He ground his teeth. "Well, / did. That's why I made you promise not to go out of the ballroom."
"I didn't promise." Her nose rose. "I said I'd remain in sight. I thought you were watching."
Her tone, hinting at sudden vulnerability, made him bite his tongue. "I was watching. So was Jonas. But we both lost you for a moment, and then you were stepping outside. We nearly lost you altogether."
The thought made his blood run cold. It made his voice deeper, darker, a great deal more menacing. "I repeat, what the devil did you think you were doing?"
He stopped; she stopped, too, and faced him, head up, gaze direct. Her tapered chin was set. "I adm
it I forgot about the dark, but my reasons were perfectly sensible. I couldn't think where else to take Appleby."
"So this was your idea?"
"Of course! Appleby is the one person most likely to know which men had slipped out and returned. He's Cedric's right hand-he helps with all the arrangements and acts as Cedric's second. If Cedric left the room, then Appleby would have been alerted and watching the other guests in case someone needed anything."
"So," Lucifer grudgingly extrapolated, "Appleby's unlikely to be the murderer. He would have been on duty, as it were-"
"Precisely! So I was in no danger from him. Appleby doesn't like me any more than I like him, so I wasn't risking receiving any unwelcome advances. And you did say he'd been in the military, so he was probably the safest person, aside from you, to be with on the terrace."
Lucifer bit back the information that she wouldn't have been safe with him-still wasn't safe with him. He gestured brusquely toward the ballroom. "Let's get inside."
With a distinctly irate sniff, Phyllida turned. He wrapped the wrist he still held about one arm and stalked beside her. Jonas had stuck his head out, seen them, and gone in again. As they neared the open door, Lucifer asked, "Well? Did Appleby know anything to the point?"
Phyllida stepped over the threshold, nose in the air. "No."
"I wondered if you'd care to accompany me on a drive to Exeter."
Phyllida jerked her head up, only just managing to smother her gasp. Lucifer stood not two feet away. How had he got so close?
He raised one dark brow; reaching out, he took the flower basket from her nerveless fingers. She forced her gaze to a rosebush; cupping one bloom, she snipped it. As she laid it in the basket, she said, "If you can wait until I put these in water, then yes. A drive would be pleasant, and there are a few people I should see in Exeter."
Lucifer inclined his head. "For the pleasure of your company, I'll wait."
Twenty minutes later, he handed her into his curricle, then stepped up to the box seat, sat, picked up the reins, and gave his blacks the office. As he tooled the carriage down the drive, he knew relief.
Phyllida sat beside him, self-contained, a touch aloof-but she was there. After his performance last night, he hadn't been at all sure of his reception; he'd been prepared to kidnap her if she hadn't come of her own accord. But she had, thank heaven. She'd even come without a bonnet.
The blacks swept out of the Grange drive; he glanced at her-she had deployed a parasol to shade her fair skin from the summer sun, but he could see her face. He scanned her features, noted the line of her lips, the set of her chin, then gave his attention to his horses.
After last night, he would have to watch his every step.
They rattled on through the countryside in silence, a silence that became progressively more companionable as the miles fell beneath the blacks' hooves. The sunshine seemed to wilt her starchiness; when they reached Honiton, she spontaneously pointed out the sights.
He'd taken the more northerly route so they could check at the inns in Honiton, just in case a gentleman had hired a horse on the Sunday Horatio had been killed. Phyllida directed him to the appropriate establishments, then left him to make the inquiries. As they'd expected, there was no news to be had. Leaving Honiton, they bowled along the highway to Exeter.
The road was in good condition and the blacks were fresh. They leaned into the traces and the curricle flew. The wind of their passing whipped at Phyllida's hair. The speed was exhilarating, the warmth of the sun relaxing-she couldn't help but lift her face to the breeze and smile.
"Why are we going to Exeter?"
She waited, eyes half shut, lips curved; she felt Lucifer's gaze roam her face, then he answered. "I need to call on Crabbs and, for completeness' sake, we should check the stables. Then I thought we could have lunch by the river before heading back along the coast road."
Phyllida nodded. "That sounds pleasant."
"You mentioned there were some people you wished to see?"
"I'd like to call at the Customs House, a courtesy to preserve contact with Lieutenant Niles. And while you're consulting with Mr. Crabbs, I'll have a word with Robert." She glanced at Lucifer, but he merely nodded.
"If you like, we can go to the Customs House first."