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Authors: Amanda Quick

Tags: #Romance, #Historical, #Mystery

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BOOK: Otherwise Engaged
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“On the other hand,” Benedict said evenly, “a host of eccentricities and extremely odd behaviors can be overlooked.”

“Well, there is no doubt but that what some might call madness has been passed off as merely eccentric behavior,” she said. “A tendency toward cold-blooded murder, however, can hardly be labeled an eccentricity.”

“Such a tendency cannot be called insanity, either.”

“What would you call it?”

“Evil.”

Memories of her brief moments in the carriage with the human predator swept through Amity’s mind. She was aware of a tightness in her chest. She reminded herself to breathe. Instinctively she touched the tessen. She could take care of herself. Damn it, she
had
taken care of herself. She was safe now.

Except that the monster was still out there in the shadows.

“Yes,” she whispered. “Whatever the doctors might say about the state of his mental faculties, there is no doubt but that at his core the Bridegroom is evil.”

“The bastard will go on killing until he is stopped. It is the nature of the beast.” Benedict paused, frowning. “Is your sister trying to signal us, by any chance?”

Amity glanced around and saw that Humphrey Nash had joined the small group of women that included Penny. At that moment Penny caught her eye and tipped her chin ever so slightly.

Amity took a deep breath and braced herself.

“Yes,” she said. “I do believe Penny is trying to gain our attention.”

“Nash is with her.”

“So he is.”

Humphrey followed Penny’s gaze and smiled his charming smile when he saw Amity. She summoned up a polite smile in return.

“I think Nash is angling for an introduction to you,” Benedict said.

“There is no need for that,” Amity said. “Mr. Nash and I are already acquainted.”

Benedict looked as if he had more to say on the subject but he held his tongue. Taking a firm, proprietary grip on her arm, he escorted her across the room. When they reached the small group, Penny manipulated the niceties with her customary grace.

“There you are, Amity,” Penny said. She blinked. “What on earth happened to your hat?”

“My hat?” Amity reached up to touch the clever little cap. “It’s still there.”

“It has come unfastened. Never mind, we’ll deal with it later.” Penny reached up and plucked the cap from Amity’s hair. “I believe you know Mr. Nash?”

“We’ve met,” Amity said. She was proud of the cool manner in which the words came out of her mouth. Benedict’s hand tightened on her arm as if he was prepared to pull her out of Humphrey’s reach should it become necessary to do so.

“Amity, what a pleasure to see you again,” Humphrey said. His eyes warmed. “What has it been? Six years?”

“Time flies, doesn’t it?” Amity said. She gave him a serene smile. “Are you acquainted with my fiancé, Mr. Stanbridge?”

“I’m afraid not.” Some of the warmth evaporated from Humphrey’s eyes. He gave Benedict a short, assessing look. “Stanbridge.”

“Nash,” Benedict said.

Humphrey immediately switched his attention back to Amity. “I have enjoyed your occasional pieces in the
Flying Intelligencer
.”

“Thank you,” she said. “I must say, your photographs are quite brilliant, as always.”

“I am delighted to know that you approve of them, especially since you have actually visited some of the locations and subjects that I have photographed,” Humphrey said. “You are in an excellent position to judge the quality of the images.”

“They are spectacular,” she said. It was the truth, she thought. “You have a talent for capturing the particular essence of each scene—the beauty of a desert setting, the artistic elements of a temple, the glory of the view from a mountaintop. Indeed, sir, your work goes far beyond a mere recording of images. You are an artist with your camera.”

“Thank you,” Humphrey said. “I would very much enjoy discussing some of our mutual observations. Perhaps I might call on you sometime in the near future?”

“Sorry to interrupt,” Benedict said. He took out his pocket watch and flipped open the gold lid. “But I do believe it’s time for us to take our leave, Amity. We have another appointment this evening.”

Amity glanced at him, frowning. “What appointment is that, sir?”

“Perhaps I neglected to mention it earlier,” he said smoothly. “It is with an aging uncle. I want you to meet him. I will give you the details when we are in the carriage. Mrs. Marsden, are you ready to leave?”

“Yes, of course,” Penny said. She looked amused.

Benedict took Amity’s arm and paused long enough to give Humphrey one last look. “Interesting photographs, Nash. What type of camera do you use?”

“The latest model Presswood,” Humphrey said shortly. “It was
especially modified by the manufacturer to suit my requirements. Are you a photographer, sir?”

