Seventeen
Are you certain you are all right?” Benedict asked again.
It was the third or fourth time he had inquired after her health and each time he sounded a little more brusque; impatient, even. They were in his carriage, heading back to Exton Street. Benedict had hustled her away from the ball immediately after the encounter in the stables. It was just as well, Amity thought. Her hair had come free of the pins and she was still picking bits of straw off her gown.
“Do stop fretting, sir, I am quite well, thank you,” Amity said. She suspected that with each reassurance she sounded more annoyed.
Good heavens, they were practically quarreling.
The ending to what should have been one of the most important, most exciting and certainly most romantic nights of her life was proving to be a colossal disappointment. So much for taking a lover, she thought. If this was all there was to the business, it was difficult to fathom why so many people went out of their way to engage in illicit liaisons.
She understood the necessity of the hasty retreat—neither of them needed any more scandal. But it was the cool, efficient manner in which Benedict had managed things that bothered her. He had arranged the departure from the Gilmore mansion with the skill and precision of a battlefield commander—no, not a military commander—an engineer. She was rapidly coming to the conclusion that he already regretted the passionate interlude.
Now, to make matters worse, Benedict kept asking her if she was all right. It was good for a gentleman to be concerned about his lover after a heated session of lovemaking. But there did not seem to be anything the least romantic about his inquiries. He sounded worried. Perhaps he expected her to faint from the shock of the experience.
An acute silence settled inside the cab. She kept her attention focused on the misty street scene. Gas lamps and carriage lights appeared and disappeared in the fog.
Benedict stirred on the opposite seat. “Amity—”
“If you inquire into my health one more time,” she said, speaking through set teeth, “I promise you I won’t be responsible for my actions.”
In the low glow of the lamp his eyes narrowed and the hard planes and angles of his face tightened into a grim mask. “What the devil do you mean by that? It’s only natural that I am concerned about you. I did not realize that you had never experienced passion.”
“For heaven’s sake, sir, I am not a naïve eighteen-year-old miss who had no idea what she was about tonight. How many times have I told you that I am a woman of the world?”
“Too many times, evidently, because I believed you.”
“I assure you I am not going to suffer a fit of the vapors just because of what happened in the stables.”
“Justbecause of what happened?” he repeated, his tone turning ominous.
“Well, it’s not as if what passed between us was anything remarkably extraordinary or revolutionary, now was it? Couples do that sort of thing quite frequently, do they not?”
“I believe you remarked that it was no worse than riding a camel.”
“Oh, right.” It dawned on her that perhaps she had hurt his feelings. She gave him a reassuring smile. “Not to worry, sir. One soon grows accustomed to a camel’s stride. With time and experience, the jostling and swaying become second nature.”
Benedict looked as if he was about to respond to that comment, but fortunately the carriage came to a halt. He hesitated briefly and then, clearly frustrated and decidedly grim, he opened the door. He got out of the carriage and turned to assist Amity.
She collected her skirts and took his hand. His fingers clamped around hers. Without a word they went up the front steps. She took the key out of the tiny evening bag attached to the chatelaine that held the tessen. Benedict took the key from her and opened the front door. The hall lamps were still ablaze but the lights had been turned off in the rest of the house. Penny and Mrs. Houston had both gone to bed.
Amity knew a sense of relief and stepped inside. She really did not want to engage in an extended conversation with Penny at that particular moment. There would be questions about the state of her hair and the straw clinging to her gown.
Benedict loomed on the threshold. “I will call on you tomorrow.”
“Yes, of course,” she said briskly. “We must consider the new direction of our investigation.”
He seemed to fortify himself. “Amity, I realize that tonight was not all that you expected or hoped it would be.”
She flushed. “I would rather not discuss it.”
“The location was hardly romantic and the timing was not good.”
She took a tight breath. “If you are about to tell me that you regret the incident—”
“Not entirely,” he said. “To say that I regret what happened would be a lie.”
Not entirely. For some silly reason she was now on the verge of tears. She fought them, rallying her defenses.
