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.