“The subject holds some interest for me,” Benedict said. He turned to Amity and Penny. “If you ladies are ready?”

“Certainly,” Penny said.

Amity inclined her head toward Humphrey. “Good evening, sir.”

“Good evening,” Humphrey said. Once again his eyes heated a little.

Benedict escorted Amity and Penny away before anyone could say anything else. Amity was quite sure that Penny was struggling to suppress a smile, but she was too annoyed at Benedict to ask her sister what she found so humorous.

When they reached the entrance of the hall, Amity and Penny collected their cloaks. The three of them went out onto the front steps. There was a slight chill in the summer night but at least it was not raining, Amity thought.

Benedict spoke briefly to the porter, who sent a runner to summon the carriage.

There was a short pause while they waited for the vehicle. Amity looked at Benedict. In the glary light of the gaslight his face was shadowed in a grim chiaroscuro.

“Do not, for one minute, try to tell me that you think Mr. Nash might be the killer,” she said.

“He’s a professional photographer,” Benedict said.

“Trust me, I would know if Mr. Nash was the one who kidnapped me,” Amity said crisply.

“My sister is correct,” Penny said in low tones. “She would have recognized Mr. Nash as the killer if he were the man who tried to abduct her.”

Benedict contemplated Amity with an unreadable expression. “You know Nash well, then?”

“We encountered each other here in London when I was nineteen,” Amity said briskly. “But shortly afterward he set out to photograph the monuments of Egypt. I have not met up with him in the past six years. For all that our careers take both of us around the world we never seem to be in the same location at the same time.”

“That is no longer the case, is it?” Benedict said. “By some astonishing coincidence you both happen to be here in London at the moment.”

She glared at him. “What on earth do you mean?”

“Nash sought you out in the crowd tonight because he wants something from you.”

“Yes, I know. You heard him. He wants to discuss our mutual observations on the places we have traveled.”

“No,” Benedict said. “That is an excuse, I’m sure of it.”

Penny smiled coolly. “Do you two think that you might continue this charming conversation at some other time? Perhaps when you are alone? While I will admit that it is entertaining on some level, it is one of those discussions best conducted in private.”

Amity suppressed a sigh. “Good heavens, Mr. Stanbridge and I were arguing over an utterly insignificant matter. I do apologize, Penny.”

“And so do I,” Benedict said. “Not like we haven’t got more important things to deal with.”

“I agree,” Penny said. “Ah, here comes the carriage.”

“About time,” Benedict said. “We are going to be late as it is. The traffic is rather heavy tonight.”

Amity raised her brows. “You mean we actually do have an appointment? You didn’t invent it as an excuse for leaving early?”

“A short time ago I received a message from my uncle,” Benedict said. “He wants to interview both of us this evening.”

“Us?” A flicker of excitement flashed through Amity. “Does that mean you intend for both Penny and me to accompany you?”

“No, only you need go with me. We shall take Penny home first.”

“But why does your uncle wish to see me?” Amity asked.

“I don’t know yet but I suspect that he wants to interview you in depth concerning our experiences on St. Clare and on board the
Northern Star
. I confess that my own memories of the first few days of the voyage to New York are rather hazy. In addition, I was confined to my cabin for some time. Even if you are not aware of it, you may have information to give him about events that I don’t possess.”

“I see,” Amity said. “I imagine he is trying to identify the person who shot you.”

“He very much wishes to learn the identity of the Russian spy who murdered Alden Cork on St. Clare. I wouldn’t mind meeting up with that particular agent myself.”

“I doubt if I can assist your uncle but I will certainly do my best,” Amity said.

“Excellent,” Benedict said. He looked at Penny. “We will take you home, Mrs. Marsden. Then Amity and I will continue on to my uncle’s house.”

“Very well,” Penny said. “But I trust that neither of you will continue to quarrel about the nature of Mr. Nash’s intentions.”

Amity smiled what she hoped was an airy, unconcerned smile. “There will be no further arguing about that little matter because there is nothing to argue about.”

“Nash wants something,” Benedict said. “Mark my words.”

Penny sighed. “I fear it will be a long trip back to Exton Street.”

Astonishingly, peace reigned inside the cab until the vehicle stopped in front of Penny’s front door. Amity was surprised to see a hansom waiting in the street. She could just make out the shadowy form of the passenger. An uneasy tingle of alarm whispered through her.

“Someone is here,” she said. “I cannot imagine who would be calling at this hour of the night.”

“Neither can I,” Penny said.

