All About Love c-6 Read online

  "Why? I didn't say I wouldn't."

  "You didn't say you would, either, and you are the most contrary female I've ever met."

  She couldn't decide whether to be pleased or insulted. "Why are you ordering locks? Because of last night?"

  His gaze touched her face. "Because of the intruder."

  A frisson of awareness raced through her; she carefully kept it from her face. She wasn't going to let what had happened last night inhibit her from continuing with their joint investigations. She had a shrewd notion he'd be quite happy to see her retreat from the field, a victim of consciousness. But last night had come about by her insistence; just because he'd given her precisely what she'd wanted-even though, as he'd observed, she hadn't known for what she was asking-she wasn't about to convert into some mindless ninny.

  She wasn't about to let his warning about the next time worry her, either. It would be up to her if ever there was a next time, and she hadn't yet made up her mind.

  Shocking, of course, but there it was. She should be swooning, not sitting beside him, calmly if warily. She might not have appreciated last night's possibilities, not until she'd been in the middle of them, but she was twenty-four. She knew what he'd meant by his final words.

  They'd been uttered like an oath. One that had carried a great deal of conviction. After a tense moment, face hard, all angular planes, he'd stepped back and let her slip past him, out onto the lawn. She'd looked back just once and seen him standing, a dark, forbidding shadow at the entrance to the shrubbery. Lucifer, indeed. All hot desire.

  Temptation was his middle name.

  And she'd felt safe, utterly and completely safe-safe not just physically, but at some much deeper level-while in his arms.

  Why that should be so was a mystery, but it was pointless to cavil. Just how far that sense of safety might tempt her she didn't know, but in all her twenty-four years, he was the first to make her feel that being a woman desiring and desired was an experience available to her.

  Deep in her mind lay a very strong feeling that just as he was the first, he might also be the last.

  "The intruder"-she grabbed the curricle's rail as he took the comer into the main lane-"how did he get in?"

  "There was a window with a loose latch-the one in the dining room facing the side lawn."

  "So that's how he got out so fast." After a moment, she asked, "Do you think he'll return?"

  "Not immediately, but sometime. Whatever he was after, he hasn't found it. If it was enough to commit murder for, then he'll be back."

  "Are you sure the intruder is the murderer?"

  He grimaced. "No. But unless there were four people visiting Horatio on Sunday morning-the murderer, you, me, and the intruder-and we've found absolutely no trace of the murderer, then the intruder is the murderer."

  The gates of the Manor appeared around the bend; he didn't slow. "Bear with me." He flicked her a glance. "Bar your father and brother, you're the only sane and definitely innocent person I can talk to about this, and for obvious reasons, I can't yet talk to your father or brother."

  She regarded him calmly.

  He had to look to his horses. "I believe Horatio was killed because of some book. Everyone knew that on Sunday morning, the Manor should have been deserted. The downstairs doors were never locked. The murderer-a local who was not at church-left his horse behind the shrubbery and went to the drawing room. He started examining books, pulling them from the shelves-then Horatio disturbed him. On Monday afternoon, I noticed three books not properly pushed in."

  "Where?"

  "Bottom of the last bookshelf against the inner wall."

  Near the gap where she'd surmised the murderer must have hidden. "So-the murderer is after a book."

  "Or something in a book."

  "Could the book be the item Horatio wanted you to appraise?"

  "No. Horatio wouldn't have asked me to appraise a book. He was the foremost authority in the field. If he'd found something spectacular, and all the signs suggest he had, he wouldn't have needed my opinion to be sure."

  They'd reached the road to Axmouth; he slowed and turned the curricle. When they were rolling back to Colyton, Phyllida asked, "Why did you say something in a book?"

  "Many books are valuable, not because of the book itself, but because of what's subsequently been written in them. Sometimes it's the notational information that adds the value, but most often it's the identity of the writer."

  "You mean inscriptions-that sort of thing?"

  "Inscriptions, instructions, messages-even wills. You'd be amazed at what you come across."

  "So at present it appears that the motive for the murder is some information noted in a book?"

  "That's my best guess." The Grange gates loomed; deftly, he turned through them.

