"Ah."

The syllable was heavy with worldly cynicism. Phyllida glanced up-and saw Percy bearing down on them.

He nodded to Lucifer, his gaze fixed on her. "I wonder, cuz, whether I could have a private word with you?"

About what? Phyllida swallowed the ungracious reply. "Of course."

Percy smiled at Lucifer. "Family business, don't y'know."

Lucifer bowed.

Inclining her head in reply, Phyllida put her hand on Percy's sleeve and let him escort her through the open French doors and onto the terrace. Withdrawing her hand from his arm, she walked to the balustrade.

"Not there." Percy gestured along the terrace. "They can see."

Phyllida heaved a mental sigh and obliged, hoping Percy would cut line, tell her what he wanted, and let her return to the drawing room. If she got Robert alone, she might be able to salvage something from today. Robert might be meek, but he was also stultifyingly conservative, and as an almost solicitor, he should be law-abiding. Perhaps she could convince him-

"The thing is…" Percy halted outside the darkened library windows. Tugging down his waistcoat, he faced her.

"I've been watching you and thinking. You're what? Twenty-four?"

Leaning back against the balustrade, she stared at him. "Yes," she admitted. "Twenty-four. What of it?"

"What of it? Why, you should be married, of course! Ask m'mother-she'll tell you. You're all but on the shelf at twenty-four."

"Indeed?" Phyllida considered explaining that she was quite happy on her shelf. "Why should that concern you?"

"Of course it concerns me! I'm the head of the family-well, once your father shuffles off, I will be."

"I have a brother, remember?"

"Jonas." With a wave, Percy dismissed Jonas. "Thing is, you're here, unmarried, and there's no sense to it, not when there's an alternative."

Phyllida debated. Humoring Percy was probably the fastest way to bring this scene to an end. Folding her arms, she settled against the balustrade. "What alternative?"

Percy drew himself up and puffed out his chest. "You can marry me."

Shock held her speechless.

"I know it's a surprise-hadn't thought of it myself until I came down here and saw how it was. But now I can see it's the perfect solution." Percy started to pace. "Family duty and all that-offering for you is what I should do."

Phyllida straightened. "Percy, I'm perfectly comfortable here-"

"Precisely. That's the beauty of it. We can be married and you can stay down here in the country-daresay your father would prefer it. He wouldn't want to have to run the Grange without you. On the other hand, / don't need a hostess. I've never had one." He nodded. "I'll be perfectly happy rattling 'round London on my own."

"I can quite see that. Let's see if I fully understand your proposal." Her terse accents had Percy tensing. "Are you, by any chance, currently at point-non-plus?"

Stony-faced, Percy glared at her.

Phyllida waited.

"I might, at present, have outrun the constable a trifle, but it's merely a temporary setback. Nothing serious."

"Nevertheless. Now, let's see… you came into your inheritance from your father some years ago and you have no further expectation from our side of the family."

"Not with Grandmother making you her beneficiary and Aunt Esmeralda leaving her blunt to you and Jonas."

"Quite. And, of course, when Huddlesford dies, his estate will pass to Frederick." Phyllida fixed her gaze on Percy's now petulant face. "Which means that beyond any inheritance from your mother, who everyone knows enjoys the best of health, there's no pot of gold waiting just over your horizon." She paused. "Am I right?"

"You know you're right, damn you."

"And am I also right in thinking that the cent-per-cents will no longer advance you funds-not unless you can show them some evidence of further expectations-like a wife with various inheritances attached?"

Percy glowered. "That's all very well, but you're straying from the point."

"Oh, no! The point is you've run aground, and you're looking to me to tug you out of the mire."

"And so you should!" Face mottled, fists clenched, Percy stepped close. "If I'm prepared to marry you out of family duty, you should be pleased to marry me and resurrect my fortunes."

Phyllida shut her lips on an unladylike utterance. She gave Percy back stare for glare. "I will not marry you-there's absolutely no reason that I should."

"Reason?" Percy's features contorted. "Reason? I'll give you reason."

