He was, however, a great deal more.
A ruthless pirate at heart, a protective tyrant-all that she could easily see. She'd also experienced his gentleness, his tenderness. In teaching her of his desire and hers, he had, time and again, put her needs ahead of his wants. She might have been innocent, naive, a virgin, but she'd overheard enough over the years to know not all men were so considerate. With him, it had gone far beyond consideration-he had cared.
The emotion, the impulse, was so much a part of her, she'd recognized it instantly with no possibility of error. He cared for her. That truly unnerved her-everyone else expected her to be the one who cared.
She had wondered whether he'd seduced her intending to use the fact to pressure her into marriage, yet he hadn't done so. She was under no illusion that he expected to win her, to ultimately gain her agreement to their wedding, but she'd read his character accurately-he'd play fair. He was so much stronger than she, yet in his arms she never felt threatened. In his arms she felt safe-safe from everything, even him. So it was still her life, her choice, although he would do all he could to influence it.
It was still possible to say no, to turn her back and retreat to safer ground, but she was no longer the woman she'd been when he'd arrived, and so much of what he was offering was tempting. But there was one major hurdle to accepting that new future: How would their marriage work? If like the Farthingales' or Lady Fortemain's, then her answer would be no. He'd asked her what she wanted of marriage. She'd always known what she didn't.
She couldn't make up her mind, not without the answer to that major question. Could it work? Could she retain her sense of self while being the object of his overpowering protectiveness and the associated, highly possessive ramifications? Could she accept being cared for, rather than being the active carer? Could she adjust? Could he? If both of them were willing… that raised the question of how willing he was.
When he'd asked what she wanted of marriage, she hadn't had a clue. Now she did. She wanted to share. S
he wanted to work together, live together, love together-to make a difference together-to share his life and have him share hers. That was a prize worth the risk of binding herself to a protective tyrant.
If she told him what she wanted, would he give it? Would he let her take the driving seat sometimes? Was he truly capable of sharing the reins?
Smiling, she turned to greet Basil, all her questions still weaving through her mind.
Basil had brought her orgeat; she rewarded him with the next dance. Lucifer had strolled up the instant she'd stepped into the ballroom; they'd agreed to let the ball get under way before sounding Cedric out. So they were both dancing, chatting, and waiting for the time to pounce.
Lucifer watched Phyllida curtsy and link hands with Basil, then was forced to pay attention to his own partner, a Miss Moffat. Lady Fortemain had been exceedingly busy on his behalf-she'd invited every unmarried young lady for miles around. He was sorely tempted to tell her she didn't need to bother. He knew who his wife would be.
The word used to make him shudder; it no longer did. He was beyond fighting this fate-it was too desirable to reject. But he knew his social role and he played it well, charming the ladies, conversing with the gentlemen, acting as the perfect guest. Around him, the large crowd swayed and dipped. Lady Fortemain had pulled out all the stops; the occasion exuded a festive air. Her neighbors had joined in enthusiastically; the faces about him glowed.
The Grange household was well represented. Sir Jasper stood chatting with Mr. Farthingale and Mr. Filing. Mrs. Farthingale and Lady Huddlesford were similarly occupied. Jonas, Percy, and Frederick were engaged on the dance floor. Percy had condescended to attend. Frederick was making an effort to be pleasant. Jonas, on the other hand, had an easy smile on his face-only his eyes flicking every now and then to Phyllida gave him away.
Lucifer twirled Miss Moffat; he could dance a cottilion without thought. Like Jonas's, his thoughts were on Phyllida and the man who had her in his sights. He had spoken to Jonas. If, for some reason, he wasn't watching Phyllida, then Jonas would be. No matter her intentions, no matter her fear, she too often forgot the danger. The village was her home; she'd been safe here for all her twenty-four years. It was hard to change a lifetime's habit. So he or Jonas would keep watch over her until the danger was past.
This was the second cottilion, the fourth dance; as he changed sides in the set, Lucifer scanned the crowd.
Cedric was standing in a patriarchal pose, watching his guests with an approving eye. Lady Fortemain was the center of a knot of voluble ladies. Pommeroy was dancing despite the exigencies of his ridiculously high cravat. Lucius Appleby was lending his assistance entertaining the guests and doing a much better job than Pommeroy.
The local ladies considered Appleby an enigma; Lucifer read the signs with ease. Appleby ranked as handsome; despite his reserve and an attitude that suggested he had no interest in stepping over anyone's line, his success with the ladies was assured. A Miss Claypoole was dancing with him, eyes and lips smiling. Appleby deflected her interest with a confidence that had Lucifer wondering.
With a flourish, the cottilion ended; Lucifer bowed and excused himself from Miss Moffat's side.
He headed for Phyllida's. She welcomed him with a smile that warmed him and a look so eager he pressed her fingers warningly. He exchanged nods with Basil.
"How opportune, Mr. Cynster. I was about to mention that I understand Phyllida's been forced to spend the past two days at the Manor for safety's sake. That must be both boring for Phyllida and a distraction for you, what with all you have to do to settle Horatio's estate." With a patronizing air that stated louder than words that he believed every word he said, Basil smiled at Phyllida. "I'll send the carriage around tomorrow morning, my dear. Mama would be delighted to have you spend the day."
Lucifer glanced at Phyllida's face, calm as always, and resisted the urge to applaud. She returned Basil's smile. "Thank you, Basil, that's a kind thought. But I have other plans for tomorrow."
"Indeed?" Basil clearly considered asking what; instead, he said, "Then perhaps-"
"The day after tomorrow is Sunday, so that's out of the question. After that… well, the endeavors with which I'm assisting Mr. Cynster have yet to be completed, so I'll still be helping him at the Manor."
Her tone as she uttered that last sentence was enough to give even Basil pause. After a moment, he bowed. "My apologies, my dear, if I did not properly understand-"
There was no apology in his tone, only irritation and faint rebuke; Phyllida stopped him with a raised hand. "There's a great deal you fail to properly understand, Basil, usually because you don't wish to understand it."
A violin hummed, then screeched. Phyllida turned to Lucifer. "I believe that's our waltz commencing."
Lucifer bowed and took her hand. He nodded to Basil. "You'll excuse us, Smollet."
No question, of course; Basil bowed stiffly. With a bob, Phyllida turned on Lucifer's arm and let him lead her to the floor. She went into his arms, following his lead without thought; after a moment, she felt his hand stroke her back.
"Relax."