  "What about the item Horatio wanted you to look at?"

  "That remains a mystery. The fact that Horatio was killed just after he'd discovered it is looking more and more like coincidence. No one beyond myself and Covey knew he'd found anything. Covey knows no more than I."

  "We'll have to search all the books."

  "I have Covey doing that. He's used to handling old and valuable tomes-he'll be careful yet thorough."

  He drew up before the Grange steps; the blacks pranced. Phyllida climbed down without assistance. On the steps, she turned and met his blue gaze. "Thank you." She didn't add anything more.

  One black brow arched; he searched her face, consideration in his eyes.

  She smiled, inclined her head, and turned toward the door. "Until next time."

  She didn't look back to see how he reacted, but his wheels didn't start turning until she'd stepped over the threshold and Mortimer was closing the door behind her. Still smiling, she headed for her room. Why she was teasing him, she didn't know. She knew it wasn't safe.

  She didn't know if she was teasing, either.

  By the time she reached her room, her smile had converted to a frown. Lucifer was focusing on Horatio's books, which meant he'd be unlikely to go inspecting a writing desk. But he'd ordered new locks and he'd order them used, at least until the murderer was caught.

  So she had a week's grace-the time it would take for the locks to arrive. She would have to search the Manor's upstairs rooms one night soon. Mrs. Hemmings had told her Lucifer had taken the room at the front right corner, leaving Horatio's room as it was.

  Phyllida grimaced. "All I can do is pray that damned writing desk is not in the front corner bedroom."

  Chapter 11

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  Not to be outdone by the Fortemains, the Smollets had arranged to host a dance that evening. It was a large affair with guests driving in from miles around. Many Lucifer hadn't met; he spent half the evening being introduced and exclaimed over-he was the main attraction, after all.

  While doing the pretty, he kept an eye on Phyllida. She'd arrived in good time with her father, brother, and Miss Sweet. Lady Huddlesford had swept in later, Frederick at her heels. Percy Tallent had not appeared.

  In her gown of bronze silk, a simple gold chain around her throat and gold drops in her ears, Phyllida was the least fussily dressed woman in the room, and easily the most stunning. She drew many men's eyes, yet few, Lucifer realized, properly appreciated the sight. Cedric, Basil, and Grisby-those he paid most attention to-clearly viewed Phyllida as a desirable chattel, one that, if possessed, would add to their consequence. None of them seemed to see her at all. Fools, the lot of them.

  Her expression serene, she did her best to ignore them, chatting instead with the many others present-doubtless dispensing aid and succor in various forms. Yet she could not entirely avoid her would-be suitors.

  She danced the first dance with Basil, their host. By dint of superior strategy, Lucifer avoided the reciprocal fate; Jocasta Smollet danced the measure with Sir Jasper. Phyllida then danced a cottilion with Cedric; later, he saw her going down a country dance with Henry Grisby.

  Her attitude at the
conclusion of the dance-that of relief that her duty had now been done-failed to puncture Grisby's self-absorption. Less than impressed, Phyllida retreated to speak with the Misses Longdon.

  From the side of the room, Lucifer watched her, and considered his best avenue of approach.

  "There you are!"

  He turned as Sir Jasper joined him.

  "Wanted to ask-have you uncovered anything about this blackguard who stabbed Horatio?"

  "Nothing positive. There's no evidence anyone rode in from beyond the village, at least not from the east. I've yet to check in Honiton, but at present, all signs point to the killer residing locally."

  "Hmm. This intruder you surprised last night…?"

  "May well be the murderer."

  Sir Jasper let out a long sigh. He looked away, over the room. "I'd hoped, y'know, that it wouldn't be someone from round about. But if they're still searching…"

  "Precisely. It can't be anyone from far afield. They'd be noticed."

  "By the same token, given the way we all go about down here, riding day in, day out, it'll be hard to pin anyone down."

  Lucifer inclined his head in agreement.

  Sir Jasper remained beside him, a frown gathering on his face. Eventually, he drew breath and faced Lucifer. "This business of that hunter shooting at Phyllida…"

  "Exactly what I want to know, too."

