All About Love by Stephanie Laurens

he’ll feel any great need to hand even the most scandalous letters to your parents.”
    Mary Anne pondered. “If you tell him about the letters, you wouldn’t tell him they were scandalous?”
    “Of course not! I’ll tell him they’re private letters you don’t want anyone else reading.” Phyllida waited, then said, “So—can I tell him?”
    Mary Anne shifted. “I . . . I want to talk to Robert.” She lifted eyes clouded with worry to Phyllida’s face. “I haven’t told him the letters are missing. I want to know what he thinks.”
    Oh, how she wished she could infuse a little of her own steel into Mary Anne’s backbone. But Mary Anne was, beneath her social veneer, nearly frantic with worry. Phyllida sighed. “All right. Talk to Robert. But please talk to him soon.” She swallowed the words I don’t know how long I can hold Mr. Cynster at bay.
    She looked up—and discovered the wolf a lot closer than she’d thought; her heart leaped to her throat, then somersaulted back into place.
    He stood fifteen feet away, framed by the arch leading into the garden. White roses nodded above his dark head, the delicate blooms emphasizing his strength and the latent power in his stance. Hands in his trouser pockets, his gaze was fixed on them. Phyllida was relieved to see the tails of his coat settle—he’d only just arrived.
    Summoning a serene smile, she rose and strolled toward him. “We’ve been catching up. Have they let you escape?”
    His dark blue eyes watched her approach. He waited until she halted before him to say, “I escaped a while ago to check on my horses.”
    His gaze went beyond her; Phyllida turned as Mary Anne nervously joined them. “Allow me to present my close friend, Miss Farthingale.”
    He bowed gracefully.
    Mary Anne bobbed a curtsy. “I should return to my mother—she’ll be wanting to leave.”
    He stepped aside and Mary Anne slipped past him. She glanced at Phyllida. “I’ll let you know as soon as I can.”
    With that, she hurried away. Phyllida suppressed a grimace. From under her lashes she glanced at her nemesis. Drawing his gaze from Mary Anne, he fixed it on her. He studied her face; she kept her expression calm and collected. Lifting her lids, she gave him back stare for stare.
    After an instant of hesitation; he raised one dark brow. “My horses? No one here seems to know where they are.”
    “They’re in the Manor’s stables. There wasn’t enough space here, while the stables there were empty. I asked John Ostler from the Red Bells to look after them. He’s very good with horses.”
    He considered her, then nodded. “Thank you for arranging it. Now”—he looked toward the lawn—“I’d better head back to the Manor.”
    There was a slight frown in his eyes; Phyllida didn’t think it was due to worry about his horses. He took a step—she put a hand on his arm. He glanced at her, brows rising. She searched his eyes. “Are you in pain?”
    After a moment, he inclined his head. “A little.”
    “I don’t suppose you’d consider waiting until tomorrow to see your horses?”
    “No.” His lips curved just a little at the ends. “You know how gentlemen are about their horses.”
    She pressed her lips tight and considered. “There’s a shortcut through the wood. It’s much faster than going via the village.”
    His interest was immediate; his speculation that that was the route she’d used to go from the Grange to the Manor on Sunday morning gleamed in his eyes. “Where does this shortcut start?”
    Phyllida hesitated, but only for a moment. If his head was aching, she couldn’t let him walk through the wood alone. She turned away from the lawn. “I’ll show you.”
    He followed her through the wood, claiming her hand often, helping her over roots and up and down rocky dips. The path was clear, but not designed for strolling; long before the Manor’s roof came into sight, Phyllida was wishing she was in her boots and breeches. Then she wouldn’t