All About Love

by Stephanie Laurens

  “He was born and raised and lived most of his life in Stafford,” Demon put in. “Stafford’s about as far from the coast as it’s possible to get, so chances are he won’t immediately recognize the implications of the weather.”

  “Then he’ll go to the meeting place expecting to meet smugglers.” Phyllida was sitting beside Lucifer’s desk.

  “Men who have as much to hide as he does,” Lucifer observed. “That’s the only sort he’ll feel safe approaching. He intended today to be a last and successful effort. He came to the Manor with his plans made, his arrangements in place—he never intended to return to Ballyclose.”

  Cedric snorted. “The horse he rode here came back a few hours ago. No other horses are missing.”

  Lucifer glanced at Demon. “With us here, both with strong teams, escaping on horseback would have been risky.”

  “He’s a cautious sort, yet . . .” Demon shook his head. “Fancy spending five years searching for something you’d only heard of from someone else’s letter. And then it turns out the thing’s not even still there to be found.”

  “He didn’t know that. He’s obsessed.” Phyllida hugged herself. “That’s the only explanation. He’s mad.”

  “This picture that Appleby thought was in the book—he said it hadn’t surfaced.” Sir Jasper glanced at Lucifer. “That seem reasonable to you?”

  Lucifer nodded. “The fanfare surrounding the discovery of a lost miniature by an old master would not be easy to miss. He’s correct on that. I haven’t heard anything.”

  “But if it’s not in the book and hasn’t been rediscovered, where is it?”

  Lucifer looked at Phyllida. “You remember the item Horatio asked me to appraise—the item that brought me here?”

  Phyllida stared. “You think it might be that?”

  “It’s the sort of thing Horatio would ask my opinion on. I’m familiar with the private collections of old masters held by various members of the aristocracy as well as the Crown. Even more to the point, it’s an item he would guard very closely and tell no one else about.”

  “So where is it?”

  “Hidden.” Lucifer looked up at the sound of the front-door knocker. “We’ll have to turn the house inside out, but first we must deal with Appleby.”

  Bristleford ushered Thompson and Oscar in, then approached Lucifer. As the others pulled up chairs to join the council, Bristleford murmured, “With your permission, sir, Covey, Hemmings, and I would respectfully ask to be included in any little excursion you might be planning.”

  Lucifer glanced into Bristleford’s earnest face, then nodded. “Yes, of course. In fact, if Mrs. Hemmings can manage out there, perhaps you, Covey, and Hemmings could join us.”

  “Thank you, sir. I’ll fetch Covey and Hemmings.”

  Bristleford retreated. Phyllida caught Lucifer’s eye; she closed her hand over his on the desk. “They haven’t yet gotten over the fact that they let someone kill Horatio.”

  Lucifer nodded, then turned to the others. Briskly, he outlined the situation. Oscar described the area where the smugglers met, the knoll to which the Beer gang had directed the impatient human cargo. They made their plans quickly, then they rose.

  “Remember,” Sir Jasper warned, “no heroics and no unnecessary violence. I don’t want to have to take anyone else up for murder.”

  “There should be no need for any real action. There’s too many of us for him to escape, and other than that knife, he’ll be unarmed.” Lucifer scanned the men’s faces. “We’ll meet at the knoll as soon as darkness falls—no one be late.”

  With the words “Aye” and “We’ll be there—“ the men departed.

  Following them into the hall, Flick caught Phyllida’s eye. “I wonder if I could have a word.” Linking her arm in Phyllida’s, Flick turned to the stairs.

  Lucifer and Demon, reaching the library door, saw the loves of their lives, heads together, disappear upstairs.

  “That doesn’t look good,” Demon said.

  Lucifer grimaced. “I suppose we’d better face this like men.”

  His expression hardening, Demon headed for the stairs. “We can but try.”

  * * *

  Twenty minutes later, Lucifer and Demon met at the head of the stairs. Their ladies were with them. Lucifer stared at Flick. Demon stared, equally surprised, at Phyllida. Then the cousins looked at each other.

  “I won’t ask if you don’t,” Demon offered.

  Grim-faced, Lucifer nodded. “Agreed.”

  Neither Flick nor Phyllida appeared to hear; they led the way down the stairs, stepping easily in breeches and boots.

