One taste was what he'd promised himself; he savored the moment, then, reining in his rakish impulses, drew back.
Their lips parted, by half an inch. Their breaths mingled; she didn't draw back. Her hands were fisted on his lapels. Her lids were heavy, veiling her eyes. As he watched, they lifted and she met his gaze.
Her eyes were darkened, sultry, yet filled with innocent surprise, and with a womanly wondering…
He kissed her again, not, this time, for his pleasure but for hers. To show her just a little more of what could be, a little more of the wonder.
Phyllida tightened her hold on his lapels and gave herself up to the kiss, to the slow surge of his tongue, the intimate caressing and exploring. Warmth seeped through her; a sharp lick of sensation whipped to her toes and slowly curled them.
His head angled over hers and she clung; he deepened the kiss and she willingly followed. For years, she'd dreamed of being kissed like this, kissed as a woman, a woman desired. It was frightening and enticing. She couldn't breathe, she couldn't think. She certainly wasn't in control. Instead of scaring her, that thrilled her. Foolish, certainly, yet she felt no fear. Only a wanton eagerness.
Lips and mouths melded; tongues tangled, sliding, caressing… for one magical instant, the world fell away.
He tasted of heat and wildness, of something primeval, something barely tamed. Male-hard where she was soft, beast to her beauty. She sensed the leashed power simmering beneath his lips, held back behind his experienced facade.
Then he started to draw back, to retreat and end the kiss.
It was a surprise to realize she'd stretched up on her toes, that she'd pressed herself against him. Her knees had weakened, her skin felt too hot, her wits were whirling. His chest was a solid wall supporting her; she spread her fingers and pressed, enthralled by the resilient hardness beneath the crisp layers. His arms had locked, iron bands caging her; she didn't care.
She wanted to hold him, to prolong the precious moment-she knew she couldn't. She didn't know how.
On the instant their lips would have parted, he paused. Then he returned, surging deep, a swift, hard invasion that mentally rocked her-the hidden power she'd sensed was no lie.
Then he lifted his head and straightened, and she was standing on her feet, his hands rising to close about hers, clenched again on his lapels. She blinked and released her grip, then drew her hands from under his.
Dazed, she met his eyes, and wasn't at all certain what she saw. Something dark and dangerous prowled behind the blue. "Why did you kiss me?"
That was suddenly very important to know.
He didn't smile, didn't try to turn the awkward question aside with some glib and charming quip. His eyes held hers; they'd widened slightly at her question-she could almost believe he was as dazed as she.
"Because I wanted to." His voice was gravelly; he blinked, drew breath, and added, "And to thank you for your help-yesterday and today." He met her gaze. "Regardless of all else, I sincerely appreciate all that you've done."
Lucifer tried to find a charming smile and couldn't, so he clung to impassivity and gestured, urging her ahead of him along the path.
With one last, wondering glance, she acquiesced. He followed, breathing deeply, thanking his stars that she'd accepted his answer. Walking before him, she couldn't see the effort it took for him to reshackle his demons. He hoped she never guessed how close she'd come to meeting them.
At least he'd answered her truthfully. About that first kiss. There was no need for her to know his reasons behind the second, and even less his reasons for the third. He couldn't remember the last time he'd warned a woman away, but for her own safety, she should keep her distance.
Frowning, he strolled at her heels, through the gathering gloom. He'd taken what he'd wanted, that one simple taste, but what had it cost him?
He wasn't sure he wanted to know.
They'd reached the Grange lawns when he closed his fingers around her elbow and drew her to a halt. She faced him, brows rising, her expression all but blank. The shadows were too dense for him to read her eyes. "I kissed you because I didn't want you seeing me as some ogre, bent on browbeating the truth out of you." Releasing her, he held her gaze. "I'm not the enemy."
She studied his face, then her lips lifted as she turned away. She stepped out, heading for the house. Her cool words drifted back to him. "I didn't think you were."
Chapter 5
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Phyllida knew why he'd kissed her. He wasn't an ogre, he wasn't her enemy, but he was a masterful seducer. She was a novice in that sphere, yet she realized he'd kissed her to rattle her, to weaken her resolve so she'd tell him all she knew. She'd asked him why, but she'd known the answer the instant she'd voiced the question.
Seated in the second pew, she glanced across the aisle of the church to where Lucifer sat. His expression was impassive as he listened to Cedric read the lesson. Covey hunched beside him; farther along, Mrs. Hemmings wept into her handkerchief. Hemmings patted her arm awkwardly. White-faced, Bristleford stared straight ahead. While the rest of those present might have lost a friend and a neighbor, Covey, the Hemmingses, and Bristleford had lost a beloved master and their livelihoods had been rendered uncertain.
Phyllida returned her gaze to Lucifer's face-it wasn't expressive, yet she encountered no difficulty in following his thoughts. They were presently centered on the coffin resting before the altar, jeweled by shafts of light playing through the stained-glass windows. His thoughts, however, were not on Horatio but on who had put him in the box.
She faced forward once more. Cedric continued to drone. She let her mind slide back to its most urgent consideration-how to deal with Lucifer.
That name was the one that sprang to mind; it suited him so well. She'd known what type of man he was the instant she'd set eyes on him, although she hadn't fully appreciated the whole until she'd encountered him fully dressed and fully conscious. Then, what he was had been obvious.
The reason matrons preened and women lost their wits when he smiled was blatantly apparent-he didn't hide his light under any bushel. Even more to the point, his powerful aura of masculine energy, raw edges smoothed by graceful elegance, hadn't come about by accident-it was even more than cultivated-it was part of a practiced art.
An art he intended practicing on her.
Luckily, she knew it. She was confident and in control of her world, bar him. And his kisses hadn't rattled her in the least. She hadn't expected them, but, on consideration, she hadn't been surprised. He'd thought about kissing her when he'd held her trapped on his bed the night before. The woods had simply been a more amenable venue.
Would he kiss her again? The question hovered in her brain. She'd enjoyed the experience; she hadn't felt the least bit threatened, or coerced, or even in danger. But wishing for more might be tempting fate.
Besides… She glanced sideways to where a small man in severe black sat, pinched features blank. Mr. Crabbs was Horatio's solicitor, come from Exeter to read the will. And in Mr. Crabbs's train had come his clerk, Robert Collins.
With luck, this evening, after speaking with Robert, Mary Anne would release her from her oath. Then she could explain to Lucifer what had happened in Horatio's drawing room and they could join forces to track down Horatio's murderer.
That was her aim and she wasn't about to be deterred, even if succeeding meant dealing with the devil. He was definitely the most fascinating devil she'd ever met, and deep down, she was convinced he'd never hurt her.
Impatient, she waited for Cedric to have done.
When the service was over, Lucifer stepped forward with
Cedric, Sir Jasper, Thompson, Basil Smollet, and Mr. Farthingale; they hefted the coffin and slowly carried it out to the graveyard. During the short burial ceremony, Lucifer noted the faces of the men he'd not yet met as they stood about the graveside. Was the murderer present? The ladies did not join them, but gathered in a dark group just beyond the side porch of the church.