Benedict already had the door open. He stepped down to the pavement. Amity was astounded to see him take a gun out from under his coat. She wanted to ask him when he had started carrying a firearm but there was no opportunity.

“I will deal with whoever is in that hansom,” he said. “Go on into the house, both of you, and lock the door.”

“Benedict, please do not confront whoever is in that cab on your own. There is supposed to be a constable keeping watch tonight. Let him handle this.”

“The house,” Benedict repeated. “I would take it as a great favor if you would move with some speed, Amity.”

“He’s right,” Penny announced.

She led the way out of the carriage and started up the steps. Amity followed but she reached beneath her cloak and unhooked the tessen from the chatelaine.

All three of them watched in astonishment as a man emerged from the cab of the hansom and descended to the pavement.

“Inspector Logan,” Penny said. She smiled, her relief plain. “How nice to see you again.”

“Good evening, Mrs. Marsden.” Logan nodded at Amity. “Miss
Doncaster.” He glanced at the gun in Benedict’s hand. “You won’t be needing that tonight, Mr. Stanbridge. Constable Wiggins is standing guard in the park across the street.”

“What the devil are you doing here at this hour?” Benedict made the gun disappear inside his coat. “Have you some news?”

Logan reached inside his own coat and withdrew an envelope. “What I have is the guest list for the Channing ball.” He smiled at Penny. “You were right, Mrs. Marsden. I was able to obtain it from the reporter at the
Flying Intelligencer
who covers the social news. He was a veritable font of information. I shall keep that in mind for future investigations.”

In the lamplight Amity could not be certain but she thought Penny actually blushed.

“I’m glad I could be of service, Inspector,” Penny said. “Won’t you come inside? We can go over it together tonight. My sister and Mr. Stanbridge have another appointment this evening. Isn’t that right, Amity?”

Amity hastily collected herself. “Yes, indeed.” She smiled at Inspector Logan. “I am to be introduced to one of Mr. Stanbridge’s elderly relations.”

“Uncle Cornelius keeps odd hours,” Benedict added.

“I will see you later, then, Amity,” Penny said.

She went up the steps and took out her key. Logan followed her into the dimly lit front hall. The door closed.

Amity looked at Benedict. “Since when do inspectors from Scotland Yard call on witnesses at ten o’clock in the evening?”

Benedict contemplated the closed front door. “I have no idea.”

Eleven

D
o you suppose Penny and Inspector Logan will find some suspects on that guest list?” Amity asked.

Benedict assisted her into the carriage. He liked the feel of her delicate, elegantly gloved fingers resting trustfully in his hand, he realized.

“There is no knowing the answer to that question yet,” he said. “As Logan pointed out, that list is merely a starting point. The sooner we conclude this visit to my uncle, the sooner we can come back here and see what your sister and Logan have discovered.”

Amity stepped quickly into the shadowed interior. When she twitched the cloak and the green skirts of her gown out of the way, he caught a glimpse of her dainty high-heeled boots. The prospect of being alone with her in the intimate confines of the carriage heated his blood.

With an effort he suppressed the stirring hunger and spoke to the driver.

“Ashwick Square, please.”

“Aye, sir.”

Benedict climbed up into the cab, sat down across from Amity and pulled the door closed. The lamps were turned down low. The soft light gleamed on Amity’s hair and created inviting shadows. He wondered if she knew how tantalizing she looked sitting there in the warm darkness. It was, he reflected, extremely unfortunate that they were on the way to Ashwick Square and what would no doubt be a lengthy interview. He would have preferred some other destination tonight—any other destination—provided it would give him some privacy with Amity. Also a bed, he thought. A bed would certainly be nice.

It had been far too long since that kiss on board the
Northern Star
. The memory of the embrace had sustained him for the past few weeks. But now that he was with her again memories were no longer sufficient to quell the urgent, reckless need that she aroused in him.

“Did you miss me these past weeks, Amity?” he asked.

Because he had to know, he thought. He had to know that their time together had been important to her, not just a passing flirtation. He realized that everything inside him had gone still waiting for the answer.

She looked at him, flustered. He knew he had caught her off guard.

“I was naturally concerned about your well-being,” she said.

“I missed you.”

She stared at him. In the shadows it was impossible to read her expression.

“Did you?” she asked.

Her voice was as unreadable as her eyes.

