He shuddered and collapsed beside her.
Thirty-three
Along time later Benedict stirred and sat up on the side of the cot. He removed the condom and dropped it into the chamber pot under the bed. The things were so expensive many men rinsed them out and reused them. Fortunately, he could afford the luxury of a fresh device each time one was required.
He looked at Amity. In the fading light of the fire, she looked soft and warm and delicious. He realized he was getting hard again. He reminded himself that he had just discarded the only condom he had brought with him.
“You did not use the device as it was intended,” she said. “Even though you wore it you still pulled away at the last moment, just as you did the first time in the barn.”
“Neither the skin nor the rubber version are entirely reliable,” he said. He leaned down and kissed her. “It’s best to take extra precautions.”
She stretched like a cat. “Always planning for disaster.”
“I have been told that I am rather boring,” he said before he could give himself time to think about the wisdom of bringing up the subject.
She blinked, startled. Then she laughed. “That’s absolutely ridiculous. Since I met you my life has been anything but dull. Indeed, it seems to me that we have gone from one adventure to another with very little time to relax in between.”
“Yes, but that is because things have been quite extraordinary lately. Under ordinary conditions, life might prove quite monotonous with a man of my temperament.”
She smiled a slow, provocative smile. “I sincerely doubt that. However, should boredom ever threaten, we can always resort to the sort of experiment that we just carried out a short time ago.”
The tension inside him eased.
“I believe you likened the first experience to the sensation of riding a camel,” he said.
“It was much better this time,” she said. “Rather like riding a wild stallion into a storm. Somewhat dangerous, perhaps, but that is no doubt part of the lure. It was all quite exhilarating.”
For a moment he allowed himself to simply enjoy the sight of her in the firelight. She almost glowed, he decided. No, he was quite certain that she actually did glow. There was a luminous quality about her that riveted his senses.
“Rest assured that I stand ready to relieve any tedium in your life with such methods at any time, Miss Doncaster,” he said.
“Very kind of you to offer, sir.”
He got to his feet, pulled on his drawers and crossed the room to throw another log on the fire.
When the flames leaped high again he turned back toward the bed. Amity watched him, waiting for him. A rush of satisfaction crashed through him.She was waiting for him.
And just like that, the missing piece of the puzzle fell into place.
He stopped in the center of the room.
“It’s all connected,” he said.
Amity sat up slowly on the edge of the bed. “What are you talking about?”
“Everything. We’ve been dealing with Virgil Warwick’s attack on you as if it were a separate issue from the theft of Foxcroft’s notebook. But there is a link between them. There must be.”
“Why do you say that?”
“The explosion at Hawthorne Hall.” He crossed the room to where his coat hung on the peg. He took his small notebook out of the pocket and flipped it open. “Don’t you see? It clarifies a number of things.”
“Such as?”
“Such as the fact that Virgil Warwick most likely did not murder Mrs. Dunning.”
Thirty-four
Explain,” Amity said.