  With Lucifer, Demon followed, his gaze shifting from his beloved’s neat rear to Phyllida’s shapely thighs. As they descended the last flight, he shook his head. “I’ll be damned if any of our forebears ever had to deal with this.”

  Dodswell and Gillies were waiting, mounted, at the side of the house, both holding a pair of horses saddled—no sidesaddles, Lucifer noted. There was quite a little party gathered in the twilight, none of whom seemed to find anything remarkable in Flick’s or Phyllida’s attire. As they lifted their respective ladies to their saddles, then mounted alongside them, both Cynsters’ hackles subsided—a little.

  They set out. Lucifer kept a close eye on Phyllida; she sent him a sidelong glance. After she soared over the first fence and left him pushing to regain his position beside her, he stopped watching her and paid attention to their direction.

  Crossing field after field, they headed south to the coast. Phyllida led the way—she was the only one who knew where they were going. The breeze strengthened, the salty tang increasing. A cottage appeared through the gloom, dwarfed by the huge barn behind it. Phyllida turned up the rutted track; she led them to the barn. They’d agreed to leave the horses there so as not to risk alerting Appleby.

  The old farmer and his wife greeted Phyllida, clearly old friends. Dodswell returned from tethering their mounts. “Quite a few already in there—looks like Thompson with Sir Jasper and the others.”

  “Good.” Lucifer looked around. “Oscar will walk in with the gang and ponies as usual.”

  Demon, too, had been scanning the woods. “How do you want to do this?”

  “Strung out, single file, slowly. The meeting’s not until full dark—we have time to be careful.”

  They were. With Phyllida in the lead, Lucifer at her shoulder, they walked quietly through the woods, silently skirted two fields, then entered the last stand of stunted trees close by the cliff’s edge.

  The others were there, waiting. Without words, the party from the Manor spread out, clinging to the deepening shadows under the trees almost encircling the grassy knoll. The land sloped up from the tree line to the cliff’s edge and up from either side; beyond the knoll, the cliff fell away.

  They settled, crouching in the shadows, the sounds of their shuffling subsumed beneath the relentless pounding of the surf on the rocks far below. The wind was strong, blowing cold in their faces. No ship would dare approach this treacherous coast with such a wind behind it.

  An hour later, the storm had taken possession of the skies; darkness had fallen like a shroud across the land. Muscles had stiffened, joints were aching, yet still they waited patiently.

  Then the tramp of feet reached them. Minutes later, the night shift of the Colyton Import Company arrived on the scene. They were all there—Oscar, Hugey, Marsh, and the rest. They milled about on the lower slope of the knoll, huddling against the wind.

  “How long do we have to wait for this blighter?” Hugey asked for them all.

  “He’d better make it soon,” Oscar growled. “We got better things to do.”

  “I’m here,” said a voice. “If it’s me you’re waiting for.”

  They all turned, peering through the darkness. Lucius Appleby staggered up from a hollow off to the side of the knoll. His clothes were disheveled. He clutched the volume of Aesop’s Fables to his chest. His hair ruffled wildly in the wind. For a mo
ment he appeared drunk, uncoordinated, then, with a visible effort, he pulled himself together. “About time you got here. I want nothing more than to leave this wretched place.”

  Every word stung, bitter as gall. He swayed, his gaze fixed on the supposed smugglers. He spared not a glance toward the trees. “Well?” he grumbled, voice rising. “What’re we waiting for? Let’s go.”

  He took an unsteady step toward them.

  The smugglers, all except Oscar, backed away. They fanned out as they went, eyes never leaving Appleby. Then they joined with those moving forward, out from under the trees.

  Appleby’s eyes widened. Even in the poor light, the shock on his face as he took in the solid cordon and realized its meaning was evident. “No!”

  Whirling, he scrambled up the knoll.

  “Here!” Oscar remained on the knoll’s lower slope. “Don’t go near the edge.”

  Sir Jasper stepped forward. He regarded Appleby sternly. “In my capacity as magistrate, I charge you, Lucius Appleby, with three counts of murder and three of attempted murder, to all of which you stand self-confessed.” He waited for a moment, then beckoned. “Come down, man—you can see there’s no escape. No sense making it worse.”

