Her eyes locked on his, she nodded. "Yes-I think I'd like that."
He smiled. "Good. I'll drive you up tomorrow."
"How on earth did that happen?"
Early the next morning, already on the road to London, drawn thence by Demon's powerful bays, Flick swivelled on the curricle's seat and glanced back at Gillies, perched behind. "I thought you were following him?"
Gillies looked pained; Demon answered. "We thought Bletchley was planning to take one of the special coaches back to London from Bury-Gillies heard him asking where to catch them. After watching Bletchley throughout the fight-and learning nothing-at the end, Gillies, quite reasonably, moved to the gate leading back to Bury and waited for Bletchley to pass him. He never did."
"Oh?" Flick glanced back at Gillies.
He grimaced. "He must have caught a ride on some cart back to Newmarket."
"And then hired a horse and, bold as you please, came cantering up the manor drive." Demon set his teeth. That had been too close for his liking-luckily, Bletchley had not seen Flick, nor she, him.
Flick sat back. "I nearly dropped a vase when Jacobs mentioned he'd called, asking after Dillon."
"Thankfully, Jacobs sent him on his way." Demon eased the bays past a farm cart, then let the reins run free. "Bletchley returned to the Rutland Arms and caught the evening mail to London."
"So we've lost him."
He glanced at Flick, relieved to see nothing more than a frown on her face. "For the moment. But we'll come up with him again, never fear."
"London's very big."
"True, but it's possible to keep watch on the likely places Bletchley might meet with a group of gentlemen. The classes don't mix freely at all that many venues. Limmers, Tattersalls, and a few other, less savory haunts."
"Still, isn't it like looking for the proverbial needle?"
Demon hesitated, then grimaced. "There might be another way to identify likely members of the syndicate independent of any meeting, which should make it easier, if a meeting does occur, to track someone to it-and so identify all the syndicate."
"Another way?"
Flick's eyes were firmly fixed on his face. With his gaze on his speeding horses, he outlined his discussions with Heathcote Montague, and what they hoped to discover.
At the end of his explanation, Flick sat back. "Good. So we haven't given up on helping Dillon-it's just that our investigations have changed direction."
"Speaking of Dillon, does he know you've left Newmarket?"
"I sent a message with Jiggs-I told him to tell Dillon that we had to follow up clues in London, that I didn't know when we'd be back, but that he should stay in hiding until we returned. I promised I'd write and tell him what we discover. Jiggs will deliver my letters."
Demon nodded. If nothing else, he'd distanced her from Dillon-while in London, she could concentrate on him, and herself. He was certain his mother would encourage her in that endeavor, while at the same time helpfully denying Flick-a young lady in her charge-the license she would need to pursue Bletchley, the syndicate, or any other villain. Despite the fact both Bletchley and the syndicate were in London, he felt perfectly sanguine about taking Flick there.
As for the danger posed by Lord Selbourne, that was, at least temporarily, in abeyance; his lordship had gone directly into Norfolk to visit with his sister.
The curricle sped south through the bright morning, wheels rolling smoothly along the macadam. Despite losing Bletchley, despite having to revise his plans to accommodate a certain angel's stubbornness, Demon felt in remarkable charity with the world. Their current direction felt right-this was obviously the way to get Flick to say yes. She was, beyond question, already his, but if they had to go through a formal wooing, he was content to remove to London. It was, after all, his home ground. He was looking forward to showing her about-showing her off. Her bright-eyed innocence continued to delight him; through her eyes, he saw aspects of his world he'd long considered boring in an entirely new light.
He slanted a glance at her; the breeze was tugging at her curls, setting her bonnet ribbons twirling. Her eyes were wide, her gaze fixed ahead; her lips, delicate rose, were full, lush, lightly curved. She looked good enough to eat.
Abruptly, he looked ahead, the memory of the taste of her flooding him. Gritting his teeth, he willed the distraction away. He was going to have to keep his demons caged for the foreseeable future-there was no sense in teasing and taunting them. That was the one drawback in placing Flick under his mother's wing-she would be safe from all others, but also safe from him.
Even should she wish otherwise, which was an intriguing, potentially helpful, notion. Mulling over the possibility, he sent his whip out to tickle his leader's ear and urge his horses on.
Beside him, Flick watched the countryside roll past with a keen and eager eye. Anticipation grew with every mile-it was hard to preserve a proper calm. Soon they would reach London; soon, she would see Demon in his other milieu, his other guise. She knew he was considered a rake extraordinaire, yet, until now, her knowledge of him had been restricted to Demon in the country; she had a shrewd notion his tonnish persona would be different from the one she knew. As the miles sped past, she spent the time imagining,, envisioning a more graceful, more elegant, more potent presence-the glittering glamor he would assume when in society, a cloak donned over his true character, all the traits so familiar to her. She couldn't wait to see it.
Despite losing Bletchley, it was impossible to remain sober. Her mood was buoyant, her heart light-she was looking forward to life in a completely new way-facing in a completely unlooked-for direction.
Marriage to Demon-it was a dizzying thought, a dream she had never dared dream. And now she was committed to the enterprise-totally and absolutely. Not that she entertained any doubts about success. In her present mood, that was impossible.