Demon heard the uncertain note in her voice; much of his tension left him, swamped by a surge of emotion he was growing accustomed to-one Flick and only Flick could evoke. It encompassed an urge to protect, but that wasn't the sum of it.

He sighed, but didn't look at her-he wasn't yet sure how much in control he was, wasn't yet sure he could resist that puzzled, questioning look in her blue eyes. "It's all right to ask me as long as we're alone. You can say whatever you wish to me, but you must be careful not to let anything we discuss privately influence how you behave when we're not private."

Flick nodded. The possibility that he might forbid her to question him, especially about subjects like desire, had shaken her-for an instant she'd feared he would erect a wall between them. Thankfully not.

Yet she still didn't entirely understand.

That he seriously wanted to marry her was hard enough to accept. That he wanted to marry her because he desired her-that was beyond her comprehension. She'd assumed she'd always be a child in his eyes. Apparently not.

As the curricle rolled on, she pondered desire. The whole concept, both in general and specifically, intrigued her. She recalled very well the shimmering net he could throw, the temptation, the promise in the moonlight. Her experience beyond that was nonexistent-all she'd known previously came from overhearing maids comparing notes on their swains. But… there was one point that, no matter how she construed it, remained unexplained.

Drawing a deep breath, her gaze, like his, fixed on the ribbon of lane stretching before them, she asked, "If you desire me"-she felt her blush heat her cheeks, but she doggedly plowed on-"as a man desires a woman, why do you go rigid when we touch?"

When he didn't immediately answer, she expanded, "Like that night in the courtyard when we kissed-you stopped suddenly. Was that due to society's strictures"-she risked a glance at him-"or something else?"

He went rigid as she looked at him; she could both sense it and see it. Sense the sudden clenching as if it was her own gut, see the muscles beneath his sleeve tense until each band was clearly delineated. As for his face, when she glanced up in surprise, she found it as hard as stone.

Amazed, she lifted a finger and poked his upper arm-it was like stubbing her finger against rock. "Like that." She frowned at him. "Are you sure it's not aversion?"

"It's-not-aversion." Demon didn't know how he got the words out; his hands were locked so tightly about the reins that he could only pray the bays didn't choose this particular moment to act up. "Believe me," he reiterated, and had to struggle to draw breath. "It's not aversion."

After a moment, she prompted, "Well?"

He'd told her she could ask. If he didn't get her wed and into bed soon, she might kill him with her questions. He exhaled; his chest felt as tight as a drum. Dredging deep for strength, he took a death grip on his inner demons. His voice almost quavering with the effort of not reacting, he explained, "That night in the moonlight, if I hadn't stopped when I did-hadn't got you back into the drawing room in short order-you would have found yourself ravished under the magnolia in the vicarage courtyard."

"Oh?"

Fascinated consideration rang in her tone.

"I'd even worked out how to accomplish the deed. I would have laid you on the stone edging around the tree and lifted your skirts-you wouldn't have stopped me."

He risked a glance at her; blushing lightly, she shrugged. "We'll never know the truth of that."

He bit back a retort; narrow-eyed, he focused his gaze on her.

She glanced up, met it, and blushed more deeply. She looked ahead. After a moment, she wriggled, shifting on the seat. "All right. I understand about the courtyard, but why does it happen-you freezing like that-now? You even did it yesterday on the Heath when I accidentally bumped into you." Frowning, she looked up. "You can't want to ravish me every time we meet."

Oh, yes, he could. Demon gritted his teeth and let the bays lengthen their stride. "Desire is like a disease-once you've caught it, every further encounter makes it worse."

He was exceedingly thankful when she accepted that comment with a humph. She stared ahead, then he felt another of her considering glances.

"I won't break, you know. I won't have hysterics, or-"

"Very likely." He uttered the words as repressively as he could.

She humphed again. "Well, I still don't understand. If you want to marry me anyway…"

He couldn't miss her implication-couldn't stop himself from turning his head-and reading, blazoned in the blue of her eyes, her curiosity, and a very definite invitation…

Swallowing a virulent curse, he swung his gaze back to the lane. Explaining might just have made things worse. He'd thus far managed to hold his demons in check-but what if she picked up the whip?

Oh no, no, no, no, no. He knew what he was, and what she was, and they were literally eons apart. It would take her years-at least an intensive six months-to even come close to comprehending the level of sexual knowledge he possessed. But he could guess what she was thinking, what route her innocent thoughts had taken. He had to head her off, quash any thoughts she had of jumping into that particular sea feet first. It simply couldn't happen like that. At least, not with him.

Unfortunately, at no point had she become wary of him, much to his disgust. She'd somehow gone from regarding him as an uncle to regarding him as an equal. Which was equally erroneous. His jaw ached, along with most of his body. As for his brain, that simply hurt. "It's not going to happen like that." The effort of explaining things he didn't want to risk thinking about was wearing him down.

"Oh?"

She had those Ohs down to a fine art-they always prodded him to explain.

"Desire leads to physical seduction but, in your case-in our case-that is not going to translate to any quick, rushed, illicit tumble in a courtyard or anywhere else."

He waited for her Oh; instead, she asked, "Why?"

Because he was going to train her to be his very own fallen angel. He shook aside the thought. "Because…" He struggled, then blinked; if he hadn't been driving, he would have flung up his hands in defeat. Setting his jaw, he reached for the whip. "Because you're an innocent, and you deserve better than that. And I know better than that." Oh, yes-this impinged on his ego as well. "I'll seduce you as you deserve to be seduced-slowly. Innocence isn't something you should discard like an old shoe. It has a physical value-a passionate value-all its own."

His frown deepening, he kept his gaze fixed on his leader's ears. "Innocence shouldn't be tarnished, it shouldn't be crushed. It should be made to bloom. I know." Those last two words were as much realization as assurance. "Getting innocence to bloom takes time, takes care and attention and expertise." His voice deepened. "It takes passion and desire, commitment and devotion to coax innocence from bud to bloom, to encourage it to unfurl into full flower without a single petal bruised."

Was he still talking of her innocence, or did he mean something more-something of which he was as innocent as she?

To his relief, she said nothing but sat silently and considered. He considered, too-all that he wanted, the totality of his desire.

He was acutely conscious of her sitting beside him. He could feel his own heartbeat, thudding in his chest, pulsing in his fingertips, throbbing in his loins. For long moments, the only sounds about them were the steady clack of the bays' hooves and the repetitive rattle of the wheels.

Then she stirred.

He shot her a glance, saw her frown-saw her open her mouth-