"There's a gathering at Hillgarth's tonight. All the usual crowd, of course." Eyes bright, Edward had thrown him an engaging grin. "Nothing like a few highly bred challenges to tune one up for the Season, what?"
"Challenges?" He'd immediately thought of Flick.
Edward's expression was one of blissful anticipation. "The ladies Onslow, Carmichael, Bristow-need I go on? Not, of course, that you'll need to extend yourself-not with the countess champing at the bit."
"The countess?" Reluctantly, he'd dragged his mind back from Newmarket and focused on the woman he'd shown to the door before he'd driven north. "I thought she'd returned to the Continent."
"No, no." Edward winked. "Seems she's conceived an affection for things English, don't you know. Colston had a touch at her-well, word was you'd gone north indefinitely-but it seems she's determined to hold out for… well, her description was 'something rather more'."
"Oh." He'd been conscious of a definite longing for Newmarket.
His less-than-enthusiastic response hadn't registered with Edward. "After Hillgarth's, if you're still standing, so to speak, there's Mrs. Melton's rout. Quite sure it'll be that, too-plenty of action there. And then tomorrow…"
He'd let Edward rattle on, while his mind slid back to Newmarket, to the golden-haired angel who was waiting for him, and who didn't know the first thing about matters sensual, let alone "something rather more."
"So-what do you say? Shall I pick you up at eight?"
It had taken all his persuasive talents to convince Edward that he wasn't interested-not in the countess or the many other delights that would be offered him about town. In the end, he'd escaped only by assuring Edward that he had to hie north again at dawn and was not about to risk his horses by staying up all night. As his care for his equine beauties was a byword throughout the ton, Edward had finally accepted that he was serious.
"And," Demon had added, struck by inspiration, "you might oblige me by letting it be known among the brotherhood that I've relinquished all claim on the countess."
"Ooh!" Edward had brightened at that. "I'll do that, yes. Nice bit of sport we should see over that."
Demon certainly hoped so. The countess was a demanding and grasping woman. While her lush body had provided a temporary distraction, one he'd paid handsomely and generously for, he had no doubt that his interest in her had been just that-temporary. Indeed, it had waned on the day he'd headed north.
Sinking into a deep armchair and arranging the news sheet like a wall before him, he settled to sip his coffee and ponder the discovery that life as he had known it-the life of a rakehell in the glittering world of the ton-no longer held any allure. Somewhat to his surprise, he could still imagine attending balls and parties-just as long as he had a certain angel by his side. He would enjoy introducing her to the ton's entertainments, just to see the expression in her wide eyes.
But the ton without Flick?
Anywhere without Flick?
He took a long sip of his coffee. This, he thought darkly, was what happened when fate caught a Cynster in her coils.
He was sitting in London, a town teeming with uncounted beauties, a surprising number of whom would be easily enough persuaded to reveal their charms to him-and he wasn't interested. Not in the beauties-not in their charms, naked or otherwise.
The only woman he was interested in was Flick.
He recalled imagining that it could never happen-that he'd never be satisfied with one woman. But it had. The only woman for him now was Flick.
And she was in Newmarket.
Hopefully behaving herself.
Doing the vases, reading her novels, and twiddling her thumbs.
Possibly thinking about desire.
He shifted in his seat, then frowned. No matter what setting he placed her in, his image of a patient Flick was not convincing.
Ten minutes later, he strode down the steps of White's, his goal the mews close by his lodgings where his bays were presently housed. There was no reason he couldn't leave London immediately. He'd seen Montague that morning, and spent an hour explaining the details of the race-fixing. Montague had done a few quick calculations and concurred with his assessment. The amount of money taken was enormous-it should show up somewhere.
Montague had connections Demon didn't want to know about. He'd left the hard-working agent, who thankfully thrived on financial challenges, with a gleam in his eye. If there was any way to track members of the syndicate through the money they'd taken, Montague would find it.
Which left him free to return to Newmarket, to the watch on Bletchley and his wooing of Flick.
Glancing down, he considered his attire-town rig of trousers, morning coat and shoes. There was no real reason to change. He doubted Flick would even notice, much less make anything of the fact that he hadn't stopped to change before racing back to her side.
Lips twisting wryly, he lengthened his stride and headed straight for the mews.