Then he rounded a bend and saw her; exerting every last ounce of strength, he forged ahead. He caught up with her where the shrubbery hedges ended; shoulder to shoulder, they burst into the clearing beyond.
The mocking thud of retreating hooves greeted them.
They halted, sagged. Chest heaving, hands on his hips, Lucifer looked at Phyllida. Half bent over, hands on her knees, she puffed and puffed.
He waited, then asked, "Did you recognize him?"
She shook her head, then straightened. "I barely glimpsed him at all."
They'd been too late to even catch a glimpse of the horse. Beneath his breath, Lucifer swore. He scowled at Phyllida, then brusquely gestured back up the path. He'd give her his opinion of her behavior later-after he'd caught his breath.
They retraced their steps. At the end of the path, they emerged onto the lawn. Phyllida looked ahead, sucked in a breath, and stepped back.
Lucifer halted. Dodswell and Hemmings were prowling the lawn. Inwardly sighing, he murmured, "Stay here." He began to walk forward, then paused and added, "You don't want to know what I'll do if you are not in that precise spot when I get back."
He thought he heard a haughty sniff, but he didn't look back. Pushing into a lope, he crossed the lawn, waving when Dodswell saw him.
"An intruder-I gave chase but lost him." He waited until Hemmings came up, then said, "I'm going to prowl around a bit more. You can check through the house, see how he got in and out, then lock up. I've got my keys-we can compare notes in the morning."
Both Hemmings and Dodswell were in their nightshirts; they nodded and started toward the house.
Lucifer waited until they'd gone indoors, then turned and headed back to the path.
Chapter 10
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Phyllida was waiting where he'd left her, just inside the entrance to the path. Arms folded, she might have been scowling at him; he couldn't be sure in the dark.
He halted beside her, looming over her, deliberately intimidating. She gave not an inch.
"Do you always have such difficulty following orders?"
"There are very few people who give orders to me."
They stood, gazes locked, then he stepped back and gestured to the lawn. "I'll walk you through the wood."
She glanced at the house. "It might be better to go through the shrubbery and out by the lake path."
He waved her on, and followed.
Phyllida retraced their steps, then turned into the shrubbery, all too conscious of the poorly suppressed male energy prowling at her back. She tried to tell herself he was doing it only to intimidate, to pressure her into revealing all and following his orders henceforth, but she knew it wasn't that. If he'd wanted to intimidate her, he would have been more forthright.
Not that the sense of something dangerous, something violent and not fully under control, stalking on her heels, wasn't intimidating enough.
They skirted the lake and traversed the wood in silence. She paused when they reached the Grange's shrubbery, but he frowned and waved her on.
The back lawn lay just ahead when he caught her arm and drew her to the side, onto one of the connecting paths. He released her; she faced him, her back against the hedge, luckily one of a small-leaved conifer. Neatly trimmed, it formed a cushion at her back. He leaned one shoulder into the hedge, just beside hers, and looked down at her. "When are you going to tell me what it is you know?"
She wished she could read his eyes, but they were lost in shadow. He stood there, so close, yet there was no sense now of intimidation. Invitation was what reached her. No pretense, no guile, simple dealing, him and her. To her, that was so much more appealing. She blew out a soft breath. "Soon."
"How soon?"
"I can't say, but not long. A few days, perhaps."
"Is there anything I can do to shorten the time?"
"If I could tell you…" She paused. "But I can't. I gave my word."
"Is this knowledge of yours the reason the murderer now has you in his sights?"
"I don't think so. I can't see how it could be any threat to him."
He considered, then nodded. "I'll make a bargain with you." He straightened, and suddenly the sense of physical menace was back; a leashed predator stood before her.
"I'm not aware of any need to make any bargains."
"Believe me, there's a need."
The growl in his voice warned her against challenging the statement. "What, then?"
"I want a promise from you that until we've laid this murderer by the heels, you will not roam about alone, either by day or by night."
She lifted her chin. "And in return?"
"In return, I won't tell your father that you were there, and know something to the point."
She relaxed. "You won't tell Papa anyway."
He frowned; his eyes narrowed. "Are you so sure you're prepared to risk it?"
She was, but this didn't seem a wise time to admit it. "I'll be careful." She would have moved on again, but he was in the way.
"'Careful.' " His features hardened. "Someone tries to kill you and you talk of being careful? I should tell your father and have him lock you in your room."
"Nonsense! We can't be absolutely certain it was the murderer who shot at me."
"Who else? And don't say it was a hunter."
"There's no reason for the murderer to kill me!"
"He must think there is." He searched her face. "This thing you know must identify him."
"Well, it doesn't." She didn't try to hide her chagrin. "I thought at first it might, but I can't see how it can, not now."
"It doesn't matter whether it identifies him or not, only that he believes it might. That's enough to put you in danger." As he said the words, Lucifer felt their weight-for the first time fully realized their truth. She was in danger. Real, acute danger. She could be killed by the same killer who'd taken Horatio from him.
He drew a tight breath. "You have a choice. Either you can promise me you won't set foot outside the Grange except on urgent matters, and then only with a male escort, or we can go inside right now and speak with your father and lay all the pertinent details before him."
For once, she allowed her irritation to show. "This is ridiculous. You are not my keeper."
He stared down at her, and let that point lie.
"I'm going inside."
He didn't move.
She glared, then darted out-
He wrapped an arm around her waist, swung her back to the hedge, then trapped her against it. He looked into her smoldering eyes. "You are not safe." He'd meant from the murderer, but it suddenly occurred to him that he was speaking literally. He lowered his head. "You're a woman-the murderer's a man." He breathed the words along her cheek, his lips tracing down to her jaw. Her scent rose, wreathed his senses-and ensnared him.
Muscles bunched, locked. The temptation to taste her rose within him, more compelling than ever before. On the hedge beside her shoulder, his fist clenched as he fought the urge-and won.
He was a man, too. In the heat of the moment, he'd overlooked that fact. Steeling himself, tightening his reins, he tensed to draw back.
"Kiss me."
The words were a whisper in the dark, a soft plea so unexpected he felt stunned. Raising his head, he looked at her face, unsure he'd heard aright.
His jacket had been open; her hands had come to rest on his shirt-clad chest. Now they slid to his sides, gripping, urging him nearer.
"Kiss me again." He saw her lips move as she stretched up; they touched his jaw. "Kiss me like before… just once more…"
She didn't have to ask a fourth time, but it wouldn't be just one kiss. Bending his head, capturing her lips, he assumed she knew that, that her last words were simply part of her entreaty. He wanted to kiss her a million times, over and over again. He'd never get tired of her taste, of the sweet, innocent, trusting way she yielded her lips, her mouth.