She'd ridden high-bred horses all her life; she'd long ago learned the knack of putting aside all unnerving thoughts and emotions. She had, she thought, been doing an excellent job of ignoring the uncertainties his constant squiring of her had evoked. But after their meeting with Mrs. Pemberton, she could no longer ignore the fact that it really did appear that he was wooing her. Courting her.

Just like he'd said.

Had the moonlight addled his wits-or hers?

The question demanded an answer, not least because his continuing presence was stretching her nerves taut. As it was the same question, albeit in slightly different form, that had been circling in her brain for the past week without answer, there was obviously only one way forward.

And, after all, it was Demon-she'd known him nearly all her life. She hadn't shied away from asking for his help with Dillon, and he'd given it. So…

She waited until they were rolling down the manor drive the next morning for a tool about the lanes so she could hone her driving skills on his powerful bays. He was still holding the reins. Without giving herself time to think, to balk, she asked, "Why are you behaving like this-spending so much time with me?"

His head whipped around; an incipient frown darkened his eyes. "I told you. I'm wooing you."

She blinked; the storm warning in his eyes wasn't encouraging, but she was determined to have all clear. "Yes," she admitted, evenly, carefully. "But that was just…" With one hand, she gestured airily.

His frown crystallized; he slowed the bays. "Just what?"

"Well," she shrugged. "Just that night. In the moonlight."

Demon hauled the bays to a halt. "What about the past days? It's been nearly a week." He was appalled. Swearing, not entirely under his breath, he pulled on the brake, tied off the reins and faced her. "Don't tell me"-narrowing his eyes, he trapped her gaze-"that you haven't noticed. That you haven't been paying attention."

She stared at him, her eyes widening, and widening, as she read the message in his. "You're serious."

Her patent astonishment nearly did him in.

"Serious?" He clenched one fist on the railing in front of her, slapped the other on the seat behind her and locked his gaze on her face. "Of course I'm serious! What in all creation do you imagine these last days have been about?"

"Well…" Given the anger vibrating in his tone, Flick decided she'd be wiser not to say. He wasn't yelling-she almost wished he was. His clipped, forcefully enunciated words were somehow more menacing than bellows.

"I am not in the habit of dancing attendance on fresh-faced chits just for the pleasure of their innocent smiles."

She blinked. "I suppose not."

"You may be certain not." His jaw hardened to match the rest of his face; his eyes narrowed to slits. "So what the devil have you been imagining?"

If there had been a way of avoiding the question, she'd have taken it, but the look in his eyes declared he wasn't about to drop the subject. And she had been the one to bring it up-and she did still want to know. Holding his gaze, she carefully said, "I thought it was just dalliance."

It was his turn to blink. "Dalliance?"

"A way to fill in the time." Spreading her hands, she shrugged. "For all I know, telling a lady you're wooing her while alone in a courtyard in the moonlight might be standard practice, entirely unremarkable behavior for-"

Caution caught her tongue. She glanced at him; he smiled-all wolf. "For a rake such as I?"

She suppressed a glare. "Yes! How am I supposed to know how you go on?"

Narrow-eyed, he studied her face; his softened not at all. "You may take it from me that when I say I'm courting you, I am." Turning forward, he started to untie the reins.

Flick straightened. "Yes, all right. But you still haven't told me why."

His gaze on his horses, Demon exhaled through set teeth. He released the brake. "Because I want to marry you, of course."

"Yes, but that's what I don't understand. Why do you want to marry me?"

He was going to throttle her if she didn't leave off with her whys; jaw setting, he nicked the reins-the bays stepped out. He felt her irate glance.

"You can't expect me to believe you've suddenly taken it into your head that you need to marry me. You didn't even know I existed-well, not other than a pigtailed brat-not until you caught me on The Flynn's back." She swung on the seat to face him. "So why?"

Feathering the turn into the road, he set the bays pacing. "I want to marry you because you're the right wife for me." Anticipating her next why, he stated, "You're an eligible parti-you're well-born, your connections are commendable. You're the General's ward-you've grown up around here, and you're remarkably knowledgeable about horses." He had his excuses down pat. "All in all, we're an excellent match." He glanced at her sharply. "A fact everyone seems to have realized except you."

She looked ahead, and he turned back to his horses. He wasn't sure he trusted his ears, but he thought she sniffed. She certainly put her nose in the air.

"That sounds horridly cold-blooded to me."

Cold-blooded? He was going to throttle her. Just the thought of how heated his blood had been, simmering uncomfortably for more than a week, hot need flaring every time she drew close-and as for those times she'd been in his arms, stretched, flush, body to body against him…

He set his teeth and heard his jaw crack. His leader jibbed; dragging in a breath, he held it, carefully resettled his horses, then exhaled slowly.

"I also want to marry you"-he forced the words out through gritted teeth-"because I desire you."

He felt her questioning, innocently curious gaze-he wasn't fool enough to meet it-that puzzled look that invited him to demonstrate, to teach her. She'd perfected that look until it could lure even him into deep waters. His gaze locked on his leader's ears, he kept driving.

"What, exactly?…"

He hauled in a breath. "I want you warming my bed." He wanted her warming him. "The fact that I desire you as a man desires a woman is incidental. It merely adds another element to my wooing of you, and our eventual marriage." He quickly changed tacks, focusing on the one aspect he suspected had most contributed to her confusion. She was direct and straightforward-she'd misinterpreted his subtlety. She equated subtleties with playing, with teasing-by definition not serious. "Given your age and lack of experience, as I wish to marry you, a period of courtship is deemed mandatory, during which time my behavior must follow a prescribed pattern."

He was driving dangerously fast. He didn't want to, but he drew back on the reins, slowing to a safer pace. He'd taken a circuitous route; it wasn't necessary to stop and turn in order to return to Hillgate End. Which was just as well. Stopping with him in his present mood and her in her curious one was the definition of unwise.

She'd been listening carefully; he heard the frown in her voice as she repeated, "Prescribed pattern."

"Society dictates that I can squire you about, but I can't press my suit too openly, certainly not forcefully. That would be improper. I have to be subtle. I shouldn't tell you how I feel outright-that's not the way things are done. I shouldn't seek to see you in any clandestine manner. I shouldn't kiss you-and I should certainly not mention that I desire you-even let you get any hint of that fact. You're not supposed to know about desire."

He checked the bays for a corner, then set them pacing again. "In fact, this entire conversation shouldn't be occurring-Mrs. Pemberton and company would unhesitatingly class it as exceedingly improper."

"That's ridiculous! How will I know if I don't ask? And I can't ask anyone else about this-only you."