"I say-have you lived in these parts long?"
Flick turned to find Henry March earnestly regarding her. His sister, too, lifting her gaze from a perusal of her blue silk gown, looked interested in the question.
Not so Avril Collins, who was brazenly looking interested in Demon.
"Most of my life," Flick answered, her gaze on Avril Collins's face. "I live with the General at Hillgate End, south of the racecourse."
Avril's pouting lips-they had to be rouged-lifted in a little smile. "I know," she said on a breathless giggle, one finger reaching out to tap Demon's coat, "that you live in London, Mr. Cynster."
Flick glanced at Demon's face. He smiled-not a smile she was used to, but one coolly, distantly polite.
"Actually, I live in London only part of the time. The rest of the time I live near Hillgate End."
"The General keeps a studbook, doesn't he?" Henry March appealed to Flick. "That must be exciting-do you help him keep track of the horses?"
Flick smiled. "It is interesting, but I don't help all that much. Of course, all the talk in the house is about horses."
Henry's eager expression suggested such a household was his idea of heaven.
"Oh, horses!" Avril wrinkled her nose and cast an openly inviting glance at Demon. "Don't you find them the most boring of creatures?"
"No." Demon met her gaze. "I breed them."
Flick could almost feel sorry for Avril Collins-Demon purposely let the silence stretch for one exceedingly uncomfortable instant, then turned to Henry March. "I own the stud farm to the west of the Lidgate road. Stop by some time if you're interested. If I'm not there, my foreman will show you around. Just mention my name."
"T-thank you," Henry stammered. "I'd l-like that immensely."
Mrs. Pemberton appeared with another group of young people. The fresh round of introductions allowed Kitty March to remove her unfortunate friend. Kitty tugged at her brother's sleeve, but he frowned at her, then returned to his open adoration of Flick.
In that pursuit he was joined by the two male members of the new group, both young gentlemen from nearby estates. Somewhat disconcerted by their soulful looks, Flick did her best to encourage rational conversation, only to be defeated by their patent silliness.
Their silliness, however, was nothing compared to their sisters' witlessness, their vapidity. Flick was not sure which she found more distracting.
"No." She drew a patient breath. "I don't watch every race. The Jockey Club sends all the results to the General."
"Do you get to name all the new foals?" One of the young ladies stared wide-eyed up at Demon.
Wearily resigned, he raised his brows. "I suppose I do."
"Oh! That must be so wonderful." The young damsel clasped her hands to her breast. "Thinking up sweet names for all those lovely little foals, staggering around on their shaky legs."
Flick immediately looked back at her group of swains. "Do any of you come to Newmarket to see the races?"
She struggled on, racking her brain for topics on which they might have more than two words to contribute. Most of such topics concerned racing, horses and carriages-within minutes, Demon insinuated a comment into their conversation. A minute later, he somehow managed to merge the two groups, which left the young ladies a trifle miffed, but they didn't move away.
Which was a pity, as Mrs. Pemberton arrived with another wave of admirers, both for her and Demon. Flick found herself facing five males, while Demon had his hands full, figuratively speaking, with six young girls. And one not-so-young, not-so-innocent young madam.
"What a delightful surprise, Mr. Cynster, to discover a gentleman of your standing at a gathering such as this. In case you missed my name, I'm Miss Henshaw."
The throaty voice had Flick quickly turning.
"I say-you ride that pretty little mare, don't you? The one with the white hocks."
Distracted, Flick glanced back at one of the new male additions. "Yes. That's Jessamy."
"Do you jump her?"
"Not especially."
"Well, you should. I've seen conformations like that around the traps-she'll do well, mark my words."
Flick shook her head. "Jessamy's not-
"Dare say you might not know, being a female, but take my word for it-she's got good legs and good stamina." The bluffly genial youth, the local squire's son, grinned at her, the epitome of a patronizing male. "If you like, I could organize a jockey and trainer for you."
"Yes, but-" one of her earnest admirers cut in. "She lives with the General-he keeps the stud records."
"So?" Bluff-and-genial raised a dismissive brow. "What's dusty old records got to do with it? This is horseflesh we're talking about."
A throaty laugh came from beyond Demon. Flick gritted her teeth. "For your information"-her tone stopped all argument and made Bluff-and-genial blink-"Jessamy is an investment. As a broodmare, she has arguably the best bloodlines in the country. You may be very certain I will not be risking her in any steeplechase."
"Oh," was all Bluff-and-genial dared say.
Flick turned to deal with the throaty-voiced Miss Henshaw-and saw a black-haired beauty, smiling and laughing, leaning close to Demon, her face tipped up to his. She was, Flick saw in that one chilling instant, a lot taller than she herself was-so her face, tilted up, was much closer to Demon's, her lips closer to his-
"Now, my dears!"
Every head in the room lifted; everyone looked to where Mrs. Pemberton stood, clapping her hands for attention. "Now," she reiterated, when everyone was silent, "it's time to find your partners for the first dance."
There was an instant of silence, then a rush as all the young men jockeyed for position. A chorus of invitations and acceptances filled the air.
Flick found herself facing three earnest young men-Bluff-and-genial had been shouldered aside.
"My dear Miss Parteger, if you will-
"I pray, kind lady, that-
"If you would honor me with this dance-"
Flick blinked at their youthful faces-they all seemed so young. She didn't need to look to know that the seductive Miss Henshaw was batting her long lashes at Demon. She didn't need to look, but she wanted to. She wanted to-
"Actually," a deep drawling voice purred just above her right ear, "Miss Parteger's first dance is mine."
Demon's hand closed firmly about hers; Flick looked up to see him smile with a shatteringly superior air at her youthful admirers. There was no chance in heaven they would argue.
The relief she felt was quite definite, the reasons for it less clear. Luckily, she didn't need to dwell on it. Demon glanced down at her and raised one brow. Gracefully, she inclined her head. He set her hand on his sleeve; the others fell back as he led her onto the rapidly clearing floor.
The dance was to be a cotillion. As Demon led her to a set, Flick whispered, "I know the theory, but I've never actually danced one of these in my life."
He smiled reassuringly. "Just copy what the other lady does. If you wander off in the wrong direction, I'll grab you."
Despite all, despite her dismissive humph, she found that promise comforting.
They took their positions and the music started; despite her worries, she quickly found the rhythm. The dips and sways and hand-clasped twirls were heavily repetitive; it wasn't that hard to keep her place. And Demon's touch was reassuring-every time his fingers closed about hers, he steadied her, even if she wasn't drifting.