Oscar took his place, eyeing Lucifer more directly. She felt forced to introduce them. Oscar bobbed his head, his arms locked around a small tun.
Lucifer nodded. "You're Thompson's brother, I hear."
"Aye, that be right." Oscar grinned, pleased to have been known. "Hear tell you've decided to make Colyton your home."
"Yes. I don't plan to leave."
Bent over her ledger, Phyllida pretended not to hear. Oscar shuffled on to be replaced by Marsh. He coughed and she had to introduce him, too. Before the night's cargo was stored, all the men had been introduced to Lucifer; he'd been accepted by them all far too easily for her liking.
She glanced at him as she headed for the crypt-and had to grudgingly admit that he was a commanding figure, especially in the shadowy night. Like his namesake, dark and forbidding, he followed her down the stone stairs.
Nose elevated to a telling angle, she pointedly settled to her accounts. He hovered for a moment, then made his way to where Mr. Filing was shifting boxes. She heard him offer to help, heard Filing's ready acceptance. Boxes scraped on stone; she concentrated on her figures.
Finally shutting the ledger, she stretched her back; only then did she realize Lucifer and Filing had finished moving boxes long before. Turning, she saw them leaning against a monument, talking earnestly. Filing was facing away from her; Lucifer's voice was too low for her to hear.
Quickly clearing her "desk," she went to join them.
Lucifer watched her approach. "So, other than Sir Jasper and Jonas, Basil Smollet and Pommeroy Fortemain, the bulk of the males were not at church."
Filing nodded. "Sir Cedric is an irregular attendee, as is Henry Grisby. The ladies I can count on"-he smiled at Phyllida-"but I'm afraid the males of the
parish are rather more recalcitrant."
"Inconvenient, in this case."
Phyllida looked at Filing. "Indeed. I've entered everything. All is in order, so I'll bid you a good night."
"And a good night to you, my dear."
Filing bowed. Phyllida smiled and turned away.
Lucifer straightened. "I'll walk you to the Grange."
She wasn't the least bit surprised to hear that. She inclined her head and started up the stairs. "If you wish."
She led the way out of the church and onto the common. He lengthened his stride until he was pacing beside her, almost shoulder to shoulder. Her skin prickled; awareness rushed over her and left all her nerves standing on end.
Their mad dash from the cliffs to Colyton-a careening drive-had left no time, let alone breath, for embarrassment or consciousness, but once she'd regained her bedchamber, consciousness had swamped her. She'd been sure she could not possibly meet his eyes again-look at his lips again-not without blushing so fierily everyone would guess why. She'd almost made up her mind to avoid him-certainly to avoid his arms.
Then someone had shot at her and he'd arrived-and she'd wanted nothing more than to fling herself into his arms and feel safe. The urge had been so strong she'd quivered with it; only by a supreme effort had she quelled it.
It was utter nonsense to feel so-to feel that the only place she would truly feel safe was in his arms. Dangerous, too, when she knew his interest in her was transient. Once she told him what she knew, he would have no reason to seduce her.
She'd spent the afternoon lecturing herself, pointing out that she'd survived perfectly well until now, that she would still be safe in the village. All she needed to do was exercise a little extra caution and all would be well. She'd find Mary Anne's letters, tell Lucifer everything, then they'd unmask the murderer and life could go on as it had before.
Except that Lucifer would be living in the village. He wasn't going to leave. She wouldn't be able to avoid him.
There was only one solution-to behave with her usual confidence and pretend nothing out of the ordinary had happened on the cliff. Pretend he didn't affect her at all.
Not too easy when he was glowering at her.
"You can't possibly be so witless as to believe that it was some benighted huntsman who shot at you."
"You can't argue that it's not a possibility."
"It became much less of a possibility when we found hoofprints, just like those behind the Manor's shrubbery, beside the copse in that field."
Her stride faltered; she slowed. "Someone rode there… it could still have been a huntsman."