Before Amity could answer, Benedict swept into the room. His hair was windblown and he was dressed in traveling clothes. He carried a leather case under one arm.
At the sight of him joy and relief flashed through her. He was alive. Her worst nightmare was just that—merely a nightmare.
And then the outrage set in.
“What a surprise, Mr. Stanbridge,” she said in her steeliest accents. “We weren’t expecting you this morning. Or any other morning, for that matter.”
He stopped short, eyes tightening at the corners. Evidently that was not the greeting he had been anticipating.
“Amity,” he said.
Predictably, it was Penny who took charge of the volatile situation, doing so with her customary grace and dignity.
“Mr. Stanbridge, allow me to introduce myself, as my sister appears to have forgotten her manners. I’m Penelope Marsden.”
For a dash of time Amity did not think that Benedict would allow himself to be distracted by the introduction. Judging by her experience of his company on board theNorthern Star, he had excellent manners when he chose to use them. For the most part, however, he had little patience for the niceties of Polite Society.
But clearly it dawned on him that he had overstepped the bounds of good manners by invading a lady’s morning room at such an early hour, because he turned immediately toward Penny.
“Benedict Stanbridge, at your service.” He inclined his head in a surprisingly elegant bow. “I apologize for the intrusion, Mrs. Marsden. My ship docked less than an hour ago. I came straight here because I saw the morning papers. I was concerned, to say the least.”
“Perfectly understandable,” Penny said. “Won’t you join us for breakfast, sir?”
“Thank you,” Benedict said. He looked at the silver coffee pot with something approaching lust. “I would be very grateful. I didn’t get breakfast, as we docked earlier than anticipated.”
Penny looked at Mrs. Houston, who was staring, fascinated, at Benedict. “Would you be so kind as to bring Mr. Stanbridge a plate, Mrs. Houston?”
“Yes, ma’am. Right away, ma’am.”
Mrs. Houston quickly regained her professional composure but her eyes sparkled with curiosity. She bustled through the swinging door of the pantry.
Benedict pulled out a chair and sat down. He set the leather case conveniently at hand on the sideboard and examined Amity as though he had her under a microscope.
“You are unhurt?” he asked.
“A few minor bruises, but they have all disappeared, thank you,” she said.
Penny frowned in faint disapproval of her icy tones. Amity ignored the look. She had a right to be annoyed with Benedict, she thought.
“According to the press, you did considerable damage to the bastard with that little fan you carry.” Benedict nodded once, evidently pleased. “Nice work, by the way.”
Amity raised her brows. “Thank you. One does one’s best in those circumstances, I assure you.”
“Right,” Benedict said. He was starting to look wary. “Did they find the body?”
“Not that we know of,” Amity said. “But we are expecting news from an Inspector Logan of Scotland Yard later this morning. I am not hopeful that any real progress has been made, however. Logan’s predecessor appeared to be in over his head.”
“Never a good sign,” Benedict said. He reached out to help himself to a slice of toast from the silver toast rack.
A woman could only take so much.
Amity banged her cup down onto the saucer. “Damn it, Benedict, how dare you stroll into this house as if nothing ever happened? The very least you could have done was send a telegram to let me know that you were alive. Was that too much to ask?”
Six
Amity was furious.
Benedict was amazed that she possessed the energy for such a heated emotion considering what she had gone through three weeks ago. But the fire in her amazing eyes was definitely dangerous.
