fine beast."

The fine beast chose that moment to snort, paw and prance, heavily shouldering Dunstable's cob. Demon swore and drew in Ivan's reins. Settling his placid cob, Dunstable chuckled. "Aye-riding him must be an adventure. Not hard to see how you came by your name."

It wasn't his expertise in riding high-bred horses that had earned him his nickname, but Demon let the comment pass; he was too busy praying.

Much good it did him. His fervent appeal to the highest authority that Flick would have the sense to remain out of sight was refused; she appeared at that instant, smiling sunnily up at Dunstable as she led Jessamy out.

"Good morning, Mr. Dunstable."

She glanced up at the sky, and so failed to notice the expression on Dunstable's face-sheer shock to begin with, rapidly transmuting into horror, momentarily displaced by speculation, only to revert to righteous horror again.

By the time Flick looked down and cheerily remarked, "And a fine morning it seems to be," Dunstable's features were set in stone, his expression impassive. He mumbled an incoherent reply to Flick; the look in his eyes when he shifted his gaze to Demon was coldly censorious.

Demon reacted in the only way he could-with a high hand. Cool arrogance in his eyes, he met Dunstable's gaze levelly; his expression hard, he raised a challenging brow.

Dunstable, only one step up from a servant, albeit an old and trusted one, was at a loss to know how to respond. Demon regretted putting the old man in his place, but every instinct he possessed refused to let anyone even imagine any ill-any indiscretion-of Flick.

To his relief, she, busy adjusting her stirrups, missed their exchange entirely.

"It looks like the clouds have blown away. I dare say it'll be quite warm by lunchtime." She straightened and glanced around for a log to use as a mounting block.

Demon dropped his reins and crossed to her side; closing his hands about her waist, he lifted her, setting her lightly on Jessamy's back.

That got her attention; she sucked in a breath and blinked at him, then quickly rearranged her legs and her skirts. "Thank you."

Lifting her chin, she fixed her blue eyes on Dunstable. "I can't believe how overgrown the park has become-we must get Hendricks to cut back rather more. Why, you can barely see the sky, even here, even on such a wonderful morning. I rather think-"

She chattered blithely on, unaware that, with her cheeks still delicately flushed from sleep, her hair tousled and her velvet skirts badly crushed, she presented a perfect picture of a youthful damsel who had recently engaged in an energetic morning romp.

Predictably, she led the way along the path to the manor.

Dunstable followed close behind. To give him his due, while remaining stony-faced, he managed to make the appropriate noises whenever Flick paused in her paean to the morning.

Hands on his hips, Demon watched them amble off, then exhaled through his teeth. Returning to the hut, he secured the door, then mounted Ivan. And paused.

For one long moment, he stared down the path at Flick's and Dunstable's backs. Then, lips thinning, jaw firming, he shook Ivan's reins. And followed.

By the time their party reached Hillgate End, Demon had a firm grip on the situation. There was no doubt that he'd compromised Flick, albeit entirely innocently.

He'd caught up with her and Dunstable, only to hear her gaily state that they'd taken shelter soon after the rain had started. So Dunstable now knew that they'd been at the hut, together and alone, from the dead of night to dawn. Of course, focused on protecting Dillon, Flick had said not a word about what had occasioned her presence, in company with a rake, deep in the park in the middle of the night.