All About Love (Cynster 6)

She'd gladly agreed to do the vases. The notion that the murderer might be haunting the church she'd dismissed as irrational; a brisk walk up the common followed by the soothing ambience of the church had sounded just perfect. Unfortunately, the door to the library had been open. Lucifer had materialized in the doorway-he'd insisted on coming, too.

A short argument had ensued. Once again, she'd lost. It was becoming a habit-one she indulged in with no one else. Losing arguments was not her forte.

By not one word would she encourage him further.

Sticking a finger in the vase, she checked the water. "Too low." Grasping a jar, she walked to the door, looked out, then stepped into the sunshine. She crossed the few feet to the pump-and listened to hear if he followed. No sound-he must still be brooding darkly in the doorway.

Indeed, he seemed to find her as irritating-that was not the right word, but it was something very similar-as she found him. Irritating, puzzling, unaccountable. Utterly impossible to comprehend.

She filled the jar, then lowered the pump handle. As she turned away, her gaze swept the graveyard-a vase on a grave had blown over. She tsked and went over to the grave. Righting the vase, she filled it from her jar and resettled it against the gravestone. Straightening, she approved of the alignment, then turned to retrace her steps.

In the lane beyond the lych-gate, Silas Coombe clicked sedately along in his high-heeled shoes.

Phyllida hesitated, then waved. He didn't see; she put the jar down on a nearby slab and waved both arms.

Silas noticed-Phyllida beckoned.

She thought furiously while he made his way under the lych-gate and up the path. Halting before her, he bowed extravagantly, flourishing a silk handkerchief.

When he straightened, she was smiling. "Mr. Coombe." She curtsied-Silas liked the formalities. "I was wondering… I couldn't help but overhear your conversation with Mr. Cynster last afternoon." She summoned her most sympathetic expression. "He seems quite set on not selling any of Horatio's treasures."

"Indeed." Silas frowned. "A great pity."

"I hadn't realized you were interested in Horatio's volumes." Sinking onto the marble slab, she gestured, inviting Silas to join her. "I had thought your own collection was quite extensive in its own right."

"Oh, it is-indeed, it is!" Silas flicked his coattails and sat beside her. "Just because I wish to purchase one or two of Horatio's more interesting tomes is not to say my own collection needs them for validity."

"I had wondered…"

"No, no! I do assure you. My collection is quite worthy as it stands!"

"So what is it that attracts you to buying c

ertain of Horatio's books?"

"Well-" Silas blinked. "I…" He focused on her face, then leaned closer, raising a finger to tap the side of his nose. "There's more reason for buying a book than just to read it, m'dear."

"Oh?"

"Can't say more." Silas sat back, clearly pleased with Phyllida's intrigued expression. "But I'm not one to be interested for no reason, m'dear."

"A mystery," Phyllida murmured. "I do so love secrets. Surely you could tell me-I would tell no one else."

Striving to appear foolishly fascinated, she leaned closer, then wished she hadn't. Silas blinked; the look in his eyes changed. His gaze lowered to her lips, then drifted lower still.

Phyllida fought a blush-fought the urge to jerk upright. Leaning forward as she was, the scooped neckline of her gown was revealing more to Silas than she'd intended. But… Silas knew something. "Isn't there anything you'd like to tell me, Silas?"

She uttered the question gently, encouragingly. Silas wrenched his gaze up to her face. Then he grabbed her.

Phyllida gasped and tried to straighten, but Silas had his arms around her.

"My dear, if I'd known you preferred more elegant men-more sophisticated gentlemen-I'd have gone down on my knees years ago."

"Mr. Coombe!" Crushed against his chest, Phyllida dragged in a breath. His cologne nearly suffocated her.

"My dear, I've waited and watched-you'll need to forgive the strength of my passions. I know you're unversed in the art of-"

"Silas! Let me go!"