Suppressing a smile, Lucifer inclined his head. "Indeed."
He left Sir Jasper's study, fully intending to get to the matter forthwith. His conscience, however, wasn't entirely clear. He was concealing his real reason for marrying Phyllida; he intended to do so indefinitely. He knew what it was, yet he could barely let the concept take shape in his brain-stating it out aloud, to her or even to himself, would remain, he was convinced, forever beyond him.
It was simply too much to ask. Not now. Not ever.
He found the object of his thoughts-the object of his lust, his desire, and a great deal more-in the rose garden. She was lopping blooms and laying them in a basket. He stood under the arched entrance and watched her. Watched the sunlight play on her dark hair, striking red lights in the silky strands. Watched the pale gold gown she wore swing and sway around the slender body that had writhed beneath him last night.
Pushing away from the archway, he stepped down to the flagged path.
Phyllida rounded a bush and saw him. She waited, watching him approach with the graceful strength of some large hunting cat. As always, he was the picture of male elegance, this time in a dark coat over pale breeches that molded to his thighs before reaching into polished Hessians. Her heart thudded as he neared; she seized the moment to calm it and strengthen her hold on her emotions. She knew exactly where she stood, where he stood; she would not allow herself to imagine anything more. She inclined her head. "Good morning."
He halted a foot away and studied her eyes. "Good morning."
There was a light in his eyes, a sliding purr in his voice that warmed her more than the sun. She looked at the bush and concentrated on snipping a nicely opened rose. "Have you found the letters by any chance?"
"I looked, but I couldn't find any writing desk, not on the first floor and not in the attics, either. Are you sure it's not downstairs?"
She frowned. "I don't think I missed it."
"Perhaps you should visit the Manor this afternoon and check the downstairs rooms."
She glanced up, then nodded. "It would be a relief to solve at least one mystery."
"As for the question of who murdered Horatio-tell me what happened from the time you walked into the front hall to the time you left the Manor."
"I already told you."
"Humor me. There could be something, some little thing, that you'll remember this time."
Laying the clippers in the basket, she turned. She recounted her movements as they strolled to the arbor at the end of the garden.
"So reaching for the hat was the very last thing you did?" He handed her to the stone seat in the arbor.
"Yes. I thought it was yours."
"Mine?" He sat beside her. "My coats are either black or dark blue. What would I be doing with a brown hat?"
"I didn't know your sartorial preferences at the time." She paused, holding tight to her calm, looking at the roses nodding in the heat rather than at him. "Anyway, I went back in the afternoon to arrange about your horses. I thought I would fetch the hat for you. I asked Bristleford. He was certain there'd been no hat in the drawing room when they found Horatio's body."
"And mine."
She inclined her head. "And yours."
She waited for him to say something about how he'd come to be a "body." Instead, he sat silently for some minutes, then said, "It has to be the hat. The murderer must be convinced you'll recognize it."
"But I haven't. That ought to be obvious by now."
"True, so he must think you will recognize it-that you'll suddenly remember. Which means-" He stopped.
She looked at him. "Means what?"
He met her gaze. "That it's someone you've seen often, in that hat."
"So"-she drew a tight breath-"definitely no stranger."
"It's someone you know."
The words hung in the air between them, chill despite the heat. Phyllida held herself rigidly upright and fought the sudden urge to take refuge in his arms. The seat was short; he'd stretched one arm along its back, behind her shoulders. His chest was temptingly near. The impulse to lean into him, to press her shoulder to his chest, to feel his arms close about her, waxed strong.
She knew what it felt like to be held in his arms. It felt safe. But… she wasn't the clingy sort.
She was about to look away, to switch her gaze to the safe subject of the garden, when he shifted. His arm left the seat back and curled about her shoulders; his other hand tipped up her face. His lips were on hers before she knew it, and then she was kissing him back.
When he raised his head, she frowned at him. "What was that for?" She wriggled upright.
Lucifer released her. He searched for a light answer; only the truth filled his mind. "Reassurance. You looked frightened."
She gazed into his eyes, then lightly shivered and looked away. "I am frightened-a little."
"A little frightened is wise, but the murderer is not going to have you, too."
She slanted him a glance. "You sound very sure."
"I am."
"Why?"
"Because I won't allow it."
Before she could utter the "Why?" he could see in her dark eyes, he drew her to him and kissed her again. After an instant's hesitation, she relaxed and let herself flow into the kiss. The rose garden was private; too tempting. Her bodice was open, his fingers fondling one breast when she pulled back on a gasp and looked down.
"What are you doing?"
He circled her nipple with one fingertip. "I'm sure you can guess."
The gaze she lifted to his face was shocked. "But… I've told you all I know."
She drew back; he let his hand fall. Puzzled, he tried to see her eyes as she fussed, rebuttoning her gown. Her expression was still calm, if just a little determined. Determined about what, he couldn't guess. "What-?"
"There's nothing I've left out." Gown neat again, she picked up the basket and stood. "You know it all."
Rising, too, Lucifer was certain that last wasn't true. An unwelcome suspicion formed in his brain.
Lifting her head, she stepped out. "I assure you there's nothing more to be gained from continuing to seduce me."
She'd taken only two paces when his fingers locked around her elbow and he swung her back.
"What did you say?" Eyes narrowed, he looked down at her.
She returned his gaze; irritation swam in her eyes. "You heard perfectly well." She twisted her arm; he let her go.
"Why do you think I seduced you?"
She drew herself up-suddenly, he could no longer read her eyes. "You seduced me in order to learn what you wanted to know. Now I've told you all, there's no need…" She gestured and swung away.
"That isn't why I seduced you."
His tone stopped her. She took a deep breath, then turned to face him.
"Why, then?"
Her challenge rang clearly. Yet she'd asked the very question he didn't want to face, the one he couldn't bring himself to answer truthfully. He looked into her dark eyes, and he didn't want to lie.
A gong bonged, the sound carried on the breeze from the house. They both looked, then Phyllida turned. "That's the gong for lunch." After an instant's hesitation, she walked on.
A moment later, he caught up and fell in beside her.
She didn't speak again until they were climbing the steps from the sunken garden. "If you meant what you said about allowing me to search the Manor, I'll come by this afternoon."
"I meant what I said, but we can walk back together." Lucifer halted on the top step. "Your aunt invited me to lunch."
Phyllida turned toward the house. "How convenient."
His hand on her arm halted her. She glanced back.
He held out a small pouch. "Before we go in, you'd better take these."
Puzzled, she took the pouch. And felt the buttons inside. Heat rose to her cheeks. "Thank you." Without meeting his eyes, she tucked the pouch under the roses in her basket, then continued along the walk.