Seated in the second pew, she glanced across the aisle of the church to where Lucifer sat. His expression was impassive as he listened to Cedric read the lesson. Covey hunched beside him; farther along, Mrs. Hemmings wept into her handkerchief. Hemmings patted her arm awkwardly. White-faced, Bristleford stared straight ahead. While the rest of those present might have lost a friend and a neighbor, Covey, the Hemmingses, and Bristleford had lost a beloved master and their livelihoods had been rendered uncertain.
Phyllida returned her gaze to Lucifer's face-it wasn't expressive, yet she encountered no difficulty in following his thoughts. They were presently centered on the coffin resting before the altar, jeweled by shafts of light playing through the stained-glass windows. His thoughts, however, were not on Horatio but on who had put him in the box.
She faced forward once more. Cedric continued to drone. She let her mind slide back to its most urgent consideration-how to deal with Lucifer.
That name was the one that sprang to mind; it suited him so well. She'd known what type of man he was the instant she'd set eyes on him, although she hadn't fully appreciated the whole until she'd encountered him fully dressed and fully conscious. Then, what he was had been obvious.
The reason matrons preened and women lost their wits when he smiled was blatantly apparent-he didn't hide his light under any bushel. Even more to the point, his powerful aura of masculine energy, raw edges smoothed by graceful elegance, hadn't come about by accident-it was even more than cultivated-it was part of a practiced art.
An art he intended practicing on her.
Luckily, she knew it. She was confident and in control of her world, bar him. And his kisses hadn't rattled her in the least. She hadn't expected them, but, on consideration, she hadn't been surprised. He'd thought about kissing her when he'd held her trapped on his bed the night before. The woods had simply been a more amenable venue.
Would he kiss her again? The question hovered in her brain. She'd enjoyed the experience; she hadn't felt the least bit threatened, or coerced, or even in danger. But wishing for more might be tempting fate.
Besides… She glanced sideways to where a small man in severe black sat, pinched features blank. Mr. Crabbs was Horatio's solicitor, come from Exeter to read the will. And in Mr. Crabbs's train had come his clerk, Robert Collins.
With luck, this evening, after speaking with Robert, Mary Anne would release her from her oath. Then she could explain to Lucifer what had happened in Horatio's drawing room and they could join forces to track down Horatio's murderer.
That was her aim and she wasn't about to be deterred, even if succeeding meant dealing with the devil. He was definitely the most fascinating devil she'd ever met, and deep down, she was convinced he'd never hurt her.
Impatient, she waited for Cedric to have done.
When the service was over, Lucifer stepped forward with
Cedric, Sir Jasper, Thompson, Basil Smollet, and Mr. Farthingale; they hefted the coffin and slowly carried it out to the graveyard. During the short burial ceremony, Lucifer noted the faces of the men he'd not yet met as they stood about the graveside. Was the murderer present? The ladies did not join them, but gathered in a dark group just beyond the side porch of the church.
When earth rained down on the coffin, Lucifer joined Sir Jasper and Mr. Farthingale. As they walked back to the church, he learned enough to place Mr. Farthingale as a minor Sir Jasper-backbone of the county, absorbed with his land and family, unlikely to have any connection with Horatio's murder.
Together with the rest of the men, they joined the waiting ladies; family groups formed and started down the common. Sir Jasper led the way, Jonas beside him. Phyllida followed; Lucifer fell in beside her. She slanted him a glance; her eyes held no hint of censure or trepidation. If anything, they held a question: What next?
"If you'd be so kind as to introduce me to those I don't know…?"
She inclined her head regally. "Of course."
She acted as if he'd never kissed her. Lucifer hid a frown.
Followed by, as far as he could tell, the entire congregation, they went through the Manor gate, crossed Horatio's garden, and filed into the house.
The wake was the perfect opportunity, not just to meet the locals, but to have them explain their relationship to Horatio. Most discussed their last meetings with him without prompting, and aired their views on his murder.
Phyllida hovered near, graciously steering people his way, in each case providing him with the right information to place the person in the context of village life and establish his or her connection with Horatio. If he'd thought she'd played any role in Horatio's murder, he'd have been suspicious. Instead, he stood by the side of the room and appreciated her social skills.
"Mr. Cynster, allow me to present Miss Hellebore. She lives in the cottage immediately next door."
Lucifer bowed over Miss Hellebore's hand. Old with a sweet, lined face, she stood no higher than his shoulder.
She clutched his hand. "I was in church when it happened-so unfortunate. I might have heard something otherwise. They'd just dropped me off before they found you-what a to-do that was! But I'm so glad, dear, that you were not the one." She smiled vaguely, her eyes dimming. "Horatio was a dear soul. Such a worry, this happening."
Her voice faded; Phyllida took her other hand and patted it reassuringly. "You needn't worry, Harriet. Mr. Cynster and Papa will find out who did it, and then all will be peaceful here again."
"I do hope so, dear."
"There's some asparagus on the table-would you like some?"
"Oh, yes. Which table?"
With a glance that said she'd be back, Phyllida steered the old lady away.