  Sir Jasper and Lucifer glanced around as Jonas ambled up. Hands in his pockets, he met Lucifer's gaze. As usual, he appeared relaxed, ready for any lark. It occurred to Lucifer that, as Phyllida's calm serenity was often a mask, so, too,

  Jonas's insouciant good humor concealed something more. There was certainly nothing insouciant in his hazel eyes.

  "I know Phyl said it was a hunter, but I can't see it myself. Ridiculous time and place to go shooting. And whyever did she burn that bonnet?"

  "She burned her bonnet?" Sir Jasper gazed across the room at his daughter.

  "So Sweetie said." Jonas studied Phyllida, too.

  "Why on earth would she do that?"

  Because she'd been frightened and destroying the bonnet had been her way of putting the incident from her. Lucifer could understand that. For all her intransigence, Phyllida was too intelligent not to be afraid.

  "What I want to know is: Is she in any danger?"

  It was Jonas who voiced the question. To Lucifer's relief, it wasn't directed specifically at him; he couldn't answer truthfully. He shifted; it went against his grain to keep Sir Jasper and Jonas in the dark. To his mind, they had a right to know-had a right to protect daughter, sister.

  Lips shut tight against any unwary word, he canvassed his options, but there wasn't any way to warn them that it looked like the murderer was indeed after Phyllida-they'd immediately ask why. "I saw her out walking, coming back from the church. I noticed she had a groom with her."

  "Did she? Now that's a first." Jonas glanced at him. "I wonder why."

  "Perhaps the shock of being shot at." Lucifer kept his tone light. "Who knows what goes on in the minds of women?"

  Sir Jasper snorted. Jonas grinned.

  After a moment, Sir Jasper said, "I don't like this business of a murderer running loose among us. No telling where it might end. I might just have a word with the male staff-no need to let Phyllida know."

  "A general increase in watchfulness wouldn't hurt."

  "She'll hear of it," Jonas said. "You know she will. Then she'll just reorganize things her way."

  "Humph!" Sir Jasper's frowning gaze remained on his daughter. "I'll do it anyway. With luck, by the time she learns of it, we'll have this miscreant by the heels."

  Lucifer hoped so. Leaving Sir Jasper and Jonas, he strolled down the room to negotiate with the musicians laboring in a corner. After that, he headed toward the chaise Phyllida was sharing with the Misses Longdon.

  He bowed to all three ladies. They had barely exchanged five words before the opening bars of a waltz filled the room. The Misses Longdon tittered; neither danced, but they eagerly scanned the room to see who of their neighbors would partner whom.

  Lucifer caught Phyllida's eye and bowed again. "If you would do me the honor, Miss Tallent?"

  She inclined her head and gave him her hand. He raised her and drew her into the dance, into his arms. The Misses Longdon twittered furiously.

  Phyllida danced well and was thankful for it-at least she didn't need to mind her steps. One less problem on her plate. The most pressing, literally, had her trapped in his arms and was whirling her effortlessly around the floor. For some silly reason, her wits and her senses seemed intent on following her feet into some realm of giddy delight, and that was far too dangerous.

  There was an aggravated frown in Lucifer's eyes, a tightness about his lips, a tension in his body as it tantalizingly brushed hers-unquestionably all danger signs. She kept her expression mild, her gaze on his face.

  "I've just had a most uncomfortable conversation with your father and brother."

  She felt her eyes go round, her jaw drop. "How on earth did Papa, let alone Jonas, learn of last night?"

  Lucifer stared at her, then his lips thinned. "We weren't discussing our interlude in the shrubbery. They don't know about that."

  Phyllida sagged with relief. "Thank heavens!"

  Lucifer all but shook her as they went around the turn.

  "We were discussing whether you are in danger. Which you are."

  "You didn't tell them?" She searched his eyes.

  They glittered back at her. "No, I didn't. But I should."

  "There's no reason for them to be worried-"

  "They have a right to know."

  She narrowed her eyes at him. "I don't want them to know. It's pointless. As you saw, I'm perfectly capable of taking appropriate steps, and with luck I'll be able to tell you all soon, and then, one way or another, we'll catch the murderer and all will be well."

