All About Love (Cynster 6)

"All?"

"When you told Sweetie to pack my things, she did-all of them. She's an incurable romantic, so, for better or for worse, I'm afraid all my things are at the Manor."

Lucifer looked down at her, his dark eyes very blue. Then he brushed a thumb over her lower lip. "For better or for worse?"

Phyllida smiled; she pushed him toward the French doors. "Wait for me on the terrace-I must speak with Papa."

Lucifer glanced back at Sir Jasper, but Phyllida shook her head and pushed, so he went. She watched as he stepped over the threshold, drank in the broad shoulders, the strength cloaked in that effortless grace, then she smiled serenely and returned to her father.

Sir Jasper met her in the middle of the room. He took her hands in his. "Well, m'dear-a great relief, having this settled. Can't say I'm sorry Appleby's gone-a bad egg he was, no doubt of that."

"Indeed, Papa."

"Well, then." Sir Jasper stole a glance at Lucifer, waiting on the terrace looking out at the night. "I suppose, now there's no more danger, you'll be moving back, heh?"

His tone was neither insistent nor expectant; it was curious. He peered at her from under his shaggy brows, a light very like hope in his eyes.

"No, Papa." Smiling, Phyllida stretched up and placed a kiss on his cheek. "My place now is elsewhere."

"Oh?" Sir Jasper brightened; he all but grinned and rubbed his hands in delight. "Right, then-well, I daresay I'll see you tomorrow…?"

Phyllida chuckled and patted his arm. "I daresay. And now I'll bid you a good night."

Leaving her father, she walked to the French doors. Stepping outside, she slid a hand into Lucifer's arm. Just as he had been doing, she looked up at the sky, at the racing clouds streaming, fleeing before the thunderheads.

Lucifer glanced back, then she felt his gaze on her face. After a moment, she met his eyes. In the poor light, she couldn't see their expression, but possessiveness, protectiveness, fell about her like a cloak.

He closed his hand over hers. "Let's go home."

She let him lead her there, through the wood, now a-flurry with the storm. As the wind rose and the branches lashed more furiously, they walked faster and faster; eventually, he pulled her along at a run. She was laughing when he dragged her from the trees, down the drive, and around the house. She imagined he was heading for the front door, but once they gained the front of the hou

se, she realized that wasn't his goal.

He tugged her across Horatio's garden-it was screened from the wind by the wood, the house, the village, and its own stand of trees. In the dark of the humid night, it was a paradise of evocative scents, of lush growth and mysterious shapes. Lucifer hurried her to the honeysuckle-draped, peony-backed arbor where they'd once before paused of an evening and discussed the realities of love.

Halting, he faced her. His dark hair was tousled, as if she'd already run her fingers through it; his face was hard-edged, his mobile lips straight. He studied her as she was studying him, then, her hands in his, he went down on one knee.

"Phyllida Tallent, will you marry me? Will you help me tend this garden over all the years to come?"

He'd pitched his voice above the roar of the wind, above the wild threshing of the leaves.

Phyllida looked down, into his face. He'd spun her world around, then steadied it; he'd taught her so much, answered so many questions. She had only one left. "This garden needs constant love to keep it blooming. Do you love me that much?"

He held her gaze. "More." He kissed the backs of her hands, first one, then the other. "I'll love you forever."

Phyllida pulled him to his feet. "Just as well, for I'll love you for even longer." She went into his arms, forever safe where she belonged. "I'll love you for longer than forever."

His arms closed around her. Their lips met, melded; their bodies eased against each other, seeking remembered delights.

Lucifer broke the kiss to ask, "When can we marry?"

Phyllida drew back. "It's Saturday. If we speak to Mr. Filing tonight, he could read the banns tomorrow. Then we could marry in just over two weeks."

They looked up the common at the Rectory. The small house lay in darkness. "I really don't think," Lucifer said, "that Filing will mind being woken-not for this."

He didn't; the curate was delighted when he heard their reason for hauling him from his bed. He assured them that the banns would be called in the morning. Declining his offer of a celebratory sherry on the grounds of the imminent downpour, they left the Rectory and raced down the common-anticipating a celebration of a different sort.

They reached the duck pond and the skies opened. They were soaked, dripping and bedraggled by the time they reached the Manor's front porch. The smell of rain-washed greenery and the ever-present perfume of the garden-their garden now-swept over them as they stood catching their breath while Lucifer hunted for his key.