  Book clutched to his chest, Appleby stared at him, then threw back his head and laughed maniacally. “Make it worse?” He caught his breath on a gasp and stared at Sir Jasper. “You have no idea.

  “You see this?” Appleby thrust out the book, staggering back as he did so. “I killed three men to get my hands on this. Bartered my immortal soul and worse. Five long years I patiently searched, and for what? What do you think my life, my soul, would be worth?”

  He wrenched open the front cover, holding it for all to see. The cover paper had been ripped away, the padding, too, exposing the blank board of the inner face. “Nothing.” Appleby’s voice dropped to a sobbing whisper, then abruptly rose to a shriek. “There’s nothing there!” He yelled it to the skies. “Some bastard got there before me!”

  Eyes wild, he flung the book at Sir Jasper, then whirled and raced onto the knoll.

  “No! Don’t—!” Oscar scrabbled up the slope. Thompson moved up behind his brother; Lucifer and Demon stepped forward.

  Lips drawn back, Appleby turned on them. “Come and get me, then.” He brandished his knife. “Who’ll be first?”

  He staggered wildly as he backed, grotesquely outlined against the roiling sky.

  Thompson reached forward and locked a huge hand on Oscar’s shoulder. “You don’t understand—”

  “It’s you who don’t understand. I’m not going to pay—not when there’s nothing there.” Appleby laughed wildly. “I’ve already paid with the last five years of my life.”

  “You took the lives of three others.” Lucifer pitched his voice over the rising wind.

  “They got in my way!” Appleby yelled. He edged back, eyes darting this way, then that. “If they hadn’t, they’d still be alive—it was their fault.”

  The last word was swallowed by a thunderous, murmurous shussssh.

  Everyone froze.

  Then Thompson pulled Oscar back. In the trees, Phyllida clutched Flick’s arm. “Oh, no.”

  Appleby didn’t understand. He stood on the cliff’s edge, staring wildly from one shocked face to the next.

  “What?” he asked. “Wha—“

  The ground beneath him disappeared; one instant he was there, then he was gone.

  Lightning flashed, but it was tons of earth hitting rocks, crashing into the sea, that provided the thunder. The wind gusted hard, forcing them to hide their faces until the buffeting eased.

  They looked up the slope. The new cliff edge cut through the middle of the knoll’s top.

  Both Lucifer and Demon turned and walked back into the trees. Phyllida went wordlessly into Lucifer’s arms, hugging him tight, inexpressibly thankful for his warmth, for the solidity of the arms that locked about her, for the feel of his jaw against her hair. “Will he be dead?” she finally whispered.

  “That cliff’s at least six hundred feet high. I don’t think there’s any alternative.”

  Others wanted to be certain. They started off through the trees, Sir Jasper and Oscar bringing up the rear.

  “The cliff path Oscar’s band uses is safe,” Phyllida explained. Together with Flick and Demon, she and Lucifer trailed the band. They reached the windswept outcrop where the path started. Most of the group were strung out below, heading down.

  A series of lightning flashes out over the Channel provided sudden illumination. Everyone stopped and searched. Then there were shouts of “There!” Arms pointed.

  From within the protection of Lucifer’s arms, Phyllida looked down. The body of Lucius Appleby lay spread- eagled, facedown on the black water. There was no sign of movement, of life. Distance hid the damage undoubtedly inflicted by the rocks and the waves. As they watched, the body lifted on the swell, then whirled and was drawn out, toward the dark sea.

  The light faded. Night closed in, blacker than before.

  Lucifer’s arms tightened around her. He bent his head and pressed a kiss to her temple. “It’s over,” he murmured. “Come, let’s go home.”

  To her surprise, he took her back to the Grange. Demon and Flick didn’t come in; at Lucifer’s request, they took his and Phyllida’s horses with them when they rode on to the Manor.

  Everyone gathered in the drawing room. Phyllida, still in breeches, organized drinks and sustenance to chase away the lingering chills, both of the elements and of the evil that had been Lucius Appleby.

  There were many exclamations and much shaking of heads, but a sense of ending, of relief, of rightness, prevailed. The threat that had disturbed the peace of Colyton was gone.

