That got her attention; she sucked in a breath and blinked at him, then quickly rearranged her legs and her skirts. "Thank you."

Lifting her chin, she fixed her blue eyes on Dunstable. "I can't believe how overgrown the park has become-we must get Hendricks to cut back rather more. Why, you can barely see the sky, even here, even on such a wonderful morning. I rather think-"

She chattered blithely on, unaware that, with her cheeks still delicately flushed from sleep, her hair tousled and her velvet skirts badly crushed, she presented a perfect picture of a youthful damsel who had recently engaged in an energetic morning romp.

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.

She hovered on the brink-he saw it in her eyes. But, after studying his expression, she swung onto a different tack. "But no one knows. Well"-she waved-"only Dunstable, and he didn't imagine anything scandalous had happened."

Stunned, he stared at her. "Tell me, is Dunstable always so stony-faced?"

She grimaced. "Well, he is rather taciturn. I always do most of the talking."

"If you'd done a little more looking this morning, you'd have seen he was shocked to his toes." Again, he went to step past her; again, she blocked his way.

"What are you going to do?"

He didn't want to lay hands on her-didn't want to risk it in his present state. He pinned her with a glare. "I am going to speak to the General, and explain to him exactly what occurred."

"You're not going to tell him about Dillon?"

"No. I'll simply say I came upon you riding alone through my fields late last night, and insisted on escorting you home." He took a step toward her; to keep his face in clear view, she backed away. "I'll leave it to you to explain what you were doing in your saddle at midnight."

She blinked; he pressed his advantage and took another step. She gave ground without noticing. Her eyes, now wide, flicked up to his; before she could interrupt, he stated, "The General will see instantly that, regardless of what truly transpired at the cottage, all society-certainly every matron of standing in Newmarket-will believe you and I spent the best part of the night heating a single pallet in the charcoal makers' hut."

A light blush tinged her cheeks; her gaze flickered, then steadied. Abruptly, she stood her ground. "That's ridiculous." The statement was emphatic. "You didn't lay a finger…" Her words trailed away; her gaze blanked.

"On you?" Demon grinned tightly. "Not one-all ten." He trapped her gaze as she refocused. "Can you deny you were in my arms?"

Her lips compressed, her expression turned mutinous, her chin set like rock. Her eyes-those usually soft orbs-positively flared. "That was because of a mouse!"

"The cause is irrelevant. As far as society's concerned, having spent the night alone with me, your virtue and reputation are in question. The accepted code of behavior decrees I offer you the protection of my name."

Flick stared at him, then determinedly shook her head. "No."

He looked down at her, and coolly raised his brows. "No?"

"No, that's positively stupid." Flinging her hands in the air, she swung away. "You're blowing this up out of all proportion. Society's not going to say anything because they'll know nothing about it. Dunstable won't talk." Swinging about, she paced back. "I'll see him and explain-" Lifting her head, she saw Demon almost at the door. "No! Wait!"

She raced across the room. She would have caught him, but he turned and caught her instead. His hands about her upper arms, he held her away from him. And glared at her.

"There's no point arguing-I'm going to see the General."

His determination was blazoned in his eyes; Flick couldn't mistake it. Her mind raced; she licked her lips. "He'll be at breakfast." Dragging her gaze from his, she sent it skimming down, over his rumpled clothes.

He looked down, too, then frowned; extending one leg, he scowled at the muddy streaks marring his Hessians. And swore. Releasing her, he took stock of his disreputable state. "I can't go in to see him like this."