Then his smile faded. He cleared his throat. "Of course, Phyllida herself will have the final say. Headstrong female. Runs her own life, y'know."
"Indeed." Lucifer claimed a chair facing his father-in-law to-be. "Apropos of that, it appears her suitors to date have left her with a distinctly jaundiced view of marriage."
"Indeed, indeed-she's been adamant she'll have none of it." Sir Jasper eyed Lucifer consideringly. "Not sure if it's some odd kick in her gallop or not having a mother for so long, or what, but there it is-she declares she has no interest in marrying."
"With due respect, she's been given little incentive to be interested. Everyone expects her to marry, assumes she will, and her suitors have sought to turn that to their own advantage." Lucifer paused, then added, "Few women appreciate being taken for granted."
Especially not intelligent ladies of managing disposition. "Because of that," he continued, "while I wished to make my intentions known to you, I have not yet spoken to Phyllida. We first met only nine days ago, and although I'm sure of my own mind on the matter, I'm equally sure that the way to gain Phyllida's agreement to the match lies in giving her time to convince herself of its rightness."
"So you propose waiting before putting the question to her, heh?"
"I propose wooing her before, metaphorically, going down on bended knee. A few weeks-I'm in no urgent hurry." An all-too-physical memory of Phyllida beneath him seared across his brain; he blocked it off, ignored his reaction, and continued. "I believe the most inimical step I could take at present would be to press my suit."
If he did, she'd immediately want to know why-why he wanted to marry her. He'd be forced to trot out all the conventional reasons, which would paint him in precisely the same unappealing colors as all her other suitors. The reasons were sound, but he knew they were not what she would want to hear. She would not be swayed by them.
He did have one obvious reason no other had ever had-he'd bedded her and therefore should, by all honorable tenets, make all right by marrying her. Although in some respects-the ones pertaining to honor-that struck a chord with him, it wasn't, to his mind, a wise or valid reason to advance in support of his cause.
No woman wanted to hear that she was being married because of honor's dictates. To let Phyllida believe that-to even suggest it-would be both cruel and cowardly. It was nowhere near the truth. He'd bedded her because he intended to marry her, not the other way around.
"I believe," he said, "that a course of gentle persuasion is in order."
Sir Jasper nodded. "You may be right. Can't hurt to try that tack." He looked at Lucifer; his expression hardened. "I won't hide it from you-right now I'd appreciate all the help I can get with Phyllida. This business of her being attacked-very possibly twice-has me more than worried. Can't see rhyme or reason to it myself."
"I think we must assume that the attacker is Horatio's murderer. There's no reason to believe Colyton is harboring two men with malicious intent. But the reason he attacked Phyllida is certainly a mystery."
"She says she has no idea why he wants to kill her."
"Hmm. I will, of course, be continuing my investigations into Horatio's murder. With your permission, I'll extend that to include the attacks on Phyllida. It must be the same man."
"Hard to get one's mind around any of it, but yes, I agree. It's most worrying."
Lucifer rose. "Again with your permission, I'll keep an eye on Phyllida. I'll be better placed than others to do so."
Sir Jasper rose, too, shrewd consideration in his eyes. He regarded Lucifer, then nodded and held out his hand. "Whatever permission you need, consider it given. No one I'd rather welcome as a son."
Lucifer grasped Sir Jasper's hand.
"Well, then," Sir Jasper said. "Now you can get to it with a clear conscience, what?"
Suppressing a smile, Lucifer inclined his head. "Indeed."
He left Sir Jasper's study, fully intending to get to the matter forthwith. His conscience, however, wasn't entirely clear. He was concealing his real reason for marrying Phyllida; he intended to do so indefinitely. He knew what it was, yet he could barely let the concept take shape in his brain-stating it out aloud, to her or even to himself, would remain, he was convinced, forever beyond him.
It was simply too much to ask. Not now. Not ever.
He found the object of his thoughts-the object of his lust, his desire, and a great deal more-in the rose garden. She was lopping blooms and laying them in a basket. He stood under the arched entrance and watched her. Watched the sunlight play on her dark hair, striking red lights in the silky strands. Watched the pale gold gown she wore swing and sway around the slender body that had writhed beneath him last night.
Pushing away from the archway, he stepped down to the flagged path.
Phyllida rounded a bush and saw him. She waited, watching him approach with the graceful strength of some large hunting cat. As always, he was the picture of male elegance, this time in a dark coat over pale breeches that molded to his thighs before reaching into polished Hessians. Her heart thudded as he neared; she seized the moment to calm it and strengthen her hold on her emotions. She knew exactly where she stood, where he stood; she would not allow herself to imagine anything more. She inclined her head. "Good morning."
He halted a foot away and studied her eyes. "Good morning."
There was a light in his eyes, a sliding purr in his voice that warmed her more than the sun. She looked at the bush and concentrated on snipping a nicely opened rose. "Have you found the letters by any chance?"
"I looked, but I couldn't find any writing desk, not on the first floor and not in the attics, either. Are you sure it's not downstairs?"
She frowned. "I don't think I missed it."