His heart, thudding against her breast, slowed. Raising his head, he looked at her. "Have I convinced you?"

She lifted her lids and looked into his eyes, then deliberately tensed, tightening all about him, smiled, and let her lids fall. "Yes."

He groaned, moaned, dropped his forehead to hers-and predictably convinced her all over again.

As he left her room in a rush, flitting through the corridors like a thief to slip out of the side door before any maid caught sight of him, Demon swore on his soul that he'd never again underestimate an angel.

His morning was busy, but he was back in Berkeley Square by eleven, confident that now the Season was in full swing, his mother would not yet be down. As he'd requested before he'd left, Flick was waiting-she came gliding down the stairs as Highthorpe opened the door.

The light in her eyes, that glow in her face, took his breath away. As she crossed the hall toward him, the sun shone through the fanlight full upon her-it was all he could do not to pull her into his arms and kiss her senseless. If Highthorpe hadn't been standing in silent majesty beside him, he would have.

Flick seemed to sense his thoughts; the glance she shot him as she glided straight past and out of the door was designed to torment.

"We'll be back late in the afternoon." Demon threw the comment back at Highthorpe as he followed her down the steps. He caught her on the pavement and lifted her into his curricle.

Flick glanced at the empty pillion. "No Gillies?"

"He's off visiting his peers all over town." Retrieving the reins and rewarding the urchin who'd held them, Demon joined her; he set the bays pacing smartly. "I spoke to Montague-we've people everywhere. Now we know where to look, we'll find Bletchley. And his masters." He took a corner in style. "And not before time."

Flick glanced at him. "I had wondered…"

The Spring Carnival was next week. Demon grimaced. "I should have gone back and seen the Committee this week, but… I kept hoping we'd find something-at least one link, one fact, to support Dillon's story. As things stand, we should locate Bletchley by tomorrow evening at the latest-if he's anywhere within the ton, he won't be able to hide. As soon as we have any further information, I'll go back to Newmarket-at the very latest, on Sunday." He glanced at Flick. "Will you come with me?"

She blinked and opened her eyes wide. "Of course."

Suppressing a grin, he looked to his horses. "We haven't found any trace of the money-not anywhere-which is odd. We now think it has to be moving through the ton as wagers and overt expenditure. But no one's been throwing large sums around unexpectedly."

He flicked the reins; the bays stretched their legs. As they passed the gates of the park, he added, "I'd assumed the syndicate was too clever to use their own servants, but it's possible that, when both Dillon and Ickley declined to provide the necessary services so close to the Spring Carnival, they had no choice but to send someone already to hand-someone they trusted."

"So Bletchley's gentleman might be a member of the syndicate?"

"Possibly. Bletchley's a pawn, but he may still be being used at a distance. As a gentleman's groom, he'd have plenty of opportunity to meet with other gentlemen-just a word here and there wouldn't register as odd. There'd be no need for formal meetings."

Flick nodded. "I'll write to Dillon and tell him we'll be back by Sunday." Relief rang in her tone. A moment later, she realized her surroundings weren't familiar. "Where are we going?"

Demon glanced at her. "There's a sale at Tattersalls-carriage horses mostly. A pair of high-steppers I wouldn't mind picking up. I thought you might like to watch."

"Oh, yes! Tattersalls! I've heard so much about it, but I've never been there. Where is it?"

Her continuing eager queries left Demon in no doubt that he'd discovered the one woman in all England who would rather watch a horse auction than stroll down Bond Street. When, incapable of hiding his appreciation, he said as much, Flick blinked at him in blank bemusement.

"Well, of course-don't be ridiculous. These are horses!"

By mutual agreement, he bid on a pair of sweet-tempered, high-stepping greys, rather too finely boned for his taste-he didn't tell Flick they were for her. When they were knocked down to him, she was absolutely thrilled-she spent the time while he arranged to have them delivered to Newmarket making their acquaintance. He all but had to drag her away.

"Come on, or we'll never make it to Richmond."

"Richmond?" Consenting at last to let him lead her from the yard, she stared at him. "Why there?"

He looked down into her eyes. "So I can have you to myself."

He did, throughout a glorious day filled with simple pleasures, simple delights. They went first to the Star and Garter on the hill, to partake of a light luncheon. Settling her skirts at a table for two by a window overlooking the parklands, Flick noted that the other diners were definitely noticing them. She raised a brow at Demon. "Shouldn't we have some sort of chaperon for this type of outing?" Her tone was merely curious, certainly not complaining.

He met her gaze, then reached into his pocket. "I took this to the Gazette-it'll be run tomorrow." He handed her a slip of paper. "I didn't think you'd object."

Flick smoothed out the slip, read the words upon it, then smiled. "No-of course not." Refolding it, she handed the paper back-it contained a brief statement of their engagement. "So does that mean we can go about alone without trampling on society's toes?"

"Yes, thank heaven." After a moment, he amended, "Well, within reason."

Reason included a long ramble in the park, under the huge oaks and beeches. They fed the deer, then, hands locked, ambled on through the sunshine. They walked and talked-not of Dillon and the syndicate, or society-but of their plans, their hopes, their aspirations for the shared life before them. They laughed and teased-and shared brief, stolen, tantalizing kisses, screened by the trees. Those kisses left them trembling, suddenly too aware; in unstated accord, they turned back to the carriage and their talk turned to their wedding, and when it was to be.

As soon as possible was their unanimous decision.

As Demon had expected, his mother was waiting when they returned to Berkeley Square.

"Her ladyship is in the upstairs parlor," Highthorpe intoned. "She wished to see you immediately you returned, sir."

"Thank you, Highthorpe." Still smiling, Demon ignored Flick's questioning look; taking her hand, he led her up the stairs.

Reaching Horatia's private parlor, he knocked, then opened the door and sauntered through, towing Flick behind him.

Horatia, head already raised, fixed him with a look so severe-so filled with menacing portent-he should have been struck to stone.

Demon grinned. "How long does it take to arrange a wedding?"

The next afternoon, Flick went for a drive in the park with Horatia and Helena. The notice of her engagement to Demon had appeared that morning; Horatia was in alt. Indeed, she'd been so happy and excited on their behalf last night that they'd cancelled their evening's plans and dined unfashionably en famille so they could discuss their impending nuptials. As Demon's only stipulation was that it had to be soon, and she had nothing more to add, Horatia was beside herself with plans.

Naturally, Helena had been immediately informed-she'd appeared in Berkeley Square for breakfast, ready to join in the fun. She was presently seated in the carriage beside Horatia; both were regally dispensing information to the senior matrons of the ton, all of whom made a point of stopping by the carriage to comment, and compliment, and graciously bestow their approval.