A chill iced Amity’s neck. She tried to step around Kelbrook but he was somehow in her path.
“I assure you the matter was resolved in mere minutes,” she said briskly. “I simply jumped out of the carriage.”
“I can only imagine how it must have been for you, pinned beneath that brute, his hands on your maidenly body, your nightgown tumbled about your waist, his trousers no doubt open.”
“Good heavens, sir, I do believe that you are as mad as a hatter.”
Amity whirled on her heel intending to depart the scene. She collided with a large, immovable object.
“Benedict.” Jolted, she stopped short. The little green cap that was angled over her left brow came free of its pins. “Oh, for pity’s sake.” She managed to grab the cap before it landed on the floor. “I didn’t see you standing there, sir. Must you sneak around like that?”
“Who was he?” Benedict asked.
The low-voiced question was laden with a dark, fierce, decidedly dangerous threat.
Amity popped the cap back on top of her head and peered up at Benedict. He was not looking at her. His attention was fixed on the crowd behind her. She glanced over her shoulder and saw Arthur Kelbrook disappearing into the throng.
“Mr. Kelbrook?” She shuddered in disgust and turned back to face Benedict. “A very unpleasant man with a decidedly warped imagination.”
“In that case, why the devil were you talking to him alone in this alcove?”
She was startled by his tone. Surely Benedict was not jealous? No, of course not. His only concern was for her safety. She should be grateful. And she was grateful. Very grateful.
“I assure you, he was properly introduced and our initial conversation was quite harmless,” she said. “Mr. Kelbrook expressed a deep interest in my travel articles. But then he started to ask for details of my encounter with the killer. When I declined to provide them, he resorted to inventing a few outrageous particulars.”
Benedict yanked his attention away from Kelbrook and pinned her with a feral gaze. “What the hell do you mean by invent?”
She cleared her throat. “I believe he was nurturing some dark fantasy that involved me being assaulted by the Bridegroom.”
“You were assaulted.”
“Mr. Kelbrook was enthralled by the notion that I had been assaulted in a more intimate fashion, if you comprehend me.”
For a split second Benedict looked confused. Then cold rage lit his eyes. “He imagined you were raped? He wanted you to describe such a scene to him?”
“Something along those lines, yes.”
“That son of a bitch,” Benedict said much too softly.
The icy fury in his gaze alarmed her.
“I assured him that there had been no time for that sort of thing,” she said quickly. “I told him that I had escaped unharmed. I had just informed Mr. Kelbrook that he was as mad as a hatter and I was about to leave his company when you arrived.”
“I will deal with him,” Benedict vowed in that same too-quiet voice.
In spite of her alarm, Amity experienced a rush of warmth. Benedict really was determined to protect her. She was so accustomed to being on her own and obliged to take care of herself that she was not entirely certain how to respond.
“I appreciate the offer, sir,” she said. “But it is entirely unnecessary for you to take any further action.”
“It was not an offer,” Benedict said.
“Benedict,” she said very firmly, “you must not do anything rash. Do you understand?”
“Mad,” Benedict said, going abruptly thoughtful.
She frowned. “Eccentric, certainly, and cursed with an unwholesome imagination, but I’m not sure one can label Mr. Kelbrook mad. He is not the killer if that is what you are thinking.”
“You’re certain?”