He grabbed her, clearly intending to kiss her. Phyllida jerked back and wrestled half out of his hold. She'd never been afraid of Percy; he was three years older, but she'd run rings around him from her earliest years-she'd grown accustomed to treating him with contempt.

To her shock, he was much stronger than she'd realized. She struggled, but couldn't break his hold. With a growl, he hauled her back into his arms, cruelly pressing her back into the balustrade, trying to force her face to his-

Suddenly he was gone, literally plucked off her.

Phyllida collapsed against the balustrade, dragging in air, one hand at her heaving breast. She stared at Percy, dangling, choking, at the end of one long, blue-suited arm.

"Is there a pond or lake closer than the duck pond? I believe your cousin needs to cool off."

Tracking along his arm, Phyllida located Lucifer's face in the dimness. Then she looked back at Percy, feet still swinging helplessly four inches clear of the flagstones. His face was turning purple. "Umm-no."

Lucifer's lip curled. He shook Percy, then flung him away-he landed with an "Ooof!" and a clatter of limbs. He lay wheezing on the flags, shaking his head weakly, not daring to look up.

Reluctantly accepting that that was the worst he could do, Lucifer slammed a door on the chaos of emotions whirling inside him and looked at Phyllida. She was still breathing rapidly, but her color, as far as he could judge in the poor light, was acceptable. Her gown and hair were still neat-he'd been in time to spare her that much of the ordeal. He resettled his coat and cuffs, then offered her his arm. "I suggest we return before anyone else misses you."

Looking up at him, she swallowed, then nodded. "Thank you." Placing her hand on his arm, she straightened, stiffening her spine and lifting her head. Her mask of calm composure slid into place, hiding her shock-the sudden comprehension of her physical vulnerability-that had, until that moment, sat naked on her face.

It was not a look he had ever liked seeing on any woman's face. He would have given a great deal to have saved her from the realization entirely. She shouldn't need to know that men could physically harm her. Her physical safety, here in her home, in and around the village, was something she'd taken for granted all her life. Percy had violated the "comfort" she had alluded to-the sense of security she enjoyed in this place.

As for Percy's so elegant proposal, just the thought of it made Lucifer see red. Grimly clinging to his own mask of calm indifference, he steered Phyllida along the terrace. They reached the French doors and she stepped into the light. He let his gaze slide over her, from her pale, hauntingly lovely face, over the slender frame and feminine curves concealed beneath lavender silk, down to the tips of her satin slippers. Other than her breathing, still too shallow, there was no overt evidence of any distress.

Chest tightening, he looked into her eyes. They were shuttered, all emotions locked away.

As he handed her over the threshold, then followed, Lucifer wondered if it was too late to slip out again and thrash Percy to within an inch of his life.

Chapter 6

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The emotions stirred by the incident on the terrace did not rapidly subside. Later that night, with the moon riding the sky, Lucifer paced before his bedchamber window.

Tomorrow, he'd remove to the Manor. Tomorrow, he'd start investigating Horatio's murder with a great deal more intensity than he'd yet employed. Horatio had been killed on Sunday morning. Tomorrow would be Wednesday. The first rush of shock and speculation would have died; people would have had time to think and, he hoped, remember.

Pausing before the window, he glanced out. The moon broke free of the wispy clouds and shone down; the night was a cauldron of shifting shadows stirred by the pale light.

A figure left the house, striding purposefully across the back lawn. Lucifer stared. A low cap hid the man's head-or was it a youth? The stride was swinging, graceful, and easy, long legs encased in breeches and boots. A hacking jacket hung to hip length. Jonas?

The figure neared the entrance to the shrubbery; the graceful stride faltered, slowed.

That instant of hesitation ripped the veils from Lucifer's eyes. "What the devil…?"

He didn't wait for an answer. His quarry was into the wood before he had drawn close enough to be sure of not losing her. He trailed her; he wanted to see where she was going.

And then he would want to know why.

He would have wagered a great deal that her goal would be the Manor-she knew he would be taking up residence there tomorrow. Instead, she turned left off the main path onto a narrower one heading into the village.

He followed, closing the gap so he could keep her in sight; the path twisted through the trees-it would be easy to lose her. Head down, she tramped along, apparently absorbed in her thoughts.