This was not exactly the passionate reunion that he had been dreaming about for the past month, he thought.
He used a knife to slather some butter on the toast while he tried to think of the best way to respond to the outburst. Nothing brilliant came to mind.
“My apologies,” he said. “I thought it best to have as little communication as possible until I got back to London.”
She gave him a cool smile. “Did you, indeed, sir?”
This was not going well, he decided. He told himself he had to make allowances for her volatile emotional state. If the press had gotten even half the story correct, she was lucky to be alive. Most women would have taken to their beds following such an ordeal. They would have remained in those beds for a month, dining on weak broth and tea and periodically resorting to their vinaigrettes.
Then again most women would not have survived the attack, he thought. Admiration mingled with the overwhelming relief that he had experienced when he had walked through the door of the morning room a short time ago. The papers had stressed that she was alive and unharmed, but he knew that he could not rest until he had seen her with his own eyes.
He should have known that he would find her eating a hearty breakfast.
Amity was the most unique woman he had ever encountered. She never ceased to astonish him. From the first moment he had seen her there in that wretched little alley on St. Clare, he had been mesmerized. She reminded him of a small, sleek, curious little cat. The range of her interests intrigued him deeply. One never knew what subject she would bring up next.
During the course of the passage from St. Clare to New York, Amity had turned up in the most unexpected places on the ship. It was obvious from the start that the crew adored her. On one occasion he had gone searching for her only to find her emerging from a tour of the ship’s galley. She was still engaged in deep conversation with the head chef, who had been holding forth at length on the logistics of providing so many meals to passengers and crew over the course of a long voyage. Amity had appeared keenly interested. Her questions were sincere. The chef looked as though he was half in love with her.
And then there was the time he had found her in close conversation with the handsome, young American, Declan Garraway. Benedict had been startled by the sense of possessiveness he had experienced when he had discovered the pair together in the ship’s library.
Garraway was fresh out of an East Coast college and in the process of seeing something of the world before he assumed his responsibilities in the family business. He had seemed quite taken with modern theories of psychology, which he had studied in school. He had lectured Amity enthusiastically on the subject. She, in turn, had taken notes and asked a great many questions. Garraway had been enthralled, not only with the field of psychology but also with Amity.
Over the course of the past few weeks Benedict had pondered his own conversations with Amity on board ship. He had no doubt bored her to tears with his descriptions of such exciting inventions as Alexander Graham Bell’s design for a wireless communications device called a photophone. She had managed to appear so interested that he had been inspired to move on to other subjects. He had held forth at length on how several renowned scientists and engineers such as the French inventor Augustin Mouchot were predicting that the coal mines of Europe and America would soon be exhausted. If they were proved right, the great steam engines of the modern age that powered everything from ships and locomotives to factories would grind to a halt. The need to find a new source of energy was the focus of all the major powers. And so on and so forth. On one less than memorable occasion he had even gone so far as to regale her with a detailed explanation of how the ancient Greeks and Romans had experimented with solar energy.
What had he been thinking?
He had asked himself that question every night for a month. Amity had been trapped on board theNorthern Starwith him all the way from St. Clare to New York. It had been a golden opportunity to impress her. Instead, he had gone on endlessly about various topics related to his engineering interests. As if any woman actually wanted to hear about his engineering interests.
But at the time Amity had seemed keen to discuss his speculations and theories. Most women he knew, with the glaring exceptions of his mother and his sister-in-law, considered the realms of engineering and invention to be beneath the proper interests of a gentleman. Amity, however, had gone so far as to make notes, just as she had when she chatted with Declan Garraway. Benedict conceded that he had been flattered. Afterward, though, on the long train trip to California, he’d had ample time to consider the very real possibility that she had simply been polite.
When he thought of his time with Amity on theNorthern Starhe much preferred to contemplate their last night together. The memory had heated his dreams while they had been apart.
They had gone for a walk on the promenade deck and stopped to watch the celestial fireworks produced by a distant storm at sea. They had stood together at the railing for nearly an hour, watching the far-off lightning flashes in the night sky. Amity had been captivated by the scene. He, in turn, had been enchanted by her excitement.
That was the night he had taken her into his arms and kissed her for the first and only time. The experience had proved more electrifying than the night storm. It was only a kiss, but for the first time in his life he had understood how passion might cause a man to defy logic and the dictates of common sense.
Mrs. Houston swept through the pantry doorway.
“Here you go, sir,” she said. “Enjoy your breakfast.”
She set a plate heaped with eggs and sausages in front of him. He inhaled the aromas and was suddenly ravenous.
“Thank you, Mrs. Houston,” he said. He unfolded his napkin. “This is just what I need.”
She beamed and poured coffee into his cup.
He forked up a bite of eggs and looked at Amity.
“Tell me what happened,” he said. “I trust the press has exaggerated somewhat?”
Penny responded before Amity could say a word.
“Unfortunately, the incident occurred very much as the press portrayed it,” Penny said.
“Except for the bit about me fleeing the carriage in my nightgown,” Amity said grimly. “That was a gross exaggeration. I was fully clothed, I assure you.”
Before he could respond to that, Penny continued with the story.
“A vicious killer they call the Bridegroom seized Amity right off the street in broad daylight and tried to overcome her with chloroform,” she said.
