All About Love (Cynster 6)

He shrugged. "I just wondered."

She bent to sniff a burst of lavender spikes. Leaning one shoulder against the fountain's rim, he watched her.

After a moment, he said, "This garden…"

She glanced up at him, her face shaded by her parasol, her expression serene yet interested, eyes dark, unknown and unknowing

…

That dark gaze caught him. She was aware of him, yet so… innocent of all else. All that she had a right to know, to experience-all she deserved to enjoy.

"I haven't any idea how to… manage it." He heard his words as if from a distance.

She smiled and straightened. He pushed away from the fountain.

Turning toward the gate, she gestured to the glorious displays on all sides. "It isn't that hard." Pausing beneath a delicate arch covered with rioting white roses, she looked back at him. Her smile curved her lips, still warmed her eyes. "Horatio learned how-I'm sure you could, too. If you truly wished to."

Lucifer halted beside her; for a long moment, he looked into her eyes. Her dark gaze was direct, open, honest-assured and confident and also so aware. A bare inch of air was all that separated his body from hers, nevertheless, she stood, a serene goddess as yet untouched, certain, not of his control, but hers. "If I were to ask, would you help me?"

His voice had deepened, his tone almost rough. Tilting her head, she studied his eyes. Her answer, when it came, was considered. "Yes. Of course." Smoothly, she turned away. "You have only to ask."

Lucifer stood beneath the arch watching her hips sway as she headed for the gate. Then he stirred and followed.

Lady Fortemain's dinner proved more interesting than Phyllida had expected, even if, for the most part, she was relegated to the status of mere observer. From the side of the Ballyclose drawing room to which she'd retreated to escape Cedric's patronizing possessiveness, she watched Lucifer move gracefully through the gathering.

At dinner, she'd been seated at Cedric's right at one end of the long table; Lucifer had been guest of honor at the other end, beside their hostess. He'd returned to the drawing room with the rest of the gentlemen a good half hour ago. Since then, he'd been on the prowl, indefatigably hunting, yet no one seemed defensive in the least.

He would pause beside a group of gentlemen and, with some question or comment, neatly cut his quarry from the pack. A few questions, a smile, perhaps a joke and a laugh; having got what he wanted, he'd let them return to the group and he'd move on, an easy smile, his elegantly charming air, masking his intent. Why they couldn't sense it, she did not know; even from across the room, his concentration reached her.

Then again, she knew what it felt like to be stalked by him, to be the focus of that intensely blue gaze. She hadn't expected to meet him that morning; throughout the interlude, she'd waited for him to pounce, to once again ask what she knew of the murder. She'd hoped he wouldn't, that he wouldn't mar the moment-the odd sense of ease, of shared purpose, that seemed to be growing between them. To her considerable surprise, he'd walked her to the garden gate, held it open, and let her escape with nothing more than a simple good-bye.

Perhaps he, too, hadn't wanted to disturb the closeness that had enveloped them in Horatio's garden. His garden now.

She watched him weave through the other guests. That sense of closeness puzzled and intrigued her. Lifting her head, she considered the other gentlemen-all her prospective suitors and the others from the village-all men she'd known most of her life; the exercise only emphasized the oddity. She'd known Lucifer for a handful of days, yet she felt more comfortable with him, less inhibited, infinitely freer to be herself. With him she could be open, could speak her mind without any mask, any concession to society. That he saw through her mask had certainly contributed to that, but it wasn't the whole explanation.

Jonas was the only other person she felt that comfortable with, yet not by the wildest stretch of her imagination could she equate the way she reacted to Lucifer with her all but nonreaction to her twin. Jonas was simply there, like some male version of herself. She never wasted a moment wondering what Jonas was thinking-she simply knew.

She also never worried about Jonas-he could take care of himself. Lucifer was similarly capable. The same could not be said of anyone else in the room. Perhaps it was that-that she considered Lucifer an equal-that made her feel so at ease with him?

Inwardly shaking her head, she watched him prowl the room. Sometimes she could tell what he was thinking; at other times-like in the garden this morning-the workings of his mind became a mystery, one she itched to solve. Regardless of the danger she knew that might entail.

Putting out a hand, Mrs. Farthingale stopped him. He paused, smiling easily, exchanged some glib quip that had her laughing, then smoothly moved on. As far as Phyllida could tell, his sights were set on Pommeroy.

She left him to it, turning to greet Basil as he strolled to her side.

"Well." Taking a position beside her, Basil scanned the room. "There are some who are now wishing they'd been more regular in their devotions."

"Oh?"

"I overheard Cedric speaking with Mr. Cynster-they were discussing estate management and Cedric mentioned he'd started using Sunday mornings to tackle his accounts."

"Cedric wasn't at church last Sunday?"

Basil shook his head. His gaze shifted to Lucifer. "I have to say, I'm quite impressed with Cynster. I suspect he's gathering information as to who might have killed Horatio. Thankless task, of course, but his devotion does him credit. Most would accept the inheritance and let be. Nothing to do with him, after all."

Phyllida viewed Lucifer with increasing appreciation. It had never occurred to her that he wouldn't pursue the murderer, yet Basil was right. Most men would have shrugged and let be. Indeed, she suspected Basil would have shrugged and let be, and Basil was the most morally upright of her suitors.

At no time had she doubted Lucifer's resolve. He'd called Horatio friend and she'd known without question that he valued friendship highly. He was that sort of man-an honorable man.