He smothered a curse, spun on his heel and followed. "I'll take you in my curricle."
Not so much as a by-your-leave! Let alone a "Good morning, my dear, and how are you?" So much for last night! Entirely unimpressed, Flick kept her gaze fixed stubbornly ahead, ruthlessly denying the impulse to glance at him as he ranged alongside. "I'm perfectly capable of returning and selecting my novels myself, thank you."
"I dare say."
His tone was as stubborn as hers.
She opened her mouth to argue-and caught sight of the pair of blacks harnessed to his curricle. Her face softened, her eyes lit. "Oh-what beauties!" Her tone was reverent, a fitting tribute to the surely matchless horses impatiently pawing the gravel. "Are they new?"
"Yes." Demon strolled in her wake as she circled the pair, exclaiming over their points. When she paused for breath, he nonchalantly added, "I thought I'd take them for a short outing, just to get them used to town traffic."
Eyes still round, fixed on the blacks' sleek hides, she wasn't paying attention; seizing the moment, he took her hand and helped her into the curricle.
"They hold their heads so well." She settled on the seat. "What's their action like?"
Barely pausing for his answer, she rattled on knowledgeably; by the time she'd run through all her questions and exclamations they were rolling down the drive. Demon kept his gaze on his horses, waiting for her to suddenly realize and berate him for taking advantage. Instead, she set her books on the seat between them and leaned back with a soft sigh.
As the peace unexpectedly lengthened, he shot her a glance; she was sitting easily, one hand braced on the side railing, her gaze fixed, not on the blacks, but on his hands.
She was watching him handle the ribbons, watching his fingers flick and slide along the leather strips. There was an eager light in her eyes, a wistful expression on her face.
He faced forward; a moment later, he clenched his jaw.
Never in his entire career had he let a female drive his cattle.
The blacks, although new, were well broken; thus far, they'd proved well behaved. And he would be sitting beside her.
If he did it once, she'd expect him to do it again.
When riding, she had a more delicate touch on the reins than even he.
Turning out of the manor drive, he set the curricle bowling down the road to Newmarket, but he didn't slacken the reins. Instead, drawing in a breath, he turned to Flick. "Would you like to take the reins for a stretch?"
The look on her face was payment enough for his abused sensibilities-stunned surprise gave way to eager joy, swiftly tempered.
"But…" She looked at him, hope warring with imminent disappointment. "I've never driven a pair before."
He forced himself to shrug lightly. "It's not that different from a single horse. Here-shift those books and come closer." She did, eagerly sliding along the seat until her thigh brushed his. Ignoring the heat that shot straight to his loins, he transferred the reins to her small hands, keeping his fingers tensioning the leather until he was sure she had them.
"No." Expertly, he relaid the reins across her left palm. "Like that, so you've got simultaneous control over them both with just one hand."
She nodded, looking so excited that he wondered if she could speak at all. Sitting back, one arm along the seat behind her, ready to grab her if anything did go wrong, he watched her, his gaze flicking ahead now and again to check the road. But he knew it well, and so did she.
She had a little difficulty checking the pair for a curve; he gritted his teeth and managed not to reach out and lay his hand over hers. Thereafter, however, she adjusted; gradually, as the fields rolled past, they both relaxed.
There was, he discovered, one benefit in being driven by a lady-one he trusted not to land them in a ditch. He could keep his gaze wholly on her-on her face, on her figure, in this case, neat and trim in cambric. Her hair, those lovely golden curls, was constantly ruffling in the wind of their passage, a living frame for her delicate face.
A face flushed with pleasure, with an excitement he understood. She was thrilled and delighted. He felt decidedly smug.
She cast him a dubious glance as the first stables by the racecourse came into sight. From there on, there would be other horses, people, even dogs about-all things to which the blacks might take exception. Demon nodded; sitting up, he expertly lifted the reins from her hands. He readjusted the reins, letting the blacks know he had them again.
Flick sat back wit
h an ecstatic sigh. She had always-forever-wanted to drive a curricle. And Demon's blacks! They were the most perfect young pair she'd ever seen. Not as powerful as his champion bays, but so very elegant, with their slim legs and long, sleekly arched necks.
And she'd driven them! She could hardly wait to tell the General. And Dillon-he would be green with envy. She sighed again; with a contented smile, she looked around.
Only then did she remember their earlier words-only then did she realize she'd been kidnapped. Lured away. Enticed into a gentleman's curricle with tempting promises and whisked into town.