“While I was away from you I frequently thought about our time
together on the ship,” he said. “I enjoyed it very much.” He paused. “Well, perhaps not those first few days when I was recovering from a gunshot wound. But aside from that—”

“I found our time together quite pleasant, as well,” she said quickly. “After I was assured that your wound would not become infected, of course.”

“I recovered from my wound because of you. I will never forget that.”

She clasped her gloved hands together very tightly and gave him a sharp, decidedly cross look.

“I do wish you would stop saying that,” she said. “Really, sir, things are bad enough as they are. If it’s all the same to you, I would prefer that you don’t add your sense of gratitude to the list of things I have to worry about. I’ve got enough on my plate as it is.”

Her flash of anger stunned him.

“You fault me for feeling grateful?” he asked.

“Yes. No. Oh, never mind.” She unlinked her fingers and waved the entire matter aside with a single, sweeping motion of one hand. “There is no point trying to explain things. At the moment we are caught up together in this tangle and we must contrive to get through it.” She sighed. “We do seem to be making a habit of jumping from one complicated situation to another, don’t we?”

“Yes.”

She cleared her throat. “I do apologize for sticking you with this temporary engagement of ours. It was quite generous of you to suggest it, to say nothing of your determination to protect me from the Bridegroom. If you feel that you owe me anything at all for my assistance on St. Clare—which you don’t, I hasten to add—then rest assured you have repaid the debt. Assuming there was a debt. Which there was not.”

Anger slammed through him. A chill gripped his insides. He leaned forward and flattened both hands on the seat cushion behind her head, caging her.

“Let me make one thing very clear,” he said. “I do not want your gratitude, just as you aren’t keen on mine.”

There was a short, startled silence. But she made no move to escape him. Instead, she watched him closely for a moment and then she gave him a misty smile.

“I suppose we had better cease thanking each other for past and current favors or we shall both grow increasingly irritable and out of sorts,” she said. “That would not be helpful for our investigation. Strong emotions always cloud one’s thinking.”

He suddenly felt warm again.

“We are agreed, on that one point,” he said. “There will be no more expressions of gratitude. But I’m not so sure that I can promise not to experience some strong emotions when it comes to you. Every time I remember that kiss the last night on board, for example, I am unable to focus on anything else.”

“Benedict,” she whispered. She sounded breathless.

“Please tell me that you remember it, too.”

Her lips parted. For a moment she appeared bereft of speech. But he was not surprised when she recovered with relative speed. This was Amity, after all. She was never at a loss for words for long.

“I think of it often,” she assured him. “But I was not certain that you would also contemplate it from time to time.”

“I have relived that kiss every day and every night for the past month and a half. And every time I recall it, I want nothing more than to repeat the experience.”

Her eyes were as warm and sultry as the tropical nights in the Caribbean. She did not move.

“I have absolutely no objection to a second kiss,” she said.

“I cannot tell you how I have longed to hear you say that.”

With his hands still planted on either side of her head he leaned forward and brushed his mouth across hers. She parted her lips a little.

“Benedict,” she whispered.

He took his hands away from the seat cushion and shifted to sit beside her. Very deliberately he pulled her into his arms.

She came to him with a tiny, half-stifled gasp and a sweet enthusiasm that was more than gratifying—it reassured him as no words could have done. Her heated response made it clear that she had not forgotten the passion that had flared between them that last night.

“I was so worried about you these past weeks,” she said against his mouth.

He groaned. “As it turns out, I am the one who had cause to worry. All that time away from you I told myself that at least you were safe here in London. Little did I know.”

He took her mouth, savoring the warmth and softness he found there. She was shivering ever so slightly. He knew it was not because she was cold. An answering shudder of need swept through him. The world and the night narrowed until all that mattered was what was happening in the intimate sphere of reality that existed inside the carriage. But he was also aware that his time with Amity tonight was limited. They would arrive at their destination too soon.

“I wish we were back on the
Northern Star
,” he said against her throat. “I would give anything to have the entire night with you.”

“I dearly miss the freedom I know when I travel abroad,” she said. She speared her fingers through his hair. “I vow, London is worse than any corset. It constricts and binds and confines until it is difficult to breathe.”

“You were meant to be out in the world, not trapped in the prison that is London Society.”

“Yes,” she said. She sounded pleased that he understood. “I am, indeed, a woman of the world. I cannot live my life by Society’s rules.”

He breathed in her unique, intoxicating scent and then took her earlobe gently between his teeth. She gripped his shoulders and kissed his throat. The low-burning fire that had been smoldering inside him for weeks flashed into flames.

