"Don't worry, Remington-I'll escort Miss Parteger back to my mother."
Lounging against the frame of the French doors, Demon drank in their reactions. Flick whirled-relief softened her face, softened her stance. Remington's jaw dropped, then he snapped it shut and glowered belligerently.
"Cynster!"
"Indeed." Straightening, Demon swept Remington a taunting bow. His gaze was steely, as were the undercurrents in his voice. "As you're unable to show Miss Parteger the etchings you promised her, might I suggest you depart? Not just this room, but the house."
Remington snorted, but eyed him uncertainly. Which was wise-Demon would happily take him apart given the slightest provocation. "I'm sure," he drawled, "you can see that's the best way." Strolling forward, he stopped beside Flick and trapped Remington's now wary gaze. "We wouldn't want there to be any whispers-if there were, I'd have to explain how you'd misled Miss Parteger over the existence of etchings in the Monckton House library." Raising his brows, he mused, "Difficult to find a rich wife if you're not invited to the balls any more."
Remington's expression didn't succeed in masking his fury. But he was a good deal shorter and slighter than Demon; swallowing his ire, he nodded, bowed curtly to Flick, then swung on his heel and stalked to the door.
Beside Demon, grateful for his intimidating, reassuring presence, Flick frowningly watched the door close behind Remington. "Is he a fortune hunter?"
"Yes!" With an explosive oath, Demon lifted both hands, then appeared not to know what to do with them. With another oath, he swung away, pacing. "He is! Half those about you are-some more so than others." His blue gaze stabbed her "'What did you imagine would happen once you let it be known how much you're worth?"
Flick blinked. "Worth?"
"You can't be that innocent. Now the news is out that you come with ten thousand a year in tow, they're all flocking around. It's a wonder you haven't been mown down in the rush!"
Understanding dawned, along with her temper-she swung to face him. "How dare you!" Her voice quavered; she drew in a huge breath. "I didn't tell anyone anything about my fortune. I haven't spoken about it at all."
Demon halted; hands on hips, he looked at her. Then he scowled. "Well you needn't look at me. I'm hardly likely to fashion a rod for my own back." He started to pace again. "So who spread the news?" He spoke through clenched teeth. "Just tell me, so I can wring their neck."
Flick knew exactly how he felt. "I think it must have been my aunt. She wants me to marry well." She wanted her to marry Demon, so her aunt had let it be known that she was an heiress. She assumed, avaricious as she was, that the news would prompt him to grab her, regardless of how wealthy he was.
"Was that what she said to upset you at that ball?"
She hesitated, then shrugged. "In a way."
Demon glared at her. First his mother, now her aunt. Elderly ladies were lining up to make his life difficult. That, however, wasn't the cause of the black, roiling, clawing rage that filled him, fighting to get loose, spurred by the knowledge of what would have happened if he hadn't been watching her so closely.
"Whatever-whoever." He bit off the words. Towering over her, his hands on his hips, he captured her gaze. "Bad enough you're surrounded by a gaggle of fortune hunters-that doesn't excuse your behavior tonight. You know damn well not to go anywhere alone with any man. What the hell did you think you were doing?"
Her spine stiffened; her chin rose. Her eyes flashed a warning. "You heard. I happen to like etchings."
"Etchings!" Jaw clenched, he only just managed not to roar. "Don't you know what that means?"
"Etchings are prints made from a metal plate on which someone has drawn with a needle."
She capped the comment by putting her pert nose in the air; Demon tightened his fingers about his hips against the urge to tighten them about her. He bent forward, lowering his face so it was closer to hers. "For your information, a gentleman offering to show a lady etchings is the equivalent of him inviting her to admire his family jewels."
Flick blinked. Puzzled, she searched his eyes. "So?"
"Aargh!" He swung away. "It's an invitation to intimacy!"
"It is?"
He swung back to see her lip curl.
"How like the fashionable to corrupt a perfectly good word."
"Remington was looking to corrupt you."
"Hmm." She looked at him, her expression stony. "But I do like etchings. Do you have any?"
"Yes." The answer was out before he'd thought. When she raised a brow, he grudgingly elaborated, "I have two scenes of Venice." They hung on either side of his bed. When he invited ladies to see his etchings, he meant literally as well as figuratively.
"I don't suppose you'd invite me to see them?"