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.
It was no great feat to imagine what Dunstable was thinking. Indeed, it was difficult to conceive of a more damning scenario for a young, unmarried gentlewoman than being discovered at dawn leaving an evening rendezvous in company with a rake of the first order.
Demon had had ample time to consider every facet of their night alone, every nuance, every likely repercussion-their journey to the manor had been slow, the ground very wet, soft beneath their horses' hooves. They'd plodded along, Flick in the lead, followed by Dunstable, with him in the rear. In brooding silence, he'd debated their options-not many-and what that therefore meant, while Flick had entertained Dunstable with her sunny patter.
She'd described the small stable, and exclaimed over the fact that Jessamy and Ivan had been quite dry; she'd continually paused to declaim the wonders of the morning. She had not, however, mentioned the mouse-on consideration, remembering the long moments she'd spent in his arms, he'd decided that was just as well.
God only knew what picture she might paint for Dunstable if she started on that topic.
Finally, they'd reached the manor's grounds; minutes later, they trotted into the stable yard.
Stifling a huge sigh of relief, her mind full of the wonders of a hot bath, Flick reined in. She untangled her legs and skirts from her sidesaddle; she was about to slide to the ground when Demon appeared beside her. He reached for her; his hands closed about her waist, then he lifted her down, and set her on her feet before him.
Quickly catching her breath-she was almost used to the effect of his touch, to the sudden seizing of her lungs-she beamed a sunny smile up at him, and held out her hand. "Thank you so much for taking pity on me last night and seeing me home. I'm really very grateful."
He looked at her-she could read nothing in his eyes, in his oddly set expression. He took her hand, but instead of squeezing it and letting go, he wrapped his fingers about hers and turned. "I'll walk you to the house."
Flick stared at him-at his back. She would have tugged and argued, but Dunstable, having dismounted more slowly, was hovering. Demon started walking-stalking; throwing a bright smile over her shoulder at Dunstable, she had to hurry to keep up.
Striding purposefully, Demon headed up the gravel path, ducking under the wisteria to pass beneath the old trees and cut across the lawn to the terrace. He didn't set her hand on his arm and stroll; instead, he kept his hand locked about hers and towed her along.
Flick tried an outraged glare, but he refused to even notice. His expression was set, determined. Determined on what she had no idea.
Glancing back, she saw Dunstable, watching from beneath the stable arch. She flashed him a reassuring smile and wondered what devil had possessed Demon.
He didn't stop until they were on the terrace, before the open morning room windows. Releasing her, he gestured her inside; with a speaking glance, she stepped over the threshold. Swinging her heavy skirts, she faced him as he followed her into the room. "Why aren't you heading off to the Heath? We have to watch Bletchley."
Halting in front of her, he looked down at her and frowned. "Gillies and the others will keep watching until I arrive to take over. At present, I have matters of greater moment to settle."
She blinked. "You do?"
His jaw set ominously. "I need to speak with the General."
Flick felt her eyes, locked on his, widen. "What about?" She had no idea why, but she was starting to feel uneasy.
Demon saw her question-her lack of understanding-etched in her eyes. Inwardly, he cursed. "I need to talk to him about our current situation."
"Situation? What situation?"
Jaw clenching, he went to step around her; quick as a flash, she blocked his way. "What are you talking about?"
He caught her eye and frowned even more. "I'm talking about the past night, which we spent together, alone." He gave the last two words particular weight; comprehension dawned in her eyes.
Then she blinked and frowned at him. "So?" Her gaze raced over his face. "Nothing-nothing indiscreet-happened."
"No," he agreed, his voice tight, controlled, "but only you and I know that. All society will see is that the potential for indiscretion was present, and that, in society's eyes, is all that counts."
The sound she made was elementally dismissive. His eyes locked on hers, Demon knew that if she questioned the potential, denied it had existed, he'd wring her neck.