He took her mouth again, savoring the taste of her, and slipped one hand inside her cloak. He wrapped his fingers around her sleek rib cage and edged upward, seeking the soft weight of her breast. But all he could feel was the rigid armor of the stays that shaped the bodice of her gown.

“Damnation,” he muttered. “You did not wear clothes like this when you were on board the ship.”

“Of course not.” She laughed and pressed her face against his shoulder. “When I travel I wear practical gowns. However, my sister’s dressmaker insisted on the stays in this dress.”

“She may as well have appointed herself your invisible chaperone.”

“Dressmakers can be astonishingly tyrannical, especially those who are known for being fashionable. They have reputations to uphold and Penny tells me one defies them at one’s peril.”

“I admit a man’s tailor can be equally dictatorial.” He cupped her face in his hands. “I do not think that either of us was intended to live by Society’s rules.”

The sweet laughter faded from her eyes.

“Nevertheless, we seem to be bound by them,” she said. “It is because of those rules that you find yourself engaged to me.”

He smiled slowly. “The thing about rules is that they are made to be broken. And very often they even provide a means to do just that.”

“You are starting to sound like an engineer again.”

“It strikes me that the very rule that has made it necessary for us to announce our engagement is the same one that allows us certain liberties that we would not otherwise enjoy—at least not without paying a price.”

She started to smile again. “For example?”

“For example, you could not be alone with me in this carriage without enduring severe damage to your reputation if it were not for the fact that we are engaged to be married.”

“Ah, yes, I understand.”

In the shadowy light she had the look of a woman capable of casting a spell on a man. He touched the corner of her mouth with his thumb.

“I think that you have put one on me,” he said. The words sounded hoarse.

“Put what on you?”

He traced the outline of her lips with the pad of his thumb. “An enchantment, a spell.”

Amusement gleamed in her eyes. “You are a man of the modern age, Mr. Stanbridge, an engineer. I’m sure you are well aware that there is no such thing as magic. All can be explained with science and mathematics.”

“Before I met you I would have agreed with that statement. But no longer.”

He kissed her again before she could say anything else. The swaying of the carriage caused her to lean more heavily into him. Desire fired his senses. He let the flames burn until he could think of nothing else except the need to claim Amity in the most elemental way.

He had just found the first concealed hook at the front of her gown when the cab rattled to a halt. Reality reasserted itself with electrifying force. He eased aside the nearest curtain and stifled a groan.

“It appears we have arrived,” he said. Far too soon, he thought.

“Good heavens.” Amity straightened away from him as if scorched by his touch. “Whatever were we thinking? We are on very important business tonight. We should not have allowed ourselves to be distracted.”

He watched, bemused, as she attempted to put herself to rights. She looked adorable, he thought. Her clothing was delightfully tousled and a few tendrils of hair had slipped free of the pins. There was an enticing fullness about her just-kissed lips. He liked the look, he concluded. But most of all he liked knowing that he was the man who had put that expression on her face.

“How is my hair?” she asked. She raised one hand and found the stray locks. Hastily she attempted to re-anchor them. “Oh, dear, what will your uncle think?”

“Knowing Uncle Cornelius, he is unlikely to take any notice of the state of your hair. He is concerned only with the matter of finding the Russian spy.”

Benedict opened the door to reveal a street that was rapidly filling with fog. The lamps at the front door of Cornelius’s small town house glared in the mist, but they did little to illuminate the surroundings.

He got out of the cab and turned to assist Amity. She took his hand, collected her skirts, and allowed him to help her down from the carriage. She pulled up the hood of her cloak and surveyed the unlit windows. “It does not appear that there is anyone at home.”

“Cornelius lives alone except for his old butler, Palmer,” Benedict
explained. “My uncle never married. As I said, he is completely dedicated to his work for the Crown.”

“You told me that he is elderly. Perhaps he fell asleep.”

“I doubt it. He sleeps very little and even less since this affair of the solar weapon began. In any event, he is expecting us. If he has nodded off, he will not mind if we awaken him. In fact, he will be annoyed if we leave without speaking to him.”

The fog muffled the quiet neighborhood that had long ago settled down for the night. An uneasy sensation feathered the back of Benedict’s neck. He looked around, searching the mist to make certain that there was no one else about. There were no mysterious footfalls in the shadows. An eerie silence gripped the scene. Nevertheless—or perhaps for that very reason—he reached inside his coat and took out the revolver.

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