All About Love by Stephanie Laurens Read Free Book Online

names you youngsters do take. Now! How’re you feeling?”
    “Much better, thanks to your daughter’s care.”
    Sir Jasper smiled on Phyllida, who had turned to the tea trolley. “Aye, well, that was a nasty blow, no doubt of that. Now let me make you known to m’sister-in-law; then we’ll take our tea and you can tell me all you know about this distressing business.”
    His sister-in-law, Lady Huddlesford, summoned a smile and held out her hand. “I’m delighted to meet you, Mr. Cynster.”
    Lucifer politely shook hands. Sir Jasper gestured to the dandy. “M’nephew, Percy Tallent.”
    Percy, it transpired, was her ladyship’s son by her first marriage to Sir Jasper’s late brother. One minute of affected conversation and Lucifer had Percy pegged—he was on a repairing lease. Nothing else could account for his presence in rural Devon. His sullen half brother, Frederick Huddlesford, openly stared at Lucifer’s well-cut coat, hard pressed, it seemed, to marshal the words for even a simple greeting.
    With a nod, Lucifer turned to the young man so like Phyllida, who promptly grinned and stuck out his hand. “Jonas. Phyllida’s little brother.”
    Clasping the proffered hand, Lucifer smiled and raised his brows. Loose-limbed, with the same careless grace that characterized his sister, Jonas stood a good six inches taller than she. Lucifer glanced at her as she straightened from the tea trolley. For all his transparent, good-natured insousiance, Jonas didn’t appear younger than she.
    Phyllida caught his glance; her chin rose. “We’re twins, but I’m the elder.”
    “Ah. I see. Always the leader.”
    Her brows rose haughtily. Jonas chuckled.
    So did Sir Jasper. “Quite, quite. Phyllida keeps us all in line—don’t know what we’d do without her. Now”—he waved to a grouping of chairs at the end of the room—“let’s move down there and you can tell me what you can about this terrible business.”
    As he turned, Lucifer felt Phyllida’s gaze on his face.
    “Indeed, Papa. I do think Mr. Cynster should sit down. I’ll bring you your cups.”
    Sir Jasper nodded. Lucifer followed him down the room. They settled in wing chairs angled to each other, a small table between. The length of the room assured them of privacy; the others watched them go, their curiosity palpable, then reluctantly returned to their own company.
    As he gingerly rested his head back on the chair’s cushion, Lucifer considered Sir Jasper. His host was a type he knew well. Men like him were the backbone of county England. Bluffly good-natured, genial if unimaginative, they were, nevertheless, no one’s fools. They could be counted on to hold the line, to do whatever needed to be done to keep their community stable, yet they had no taste for power; it was appreciation of their comfort plus trenchant common sense that drove them.
    Lucifer glanced at Phyllida, busy at the tea trolley. Like father, like daughter? He suspected so, at least in part.
    “So”—Sir Jasper stretched out his legs—“are you familiar with Devon?”
    Lucifer went to shake his head, but stopped. “No. My family home lies north of here, to the east of the Quantocks.”
    “Somerset, heh? So you’re a west countryman?”
    “At heart, but I’ve lived in London for the last decade.”
    Phyllida arrived with cups on saucers; she handed one to each of them, then whisked back up the room. Sir Jasper sipped; Lucifer did, too, conscious of reawakening hunger. An instant later, Phyllida reappeared with a cake plate piled high. She offered it around, then subsided onto a love seat beside her father’s chair, and patently settled to listen.
    Lucifer glanced at Sir Jasper. His host was aware of his daughter’s presence, and clearly saw nothing odd in her being privy to his investigations. His flippant remark about her being a born leader was not, it seemed, far from the mark.
    Hands folded in her lap, she sat quiet and contained. Lucifer studied her as he consumed