  He studied her face, her eyes. "It would be better if you told me what it was you saw in Horatio's drawing room."

  She considered it.

  I saw a brown hat.

  A brown hat?

  Just a brown hat. I didn't recognize it and no one's worn it since.

  Then it can't be that that the murderer's worried about. What else happened? What were you doing? Why were you there?

  "I can't tell you. Not yet."

  His gaze remained steady, vibrant dark blue, focused on her eyes. "I think you can."

  His voice was soft, low; it sent shivers down her spine. Her impulse was to lift her chin and step back from his arms; before she could, he drew her nearer.

  Near enough so the silk over her breasts brushed his coat with every breath; close enough so that his hard thighs brushed hers at every turn.

  She was suddenly very conscious of just how physically powerful he was-although he never hid it, he hadn't before projected it, not like this. Some part of her mind was pointing frantically, urging her to understand how threatening he could be, and give in. Instead, she simply frowned at him. "Not yet. I'll tell you as soon as I can."

  Her tone was calm and even. An expression of surprise-as if he couldn't quite believe his ears-passed swiftly through his eyes. Then the blue hardened. Slowly, arrogantly, he lifted one black brow.

  She knew that look-could interpret it with ease. "Nothing you can do will change my mind."

  The music stopped; they swirled to a halt by the side of the floor, but he didn't let her go. His hand at her waist burned through the silk, threatening to bring her hard against him. He lowered their linked hands, lacing his fingers through hers, and looked into her eyes. "Nothing?"

  Just that one, soft word.

  Phyllida suddenly felt faint. Her knees felt weak. If she didn't say something soon, he was going to kiss her-right here in the Smollets' ballroom in front of half the county. He would do it, and delight in the doing. Her heart was thudding; her eyes were trapped in midnight blue. She couldn't think-not well enough to concoct any evasive plan. And she couldn't break a
way.

  His gaze grew more intent; his lips lifted a little at the corners. The hand at her back tensed-

  "Ah, Phyllida, my dear."

  It was Basil. He walked toward them, not looking at them but surveying his guests. Lucifer was forced to release her. Phyllida edged back.

  Reaching them, Basil glanced at them and smiled perfunctorily. "I wonder, my dear, if I could prevail on you to give your opinion of the punch. I'm just not sure…"

  "Of course!" Seizing Basil's arm, Phyllida turned him. "Where's the punch bowl?"

  She steered Basil down the room, away from Lucifer, and didn't once look back.

  Despite that, she knew he watched her-kept watching her, waiting for another chance at her. No matter where in the room she went, she felt his gaze on her. Consequently, she was forced to conscript some gentleman-one of her village suitors or one of the others from farther afield who would gladly pay court to her if she gave the slightest sign-as bodyguard. They, unfortunately, didn't know they were guarding her.

  One, a Mr. Firman from Musbury, insisted on fetching her a glass of punch; he left her by a window. Phyllida scanned the crowd; she couldn't see Lucifer. But the sense of being in danger grew… retreating to the withdrawing room seemed a good idea. She turned toward the door-

  And walked into a familiar chest.

  She all but leaped back. She glared at him. "Stop it!"

  He raised his brows, all innocence. "Stop what?"

  "This! You know you can't"-she gestured with both hands-"seduce me in a ballroom."

  "Who wrote that rule?" He studied her eyes, then added, "I'll admit it's a greater challenge, but…"

  His voice had deepened to a suggestive purr. Phyllida flashed him a repressive look and turned to scan those nearby, hoping to see Mr. Firman or some other useful soul… Robert Collins was standing quietly by the wall.

  Lucifer had followed her gaze. "I thought the hostesses hereabouts didn't encourage Mr. Collins."

  "They don't and Jocasta's no different, she's just more cruel. She knows inviting Robert will irritate Mr. Farthingale, reinforcing his opposition, which quite rains Mary Anne's delight in having Robert here. Robert, of course, is helpless to decline the invitation-he gets so few opportunities to see Mary Anne in such surrounds."