They glanced toward the lane, then looked at each other. Their gazes met, held…
Without a word, they stepped into the drive-into the open. Where anyone could see them and no one could suggest they'd been "private."
They were standing in the middle of the drive, facing the gate, when the carriage slowed and halted.
Lady Fortemain leaned over the side and beamed. "Mr. Cynster. Just who I was looking for!"
Lucifer quashed an urge to flee. With an easy smile, collecting Phyllida with a glance, he strolled to the barouche.
"I've just heard the wonderful news!" Lady Fortemain's eyes gleamed. "Now you've decided to remain among us and fill the void left by dear Horatio's passing, you must-positively you must-allow me to host an impromptu dinner to introduce you to your neighbors."
He'd been born in the country and lived among the ton; there was no need to ask how Lady Fortemain had heard.
She leaned forward, including Phyllida in her bright gaze. "Our summer ball is just over a week away-I'll send you a card, of course. But I thought, seeing as we're so very quiet hereabouts, that there would be no harm in holding a small dinner tonight."
"Tonight?"
"At seven-Ballyclose Manor. You can't miss it-just take the lane past the forge."
Lucifer hesitated for only an instant; such a gathering would provide excellent opportunities to further investigate his neighbors' activities last Sunday morning. He bowed to Lady Fortemain. "I'd be honored."
Delighted, her ladyship turned to Phyllida. "I'm just going to Dottswood and Highgate, dear, and then I'll be calling at the Grange. I'm expecting everyone to attend-your papa and brother, as well as dear Lady Huddlesford and her sons. And, of course, you, my dear Phyllida."
Phyllida smiled. To Lucifer, the gesture was superficial-mild, distant, it said nothing of her thoughts.
Her ladyship saw it otherwise; she beamed warmly at Phyllida. "Perhaps you'd like to accompany me to Dottswood and Highgate, and thence to the Grange?"
Phyllida's smile didn't waver as she shook her head. "Thank you, but I must call on Mrs. Cobb."
Lady Fortemain sighed fondly. "Always so busy, dear. Well, I must leave you and spread the word." She tapped her coachman; she waved as the carriage jerked forward. "Until seven, Mr. Cynster!"
Lucifer raised his hand in salute; smiling, he watched the carriage rumble away. Then he turned to Phyllida, unsurprised to find that her smile had faded, leaving a frown investing her dark eyes.
"So why aren't you delighted?" He gestured to the flower garden; brows rising haughtily, she strolled beside him onto a secondary path that wound its way through burgeoning beds to the central fountain.
He waited-he had no intention of withdrawing the question. He wanted to know the answer.
After a moment, she pulled a face. He inwardly blinked-she rarely displayed her feelings so blatantly.
"Would you be delighted to know you were destined to spend the entire evening listening to a pompous windbag?"
"Which windbag is that?"
"Cedric, of course." They strolled on, she admiring the blooms, he, more covertly, admiring her. Her consciousness of their interlude the previous night was still there, but had faded, receded, as they'd talked. Stopping to examine a rose, she went on. "I told you Cedric wants to marry me-Lady Fortemain is determined that I should marry him. That alone would render this impromptu dinner less than appealing, but, of course, Pommeroy will be there, too, doing his best to be off-putting."
"Why off-putting?"
"Because he doesn't want Cedric to marry me."
"Pommeroy wants to marry you, too?"
She smiled. "No-it's simpler. Pommeroy doesn't want Cedric to marry at all. There's fifteen years between them-Pommeroy therefore has expectations that Cedric's long bachelorhood have fueled."
"Ah."
They wandered on through the garden; Lucifer said nothing more. Her tone whenever they touched on the subject of marriage grated, although why he, of all men, should feel compelled to defend the institution was difficult to comprehend. Or, more to the point, he didn't want to comprehend the reasons behind the impulse, to study his motives too closely. Yet the fact remained.
Courtesy of her self-centered suitors, she'd developed a cynical, not to say negative, view of marriage that seemed considerably more cynical and deeply entrenched than his own. He, at least, knew all marriages were not like those offered her. Did she? "When did your mother die?"
Halting by the fountain, she blinked at him. "When I was twelve. Why?"
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.