Chapter Two
Two
The storm at sea was far away but the lightning illuminated the clouds in a fiery radiance. The atmosphere was charged and intoxicating. On a night like this a woman could be forgiven if she believed she could fly, Amity thought.
She stood on the promenade deck, her hands braced on the teak railing, and watched the spectacle with wonder and excitement.
Not all of the intense, exhilarating emotions were generated by the storm.
It was the man standing beside her who was responsible for most of the thrilling sensations, she thought.
Somehow they went together, the night and the man.
“You can feel the energy from here,” she said, laughing a little with the sheer pleasure of it all.
“Yes, you can,” Benedict said.
But he was not watching the storm. He was looking at her.
He rested his hands on the railing, his fingers very close to hers. His wound had closed with no sign of infection, but he still moved with care. She knew he would be stiff and sore for a while. A few days ago, having concluded that he was going to live, he had requested that she return his letter.
She told herself that she was happy to be relieved of the responsibility.
But something about the small act of giving him the letter had left her feeling wistful, even a trifle bereft.
The task of concealing the letter—knowing that Benedict entrusted her with it—had created a sense of a bond between them, at least on her side.
Now that frail connection had been severed. He no longer needed her. He was swiftly regaining his strength. Tomorrow the Northern Star would dock in New York. Her intuition told her that everything would change in the morning.
“I won’t be traveling back to London with you,” Benedict said. “As soon as we dock tomorrow I must take the train to California.”
She had been prepared for this, she reminded herself. She had known that the interlude on board the ship would end.
“I see,” she said. She paused. “California is a long way from New York.” And even farther from London, she thought.
“Unfortunately, my business takes me there. If all goes well, I won’t be obliged to stay for long.”
“Where will you go after you leave California?” she asked.
“Home to London.”
She did not know what else to say, so she held her tongue.
“I would like very much to call upon you when I return, if I may,” Benedict said.
She could suddenly breathe again. “I would like that. I shall look forward to seeing you again.”
“Amity, I owe you more than I can ever repay.”
“Please don’t say that. I would have done as much for anyone in your situation.”
“I know. It is one of the amazing things about you.”
She knew she was blushing and was grateful for the cover of night. “I am certain that you would have done the same under similar circumstances.”
“You have been forced to take me on faith,” Benedict said, very serious now. “I know that can’t have been easy. Thank you for trusting me.”
She did not respond.
“One day I hope to be able to explain everything to you,” he continued. “Please believe me when I say that it’s best if I don’t tell you the whole story yet.”
“It is your story, sir. You may tell whomever you wish to tell.”
“You deserve the truth.”
“Now that you mention it, I agree with you,” she said.
He smiled at her crisp tone. “I wish I was sailing back to London with you.”
“Do you?”
He put his hand over hers on the railing. For a heartbeat he did not move. She knew that he was waiting to see if she would pull her fingers free of his grasp. She did not move, either.
He caught her hand and turned her slowly around to face him.
“I’m going to miss you, Amity,” he said.
“I will miss you, as well,” she whispered.
He drew her to him and took her mouth with his own.
The kiss was everything she had dreamed it would be and so much more—darkly passionate, utterly thrilling.
She put her arms around his neck and parted her lips.
His scent captivated her. She breathed him in.
A sweet, hot hunger uncoiled deep inside.
Fearful of causing him pain, she was careful not to lean too heavily against him even though she wanted to do so; oh, how she wanted to lose herself in the wonder of it all.
He dragged his mouth away from hers and kissed her throat.
His hands moved to her waist and then slipped up the bodice of her gown until his fingers rested just beneath the weight of her breasts.
The heat and fire on the distant horizon was an extraordinarily perfect backdrop to the fierce emotions that threatened to sweep her away.
She gripped Benedict’s shoulders very tightly, seeking promises but knowing she would not get them—not tonight. Tonight was an ending, not a beginning.
Benedict gave a low groan, shifted his mouth back to hers and deepened the kiss. For a timeless moment the world beyond the Northern Star ceased to exist.
Driven by a passion that was unlike anything she had ever experienced, she longed to follow the kiss straight into the heart of the storm, as if there was no tomorrow. But with a low groan, Benedict broke off the embrace, setting her gently but firmly away from him.
“This is not the time or the place,” he said.
His voice was as harsh and as heavily freighted with the steel of his ironclad self-control as it had been the day she found him bleeding in the alley.
“Yes, of course, your wound,” she said quickly, mortified that in the heat of the moment she had forgotten all about his injury. “Forgive me. Did I hurt you?”
His eyes gleamed with dark amusement. He brushed her cheek with the back of his hand. “My injury is the very last thing on my mind tonight.”
He walked her back to her stateroom and said good night at the door.
In the morning the Northern Star docked in New York. Benedict escorted her off the ship. A short time later he disappeared into a cab—and from her life. He never even bothered to send so much as a telegram from California.