Lucifer straightened. "I'll walk you to the Grange."
She wasn't the least bit surprised to hear that. She inclined her head and started up the stairs. "If you wish."
She led the way out of the church and onto the common. He lengthened his stride until he was pacing beside her, almost shoulder to shoulder. Her skin prickled; awareness rushed over her and left all her nerves standing on end.
Their mad dash from the cliffs to Colyton-a careening drive-had left no time, let alone breath, for embarrassment or consciousness, but once she'd regained her bedchamber, consciousness had swamped her. She'd been sure she could not possibly meet his eyes again-look at his lips again-not without blushing so fierily everyone would guess why. She'd almost made up her mind to avoid him-certainly to avoid his arms.
Then someone had shot at her and he'd arrived-and she'd wanted nothing more than to fling herself into his arms and feel safe. The urge had been so strong she'd quivered with it; only by a supreme effort had she quelled it.
It was utter nonsense to feel so-to feel that the only place she would truly feel safe was in his arms. Dangerous, too, when she knew his interest in her was transient. Once she told him what she knew, he would have no reason to seduce her.
She'd spent the afternoon lecturing herself, pointing out that she'd survived perfectly well until now, that she would still be safe in the village. All she needed to do was exercise a little extra caution and all would be well. She'd find Mary Anne's letters, tell Lucifer everything, then they'd unmask the murderer and life could go on as it had before.
Except that Lucifer would be living in the village. He wasn't going to leave. She wouldn't be able to avoid him.
There was only one solution-to behave with her usual confidence and pretend nothing out of the ordinary had happened on the cliff. Pretend he didn't affect her at all.
Not too easy when he was glowering at her.
"You can't possibly be so witless as to believe that it was some benighted huntsman who shot at you."
"You can't argue that it's not a possibility."
"It became much less of a possibility when we found hoofprints, just like those behind the Manor's shrubbery, beside the copse in that field."
Her stride faltered; she slowed. "Someone rode there… it could still have been a huntsman."
"There was nothing to hunt in the field."
Except her. A cold hand gripped her nape; icy fingers trailed her spine. Phyllida suppressed a shiver. She continued walking. Her mind darted, sifting, rearranging the known facts in light of that new one.
She'd almost convinced herself it had been a careless hunter-despite her instinctive fear, there'd been no logical reason to think otherwise. Now… could the murderer be trying to kill her?
Why? She'd seen the hat, true, but it was just a brown hat-she'd know it again if she saw it, but she couldn't recall seeing it before. She'd kept her eyes peeled, but she hadn't sighted it again. In fact, until they'd confirmed otherwise, she'd assumed some outsider must have ridden in and stabbed Horatio. That no longer seemed likely. If Lucifer was correct and the same horse that had been tethered by the shrubbery on Sunday had been by the copse this morning, then she could only agree with him.
The murderer was a local and had tried to kill her.
He must think she could identify him, but surely not because of the hat? He'd have burned it by now, and as she hadn't said anything, it must be obvious she hadn't recognized it. Was there something else she'd seen?
Frowning, she walked on.
A disgusted sound came from beside her. She felt Lucifer's gaze on her face and swiftly banished her frown.
"I should tell your father of your connection with the murder."
She rounded on him. "You haven't?"
He scowled at her. "No-but I should. I will, if that's the only way to ensure you remain safe."
She breathed easily again. "I'll take care."
"Take care? Just look at you! Traipsing about in the dead of night-alone!"
"But no one knows I'm out here."
"Except all those involved."
She snorted softly. "None of them is the murderer and you know it."
A charged silence ensued.
"Are you going to tell me that no one ever notices the light shining from the church every few nights?"
"Of course they notice-they think it's smugglers."
"So everyone knows you're there."
"No! No one even imagines I'm there-I'm a woman, remember?"
That shut him up. Only for a moment. "Believe me, that's one thing I'm highly unlikely to forget."
She tripped. He caught her arm, hauling her up, swinging her to him. She steadied, facing diagonally down the common. "Good Lord!" She stared. "A light just winked in your drawing room."
They both froze, staring down at the Manor. All was dark, then a pinprick of light flashed again. Before they could blink, a faint glow suffused the windows of the drawing room. A lamp had been lit and turned low.
Phyllida sucked in a breath. "It must be the murderer!"
"Stay here!"
Releasing her, Lucifer plunged down the slope.
"Hah!" Phyllida headed after him, in his wake, trusting that if there was a place to stumble, he'd find it first.
They skirted the duck pond, then picked their way across the lane, careful to avoid loose stones. Gaining the cottages' front fences, they hugged the shadows, ducking low as they rushed along the Manor's garden wall. Lucifer reached the gate before her; he stood and swung it open-
It creaked.
The sound seemed loud enough to wake the dead.
Lucifer flung himself up the path, gravel crunching under his feet. Phyllida followed at his heels.
The light in the drawing room abruptly died.
They skidded up against the front door, Lucifer juggling a set of unfamiliar keys. From within came the sound of footsteps fleeing across the tiles. Lucifer stopped, lifted his head, listened…
He swore and shoved the keys back in his pocket. He focused on her. "Dammit! Stay here!" He turned and charged along the front of the house.
Phyllida followed.
Lucifer rounded the corner and stopped; Phyllida cannoned into him. Steadying herself against his back, hands clutching his coat, she peered around his shoulder-
And caught a glimpse of a fleeing figure at the edge of her vision. "There!" She pointed.
The moon sailed free as the man fled across a stretch of open lawn. He was heading for the shrubbery.
"Stay here!" Lucifer took off after him.
Phyllida hesitated. There were only two other exits from the shrubbery-one to the lake, one… She looked at the entrance to the narrow path beside the lane. Dragging in a quick breath, she raced for it.
It was the fact that she wasn't following him that made Lucifer glance back. At first, he couldn't see her-then he did; she was a shadow streaking across the stretch of lawn by the main gates. His heart stopped.
"No!" he roared. "Come back!"
She dove into the dark entrance of the path.
Swearing violently, he swerved and headed after her.
He plunged along the path. It twisted and turned, a tunnel whose walls were impenetrable black, whose ceiling was the night sky obscured by dark branches. He could barely see the ground beneath his pounding feet. Branches grabbed at his coat; he pressed on at full tilt.
Phyllida was fast-faster than he'd expected-unencumbered as she was by skirts. She was still ahead of him, but he thought he could hear her footfalls over his own and the pounding in his ears.
The pertinent question was not how fast she was, but how fast the murderer was. And whether he was armed or not.
Would they reach the end of the shrubbery in time?
Would he catch Phyllida before she ran headlong into the murderer's arms?