"Did she? Now that's a first." Jonas glanced at him. "I wonder why."
"Perhaps the shock of being shot at." Lucifer kept his tone light. "Who knows what goes on in the minds of women?"
Sir Jasper snorted. Jonas grinned.
After a moment, Sir Jasper said, "I don't like this business of a murderer running loose among us. No telling where it might end. I might just have a word with the male staff-no need to let Phyllida know."
"A general increase in watchfulness wouldn't hurt."
"She'll hear of it," Jonas said. "You know she will. Then she'll just reorganize things her way."
"Humph!" Sir Jasper's frowning gaze remained on his daughter. "I'll do it anyway. With luck, by the time she learns of it, we'll have this miscreant by the heels."
Lucifer hoped so. Leaving Sir Jasper and Jonas, he strolled down the room to negotiate with the musicians laboring in a corner. After that, he headed toward the chaise Phyllida was sharing with the Misses Longdon.
He bowed to all three ladies. They had barely exchanged five words before the opening bars of a waltz filled the room. The Misses Longdon tittered; neither danced, but they eagerly scanned the room to see who of their neighbors would partner whom.
Lucifer caught Phyllida's eye and bowed again. "If you would do me the honor, Miss Tallent?"
She inclined her head and gave him her hand. He raised her and drew her into the dance, into his arms. The Misses Longdon twittered furiously.
Phyllida danced well and was thankful for it-at least she didn't need to mind her steps. One less problem on her plate. The most pressing, literally, had her trapped in his arms and was whirling her effortlessly around the floor. For some silly reason, her wits and her senses seemed intent on following her feet into some realm of giddy delight, and that was far too dangerous.
There was an aggravated frown in Lucifer's eyes, a tightness about his lips, a tension in his body as it tantalizingly brushed hers-unquestionably all danger signs. She kept her expression mild, her gaze on his face.
"I've just had a most uncomfortable conversation with your father and brother."
She felt her eyes go round, her jaw drop. "How on earth did Papa, let alone Jonas, learn of last night?"
Lucifer stared at her, then his lips thinned. "We weren't discussing our interlude in the shrubbery. They don't know about that."
Phyllida sagged with relief. "Thank heavens!"
Lucifer all but shook her as they went around the turn.
"We were discussing whether you are in danger. Which you are."
"You didn't tell them?" She searched his eyes.
They glittered back at her. "No, I didn't. But I should."
"There's no reason for them to be worried-"
"They have a right to know."
She narrowed her eyes at him. "I don't want them to know. It's pointless. As you saw, I'm perfectly capable of taking appropriate steps, and with luck I'll be able to tell you all soon, and then, one way or another, we'll catch the murderer and all will be well."
He studied her face, her eyes. "It would be better if you told me what it was you saw in Horatio's drawing room."
She considered it.
I saw a brown hat.
A brown hat?
Just a brown hat. I didn't recognize it and no one's worn it since.
Then it can't be that that the murderer's worried about. What else happened? What were you doing? Why were you there?
"I can't tell you. Not yet."
His gaze remained steady, vibrant dark blue, focused on her eyes. "I think you can."
His voice was soft, low; it sent shivers down her spine. Her impulse was to lift her chin and step back from his arms; before she could, he drew her nearer.
Near enough so the silk over her breasts brushed his coat with every breath; close enough so that his hard thighs brushed hers at every turn.
She was suddenly very conscious of just how physically powerful he was-although he never hid it, he hadn't before projected it, not like this. Some part of her mind was pointing frantically, urging her to understand how threatening he could be, and give in. Instead, she simply frowned at him. "Not yet. I'll tell you as soon as I can."
Her tone was calm and even. An expression of surprise-as if he couldn't quite believe his ears-passed swiftly through his eyes. Then the blue hardened. Slowly, arrogantly, he lifted one black brow.
She knew that look-could interpret it with ease. "Nothing you can do will change my mind."
The music stopped; they swirled to a halt by the side of the floor, but he didn't let her go. His hand at her waist burned through the silk, threatening to bring her hard against him. He lowered their linked hands, lacing his fingers through hers, and looked into her eyes. "Nothing?"
Just that one, soft word.
Phyllida suddenly felt faint. Her knees felt weak. If she didn't say something soon, he was going to kiss her-right here in the Smollets' ballroom in front of half the county. He would do it, and delight in the doing. Her heart was thudding; her eyes were trapped in midnight blue. She couldn't think-not well enough to concoct any evasive plan. And she couldn't break away.
His gaze grew more intent; his lips lifted a little at the corners. The hand at her back tensed-
"Ah, Phyllida, my dear."
It was Basil. He walked toward them, not looking at them but surveying his guests. Lucifer was forced to release her. Phyllida edged back.
Reaching them, Basil glanced at them and smiled perfunctorily. "I wonder, my dear, if I could prevail on you to give your opinion of the punch. I'm just not sure…"
"Of course!" Seizing Basil's arm, Phyllida turned him. "Where's the punch bowl?"
She steered Basil down the room, away from Lucifer, and didn't once look back.
Despite that, she knew he watched her-kept watching her, waiting for another chance at her. No matter where in the room she went, she felt his gaze on her. Consequently, she was forced to conscript some gentleman-one of her village suitors or one of the others from farther afield who would gladly pay court to her if she gave the slightest sign-as bodyguard. They, unfortunately, didn't know they were guarding her.
One, a Mr. Firman from Musbury, insisted on fetching her a glass of punch; he left her by a window. Phyllida scanned the crowd; she couldn't see Lucifer. But the sense of being in danger grew… retreating to the withdrawing room seemed a good idea. She turned toward the door-
And walked into a familiar chest.
She all but leaped back. She glared at him. "Stop it!"
He raised his brows, all innocence. "Stop what?"
"This! You know you can't"-she gestured with both hands-"seduce me in a ballroom."
"Who wrote that rule?" He studied her eyes, then added, "I'll admit it's a greater challenge, but…"
His voice had deepened to a suggestive purr. Phyllida flashed him a repressive look and turned to scan those nearby, hoping to see Mr. Firman or some other useful soul… Robert Collins was standing quietly by the wall.
Lucifer had followed her gaze. "I thought the hostesses hereabouts didn't encourage Mr. Collins."
"They don't and Jocasta's no different, she's just more cruel. She knows inviting Robert will irritate Mr. Farthingale, reinforcing his opposition, which quite rains Mary Anne's delight in having Robert here. Robert, of course, is helpless to decline the invitation-he gets so few opportunities to see Mary Anne in such surrounds."
Phyllida was conscious that, just for a moment, Lucifer's attention drifted from her. She glanced at him; he was studying the guests.
"Miss Smollet," he murmured, "seems to have a rather peculiar notion of what constitutes entertainment."
Phyllida quietly humphed. She was saved from having to find some other distraction by Mr. Firman's return. He handed her her glass; to gain a moment, she introduced him to Lucifer, only to discover that Mr. Firman had been waiting to talk to Mr. Cynster all evening.