  In the instant Phyllida fully realized that truth, she sought Lucifer’s eye and smiled; she was no longer surprised they were here. At last she had her peaceful life back—the serenity and security of the village were restored. She was safe again. The only thing they’d lost was Horatio. And in his place, they had Lucifer.

  Her eyes followed him as he moved through the room, exchanging words—the right words, she was sure—with Oscar, Thompson, and the other men. Life turned, changed, and moved on. Fate sometimes moved in mysterious ways.

  Gradually, the crowd departed, at peace again. By tomorrow morning, the tidings would be spread throughout the village, the great houses, the farms and cottages.

  Phyllida stopped beside Lucifer. Gazing out at the darkness of the back lawn, he drained his glass, then looked down at her. His gaze roved her face, then returned to her eyes. “There’s a question I’ve been wanting to ask you, but it can wait until tomorrow.” He hesitated, then handed her his glass. “I’ll call in the morning.”

  Phyllida opened her eyes wide. “Does that mean you’re going to leave me to walk back through the wood alone in the dark?” When he frowned at her, she smiled and patted his arm. “I’m coming home—to the Manor.”

  He blinked, then cast a glance at Sir Jasper, shaking hands with Cedric, the last of the others to leave. “Much as I might wish that—”

  “It’s got nothing to do with your wishes,” she informed him. “You forget—all my things are there.”

  “All?”

  “When you told Sweetie to pack my things, she did—all of them. She’s an incurable romantic, so, for better or for worse, I’m afraid all my things are at the Manor.”

  Lucifer looked down at her, his dark eyes very blue. Then he brushed a thumb over her lower lip. “For better or for worse?”

  Phyllida smiled; she pushed him toward the French doors. “Wait for me on the terrace—I must speak with Papa.”

  Lucifer glanced back at Sir Jasper, but Phyllida shook her head and pushed, so he went. She watched as he stepped over the threshold, drank in the broad shoulders, the strength cloaked in that effortless grace, then she smiled serenely and returned to her father.

  Sir Jasper met her in the middle of the room. He took her hands in his. “Well, m’de
ar—a great relief, having this settled. Can’t say I’m sorry Appleby’s gone—a bad egg he was, no doubt of that.”

  “Indeed, Papa.”

  “Well, then.” Sir Jasper stole a glance at Lucifer, waiting on the terrace looking out at the night. “I suppose, now there’s no more danger, you’ll be moving back, heh?”

  His tone was neither insistent nor expectant; it was curious. He peered at her from under his shaggy brows, a light very like hope in his eyes.

  “No, Papa.” Smiling, Phyllida stretched up and placed a kiss on his cheek. “My place now is elsewhere.”

  “Oh?” Sir Jasper brightened; he all but grinned and rubbed his hands in delight. “Right, then—well, I daresay I’ll see you tomorrow . . . ?”

  Phyllida chuckled and patted his arm. “I daresay. And now I’ll bid you a good night.”

  Leaving her father, she walked to the French doors. Stepping outside, she slid a hand into Lucifer’s arm. Just as he had been doing, she looked up at the sky, at the racing clouds streaming, fleeing before the thunderheads.

  Lucifer glanced back, then she felt his gaze on her face. After a moment, she met his eyes. In the poor light, she couldn’t see their expression, but possessiveness, protectiveness, fell about her like a cloak.

  He closed his hand over hers. “Let’s go home.”

  She let him lead her there, through the wood, now a-flurry with the storm. As the wind rose and the branches lashed more furiously, they walked faster and faster; eventually, he pulled her along at a run. She was laughing when he dragged her from the trees, down the drive, and around the house. She imagined he was heading for the front door, but once they gained the front of the house, she realized that wasn’t his goal.

  He tugged her across Horatio’s garden—it was screened from the wind by the wood, the house, the village, and its own stand of trees. In the dark of the humid night, it was a paradise of evocative scents, of lush growth and mysterious shapes. Lucifer hurried her to the honeysuckle-draped, peony-backed arbor where they’d once before paused of an evening and discussed the realities of love.

  Halting, he faced her. His dark hair was tousled, as if she’d already run her fingers through it; his face was hard-edged, his mobile lips straight. He studied her as she was studying him, then, her hands in his, he went down on one knee.