All About Love (37 page)

“All the more reason to check—it looks like he’s never thrown one away in his life.”

That was true. Phyllida couldn’t reach the hats. He stood there, her assistant, and handed them to her, one by one. She took each specimen in both hands, studied it, held it at arm’s length, then shook her head and handed it back. In the moonlight streaming through the high single window, all the hats appeared the same color—brown.

Slowly, they progressed the length of the shelf. With a sigh, she handed the last hat back and shook her head. He was reaching up to the shelf, setting it back, when a faint sound—not a click, not a tap—reached his ears. He froze.

Phyllida froze, too, head tilted. Then she looked at him. He held a finger to his lips, then turned.

The bedroom had two doors—the one they’d entered by, near to the wall of the dressing room, and another, leading to the adjoining room, presumably a sitting room. They would have heard someone coming along the corridor. Had someone just entered from the sitting room?

Cedric? But would a host leave a country ball?

If he was a murderer, he might.

Lucifer drew in a breath and stepped into the bedroom.

A rush of air, a faint whistle, warned him—he ducked back—a heavy rod cracked across his left shoulder.

The impact drove him to his knees; he caught himself, bracing with his right arm on the doorframe, and saw a man’s figure, shrouded in shadows, whip around the door into the corridor. The sound of fleeing footsteps thudding on the corridor runner reached them.

“Good Lord! He’s getting away!” Trapped behind him, Phyllida lifted her skirts and leaped over him.

He caught her in mid-leap and hauled her back. “
No
!”

She fell on him. “But—“ She wriggled furiously, silk skirts a-froth in his lap. “I might catch him!”

“Or he might catch
you
!” He tightened his arm around her and she quieted.

“Oh.”

“Oh, indeed.” Teeth gritted, he shifted her so her hip wasn’t grinding into him, then tried to ease his shoulder.

She turned to him. “He was waiting.”

“With this.” Lucifer reached out and pulled a cane toward them, then lifted it so they both could see. The top of the cane was a lion’s head, brass and very heavy.

“It usually sits in the corner by the door.” Phyllida looked at the corridor door, and tried not to think about what might have happened if Lucifer’s reflexes hadn’t been so honed. If he hadn’t ducked and the cane had connected with his skull, he might have died, or at least lost consciousness. Leaving her facing the murderer.

She turned to Lucifer and saw the same realization in his gaze. “We have to get back to the ballroom.”

“Jonas, I wonder
if we might have a word.” Phyllida by his side, Lucifer smiled at the two young ladies with whom Jonas had been conversing.

The young ladies giggled; they bobbed curtsies, then bustled away, casting coy glances over their shoulders.

Jonas met Lucifer’s eyes. “Any trouble?”

“As a matter of fact, yes.” Lucifer smiled as if they were bandying observations.

Jonas looked at Phyllida. “I thought Phyl was with you.”

“I was,” Phyllida put in. “But that’s not the trouble.”

Jonas raised a brow. Phyllida looked away and decided to leave the explanations to Lucifer.

“Did you notice any of the gentlemen slipping away about fifteen minutes ago?”

Jonas raised both brows. “Cedric left, then Basil left. Filing had left before that. And Grisby, too. There had to be others missing as well, because there was a dance and there weren’t many couples on the floor and not many men standing out. Lady Fortemain was beating the bushes.”

“Has Cedric returned?”

“He came back a few minutes ago—Basil returned a bare minute before that. They both looked a trifle choleric. I haven’t seen any others slipping back, but I wasn’t watching.” Jonas looked at them. “What happened?”

Briefly, Lucifer told him. Phyllida scanned the room, trying to determine which gentlemen were present. The crowd was still considerable. “Do you think,” she said, when Lucifer fell silent, “that we might engineer a trap?”

They both looked at her, identical expressions of male incomprehension on their faces, as if she’d spoken in an alien tongue.

“What sort of trap?” Lucifer eventually asked.

“I didn’t get a glance at the murderer this time and you only got the barest glimpse. He must know that—there’s no reason for him to flee. Assuming he’s still present, perhaps we can encourage him to show himself again.”

Lucifer stared at her. “With you as bait?”

“If you both keep watch, then there’s no reason I should be in any danger.”

“If we’re both watching—if either of us is anywhere near—he won’t make a move. We’ve known from the first he’s not stupid.”

“You don’t need to hover so obviously. There’s more dances to come. Everyone will expect us to separate.”

Lucifer quelled his rising panic and studied Phyllida’s calm face. What she was suggesting was . . . reasonable. He couldn’t give way to his instinctive urge to plant his foot solidly and say no. He didn’t dare. “
If
you promise to remain in the ballroom—”

“I fully intend to remain in sight.” She tilted her chin challengingly; her dark eyes flashed a warning. “I’m perfectly capable of playing my part. All you need do is watch from a distance. Now, I’ll take myself off.”

