It was a relief to escape the ballroom, Amity thought.
“I am not cut out for this sort of thing,” she said.
“Neither am I,” Benedict said.
It occurred to her that they did not need to explain the meaning of those statements to each other. They both understood.
The evening air was pleasantly cool and refreshing after the overheated atmosphere of the ballroom. Amity noticed that she and Benedict were not alone on the terrace. A handful of other couples stood in the shadows around them. Low murmurs and soft laughter drifted on the night air.
Benedict paused only briefly. Then, evidently not satisfied with the degree of privacy that the terrace afforded, he drew Amity down the steps into the deeper darkness beyond.
A summer moon shone down, spilling silver and shadow across the elegantly manicured gardens. Amity was reminded of the nights on board theNorthern Star. She was overcome with a sense of wistful longing. Fate in the form of a killer had brought Benedict back to her, but she might only have him for a short time. That knowledge filled her with a sense of urgency. She must savor every moment with him, she thought.
They walked along the graveled path until it ended at the entrance to the elegant stables. There they halted. Amity folded her arms around herself to ward off the small chill that drifted through her. She examined the stables.
“The Gilmore horses live in quarters that are much grander than those of most of the people in London,” she observed.
“Everyone knows Gilmore is obsessed with his bloodstock.” Benedict looked at her. “Are you cold?”
“The night has turned rather crisp, don’t you think?”
Without a word he took off his coat and draped it around her bare shoulders. Just as he had done that last night on board ship, she thought; just before he had kissed her.
“Better?” he asked.
“Much better.” The coat felt oddly heavy. She realized there was an object in one of the pockets. The heat of Benedict’s body and his very masculine, acutely invigorating scent clung to the fine wool. Surreptitiously, she breathed in the faint essence of the man. “What did you mean when you said there are always connections?”
Benedict lounged against the wall of the conservatory and looked back toward the brilliantly illuminated mansion. “Earlier we considered the possibility that the killer did not attend the Channing ball himself but that someone he knew well was present that evening.”
“You are thinking that is the connection that we need to discover, the guest with whom the killer is closely acquainted. That task will be far more difficult.”
“If we are no longer looking for the killer but rather someone who knew him fairly well, we must return to the original guest list.”
“Benedict, I must tell you that I am very concerned that the guest list is a dead end. We may be wasting a great deal of time.”
“I know. But as Logan keeps reminding us, it is a starting point. Tonight we managed to eliminate a number of men from our list.”
“If Penny is right, the person who is connected to the killer may also be here at the Gilmore ball this evening. But how can we possibly identify that individual?”
Benedict wrapped an arm around her shoulders and pulled her close. “There is one other fact that we have which we should not forget.”
“What is that?”
“The gap in time between the first murder and the next three. If we could account for that delay we might be able to narrow the list of suspects.”
“But there could be any number of reasons why so much time passed between the first murder and the others,” Amity said. “Maybe the killer was simply not in London. Perhaps he was at his estates in the country. Or traveling somewhere in the Far East or America.”
“Yes.” Benedict tightened his grip on her. “Yes, maybe there is a very good reason why he did not commit any murders for several months. That is a very important piece of the puzzle, one that should not be too difficult to investigate. We are looking for male friends and relatives of the people on the Channing guest list who were out of town for approximately eight months this past year.”
“Do you really think we can discover that information?”
“We will need some additional assistance from my uncle and my brother, but it can be done.” Benedict turned her in his arms. “We will find the killer, Amity. I will not rest until I know you are safe.”
She smiled. “I know.” She put her arms around his neck and stood on tiptoe to brush her mouth against his. “I know.”
He framed her face with his hands and kissed her with such fierce urgency that she felt as if he had literally stolen her breath away.
Very deliberately he set her aside and tried the door of the stable. Amity was surprised when it opened easily. Warm air flowed out of the opening, carrying the scents of hay and horses. Moonlight poured down through the windows that lined the walls.
