hat was almost regal, she consented to his scheme, consented to let him hold her by him-to enjoy her freshness-for just a little while more.
He was seated in the armchair before the fire in his front parlor, staring at the flames and seeing her angelic face, her soft blue eyes, and the curious, considering light that flashed in them from time to time, when, once again, she came tapping on his windowpane. Lips setting, he didn't even bother swearing-just rose, set aside the brandy balloon he'd been cradling, and crossed to the window.
This time, when he pulled the curtains aside, he was relieved to see she was wearing skirts-to whit, her riding habit. He raised the sash. "Don't you ever use the door?"
The glance she levelled at him was reproving. "I came to invite you to accompany me to see Dillon."
"I thought we'd agreed not to see him at all."
"That was before. Now we know Bletchley's the contact, and that he's wandering about the Heath, we should warn Dillon and bring him up to date, so he doesn't do anything rash."
Dillon would never put himself to so much bother. The observation burned Demon's tongue, but he swallowed the words. He wasn't at all happy at the notion of Flick riding about the county alone at night, but he knew there was no point trying to talk her out if it. Mentally locating his riding gloves, he reached for the sash. "I'll meet you by the stable."
Pointy chin resolute, she nodded, then slid into the shadows.
Demon closed the window and went to warn the Shephards he was going out for a few hours.
Atop Jessamy, Flick was waiting by the main stable. Demon hauled open the door. In the dimness inside, lit by the shaft of moonlight streaming in through the door, he located his tack and carried it to Ivan's box. The big stallion was surprised to see him, and even more surprised to be saddled and led out. Luckily, before Ivan could consider and decide to protest, he set eyes on Jessamy.
Noting the stallion's fixed stare, Demon grunted and swung up to his saddle. At least he wouldn't have to exercise his talents on Ivan during their ride through the moonlight-Ivan would follow, intent, in Flick's wake.
She, of course, led the way.
They crossed his fields, the night black velvet about them. The cottage appeared deserted, a denser bulk in the deep shadows between the trees. Flick rode into the clearing behind it and dismounted. Demon followed, tethering Ivan well clear of the mare.
A twig cracked.
Flick whirled, squinting at the cottage. "It's us. Me and Demon."
"Oh," came a rather shaky voice from the dark. After a moment, Dillon asked, "Are you coming in?"
"Of course." Flick started for the cottage just as Demon reached her; he followed close on her heels.
"We thought," she said, ducking through the lean-to and stepping into the main room, "that you'd want to know what we've learned."
Dillon looked up, his face lit by the glow of the lantern he'd set alight. "You've identified one of the syndicate?"
Wild hope colored his tone; settling onto a stool by the table, Flick grimaced. "No-not yet."
"Oh." Dillon's face fell. He slumped down in the chair at the table's end.
Drawing off his gloves at the table's other end, Demon studied Dillon, noting his pallor and the lines the last week had etched in his cheeks. It was as if the reality of his situation, now fully realized, and the consequent worry of apprehension and exposure, were eating away at his childish self-absorption. If that was so, then it was all to the good. Drawing out the last rickety stool, Demon sat. "We've discovered your elusive contact."
Dillon looked up, hope gleaming in his eyes. Demon raised his brows at Flick, wondering if she wanted to tell Dillon herself. Instead, she nodded for him to continue. He looked back at Dillon. "Your man's name is Bletchley-he's a Londoner." Briefly, he described their quarry.
Dillon nodded. "Yes-that's him-the man who recruited me. He used to bring me the lists of horses and jockeys."
Flick leaned forward. "And the money?"
Dillon glanced at her, then colored, but continued to meet her eyes. "Yes. He always had my fee."
"No, I mean the money for the jockeys. How did they get paid? Did Bletchley give you their money?"
Dillon frowned. "I don't know how they got paid-I wasn't involved. That's not how it worked when I did it."
"Then how did you do the organizing?" Demon asked.
Dillon shrugged. "It was simple-the list of jockeys told me how much to offer each one. I did, and then reported if they'd accepted. I wasn't involved in getting their money to them after the race."