She drew her hand from his sleeve—he had to fight the urge to grab it back. With a gracious nod and a smile, she turned and strolled into the crowd.

Lucifer watched her go. Under his breath, he swore.

Jonas humphed. “I wish you’d said no.”

He hadn’t had a choice. Not if he wanted her to marry him.

“I’ll go watch from the other side of the room.” Jonas ambled off.

Phyllida danced and chatted, and danced some more. She circulated through the room at her brightest, her most charming. She spoke again to Cedric, Basil, and Grisby. She pretended to a faulty memory and conversed with Silas as if their meeting in the graveyard had never been.

All for nought. No gentleman approached her with any, even slightly nefarious, proposition.

At one point, Lucifer stopped by her side. “Enough. I don’t like this. He’ll be feeling under pressure. He might be at his most dangerous.”

“He’s more likely to be off-balance and at his most vulnerable.” She strolled on, not waiting to hear his opinion of her logic.

Fifteen minutes later, Lucifer joined the circle about Phyllida; with practiced ease, he excised her from it. Her hand on his sleeve, he ambled down the room. “I think we should call it a night.” He had had enough. He could feel the tension locked between his shoulder blades; his left shoulder was aching as well. “If he hasn’t approached you by now, there’s no reason to think he will.”

She stopped and swung to face him. Her expression was calm and serene; her eyes glinted dangerously. “You know perfectly well that, other than finding that hat, we have no evidence to identify our man. There’s not much we can do other than tempt him to try again. Here, where I’m surrounded by friends, is the safest place to do it. You’re here; Jonas is here. This is too good an opportunity to pass up.”

She held his gaze steadily; Lucifer swallowed a low growl. He was feeling increasingly caged. “This is
not
a good idea.”

Her chin rose; her eyes flashed. “This is
my
idea and it’s a perfectly sensible one.”

With that, she swanned off.

Lucifer gritted his teeth and let her. It was that or risk showing her how mildly possessive her other suitors truly were. Compared with a Cynster, they did not rate. Fate had to be laughing hysterically.

Jaw clenched, he strolled to a wall and propped his uninjured shoulder against it. He watched her dance another country dance, then she chatted with a group of ladies. After that, she drifted. Then he saw her hesitate, looking down the room. He followed her gaze—he couldn’t see whom she was staring at.

Then she stepped out; from her stride, she’d either seen something or had an idea. He wasn’t enamored of her ideas. Chest tightening, he started after her.

He lost her in the crowd. Panic sank its claws deeper. He stopped and looked over the heads—he saw Jonas. Jonas shook his head. He’d lost her, too. Lucifer cursed, turned, and glimpsed her. At the other end of the ballroom, she stepped onto the terrace beside Lucius Appleby.

Appleby
? Lucifer didn’t stop to consider her reasoning. He doubted Appleby had invited Phyllida outside. If he had, she wouldn’t have gone. No, she’d inveigled him out, God only knew why. But outside with only one gentleman was impossibly dangerous. Who knew who might be concealed by the night?

The distance to the nearest French door seemed a mile—a mile of obstacles, all smiling and nodding and wanting to chat. He reached it—it was locked. He had to plunge down the side of the room to the doors through which Phyllida and Appleby had disappeared, all without raising a dust.

He gained the terrace; Jonas, who’d been even farther down the room, was following. He glanced around and caught the smallest, most fleeting glimpse of blue skirt disappearing around the far end of the terrace. He strode after her, making no attempt to mute his footsteps. Rounding the corner, he discovered Phyllida a few yards away, leaning back against the balustrade, talking with Appleby, who was standing before her.

Behind the balustrade was a thicket of bushes, just the right sort to conceal a man with a knife.

Lucifer reached out, locked a hand around Phyllida’s wrist, and yanked her to him, away from the bushes. He ignored her shocked expression and turned to Appleby. “Do excuse us, Appleby. Miss Tallent is just leaving.”

Appleby returned his look blank-faced, the epitome of a well-trained employee. With the barest nod, Lucifer turned, let Phyllida get a good glimpse of his face, then stalked back around the corner of the terrace, dragging her with him.

“What are you doing!” she hissed. She twisted her wrist; he tightened his grip and strode on.

“I’m saving you from yourself! What the devil did you think you were doing, going off outside like that?” He pulled her close, moderating his stride so his body shielded her as much as was possible. “It’s black night out there!” He waved at the lawns rolling away from the terrace. “He could take a shot at you without risk of being seen.”

She glanced at the lawns. “I hadn’t thought of that.”

He ground his teeth. “Well,
I 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 admit 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.