He jerked his gaze forward. "And for God's sake, don't you dare ask why."

He felt her glare; from the corner of his eye, he saw her stick her nose in the air, shut her lips, primly fold her hands, and pointedly look over the landscape.

Jaw clenched, he whipped up his horses.

By the time they reached the gates of Hillgate End, he'd regained sufficient use of his brain to remember what he'd intended to tell Flick during the drive.

Setting the bays pacing up the shady avenue, he slanted a glance at her and wondered how much to reveal. Despite his distraction with her, he hadn't forgotten about the syndicate; he knew she hadn't, either.

The truth was, he was growing uneasy. They'd been following Bletchley for weeks and had learned nothing about the syndicate other than that it appeared exceedingly well organized. In the circumstances, he didn't feel happy about fixing all their hopes on Bletchley.

So he'd racked his brain for alternatives. He'd considered requesting help from the rest of the Bar Cynster but had yet to do so. Vane and Patience were in Kent; Gabriel and Lucifer were in London, but needed to keep their eyes on the twins. Richard was, at last report, rather busy with his witch in Scotland. And Devil would be busy with spring planting. Be that as it may, Devil was reasonably close at Somersham. If things got difficult, he'd call on Devil, but, given that all matters to do with racing fell within his particular area of expertise, there seemed little point in summoning aid just yet. He needed to sight the enemy first, before he called in the cavalry.

To which end…

He drew the curricle up before the steps with a flourish and stepped down. Taking Flick's hand, he helped her alight, then fell in beside her as she headed for the steps.

"I'm going to London tomorrow-there's some business I need to see to." He stopped at the base of the steps.

Already two steps up, she halted and swung to face him, a whole host of questions in her eyes.

"I'll be back the day after tomorrow, probably late."

"But… what about Bletchley?"

"Don't worry about him." He trapped her blue gaze. "Gillies, Hills and Cross will keep an eye on him."

Flick blinked at him. "But what if something happens?"

"I doubt it will, but Gillies will know what to do."

Flick had far less confidence in Gillies than she had in his master. However… she nodded. "Very well." She held out her hand. "I'll wish you a safe journey, then."

Taking her hand, he lifted a brow. "And a speedy return?"

She raised her brows haughtily. "I dare say I'll see you when you get back."

He trapped her gaze. His fingers shifted about her hand-raising it, he turned it and pressed his lips fleetingly to her wrist.

Her pulse leapt; she caught her breath.

He smiled devilishly. "Count on it."

Releasing her hand, he swept her an elegant bow and strode back to his waiting horses.

Flick watched as he leapt up to the seat, then wheeled the bays with matchless authority and set them pacing down the drive. She watched until he disappeared from sight, swallowed up by the shadows beneath the trees.

A frown slowly forming in her eyes, she turned and climbed the steps. The door was unlatched; she went in, closing it behind her. Crossing the hall, she greeted Jacobs with an absentminded smile, then continued on through the house, out on to the terrace and so onto the lawn. The lawn she had so often in recent times strolled with Demon.

If anyone had told her even three weeks before that the thought of not seeing a gentleman for two whole days would dim her mood-would sap her anticipation for those same days-she would have laughed.

She wasn't laughing now.

Not that she was about to succumb to listless lassitude, she had far too much to do. Like deciding how she felt about desire.

She considered the point as she passed beneath the trees and on into the wisteria-shaded walk. Hands clasped behind her, she fell to slowly pacing up and down the gravel.

He wanted to marry her-he intended to marry her. He expected her to say yes-he clearly believed she would.

After this afternoon, and their frank conversation, she at least knew precisely where he stood. He wanted to marry her for all the socially acceptable reasons, and because he desired her.

Which left her facing one very large, formidable question. Would she accept him?

It wasn't a question she'd expected to face. Never in her wildest dreams had she imagined that he, her idol-her ideal gentleman-would want to marry her. Would look at her, a pigtailed brat reborn, and feel desire. The only reason she could state that point, and view the prospect with quite amazing equanimity, was that, deep down, she was still struggling to believe it.

It still seemed like a dream.

But…

She knew he was in earnest.

Reaching the end of the walk, she squinted at the clock above the stable arch. There was still an hour before luncheon; all about her was silent, no one else was in sight. Turning, she fell to pacing again, trying to organize her thoughts into a sensible sequence.

The first point she had to consider was obvious. Did she love Demon?

Somewhat to her surprise, the answer was easy.

"I've been secretly in love with him for years," she muttered. The admission left her with a very odd feeling in her stomach.

She was so disconcerted, so startled to find her heart had made up its mind long ago and not told her, that she reached the end of the walk before she could set the point aside, accept that it was decided, and move on.

"Next, does he love me?"

No answer came. She mentally replayed their conversations, but there was nothing he'd said that shed light on that point.

She grimaced. "What if he doesn't love me?"

The answer to that was absolute. If he didn't love her, she couldn't marry him. Her certainty was unshakeable, deeply embedded within her.

To her mind, love and marriage went hand in hand. She knew that wasn't society's view, but it was hers, formed by her own observations. Her parents had loved deeply-it had shown in their faces, in their demeanor, whenever they'd been in the same room. She'd been seven when she'd last seen them, waving good-bye from the rail of their boat as it pulled away from the dock. While their features had blurred with the years, that glow that had always been theirs had not-it still shone strongly in her memory.

They'd left her a fortune, and they'd left her a memory-she was grateful for the fortune, but she valued the memory more. The knowledge of what love and marriage could be was a precious, timeless legacy.

One she would not turn her back on.

She wanted that glow for herself-she always had. She'd grown up with that expectation. From all she'd gleaned about the General and his wife, Margery, theirs, too, had been a union blessed.

Which brought her back to Demon.

Frowning, she paced back and forth, considering his reasons for marrying her. His socially acceptable reasons were all very well, yet superficial and not essential. They could be dismissed, taken for granted.

Which left her with desire.

One minute was enough to summarize all she knew on that subject. Questions like Did desire encompass love? Did love encompass desire? were beyond her ability to answer. Until this past week, she hadn't even known what desire was, and while she now knew what it felt like, her experience of it remained minimal. A fact their recent discussion had emphasized.

There was clearly much she had to learn about desire-love or no love.

For the next half hour, she paced and pondered; by the time the lunch gong sounded, she'd reached one clear conclusion, which raised one simple question. She had, she thought, as she strolled back to the house, made good progress.