Midnight Star (Star Quartet 2)

Chauncey drew a relieved breath as she made her way to their stateroom to fetch her velvet mantle. A few minutes later, she was walking past the gaming salon. She heard the laughter, and snatches of gay conversation. She walked forward, relieved that the one remaining couple on deck was leaving. She was alone with her thoughts at last. What thoughts? she asked herself facetiously. The night was beautiful, she thought vaguely, leaning her head back to gaze up at the quarter-moon and the array of bright stars overhead. She could see little of the shore, just the black outline of trees and hills. Not a soul out there, she thought, just savage, uncivilized land.

She leaned her elbows on the brass railing and stared down at the rippling dark water of the Sacramento River. She wondered what kinds of fish were below the murky surface.

I am changing, she thought, finally admitting it to herself. I am losing my purpose, succumbing to a man who is responsible for my father’s death. Her hands gripped the railing until her knuckles showed white. But it was the beautiful wedding ring that caught her attention. She closed her eyes a moment, trying to recapture the awful pain and bitterness she had nourished for the past long months. “I cannot falter,” she said softly, the words merely forming silently on her lips. “I must be strong, I must . . .”

The vow died in her mind. A strong arm closed about her waist, a hand clamped hard on her mouth. For an instant she was too startled to struggle.

“Sorry, ma’am,” she heard a guttural voice growl in her ear. She felt herself being lifted. Dear God, no! her mind screamed. He’s going to throw me overboard!

She twisted frantically, jerking her elbow back into the man’s stomach. He grunted in pain but did not release her. She bit down on the hand, and screamed, a high, thin sound escaping. His hand fisted and slammed hard into her jaw. She saw dancing lights before her eyes, and felt a searing pain. But still she fought frantically, tangling both of them in her swirling heavy mantle. He was cursing her, drawing her upward to the railing. I am not strong enough. I am going to die, drown!

She felt the man’s hand close over her breast and pause a moment. He squeezed, but her mind was too clogged with terror to feel any pain. His breathing was harsh now and she wondered wildly if it was from his lust or her struggles.

She heard a shout and the clomp of running boots. Oh God, help me! she screamed silently. The man gave a mighty heave, but Chauncey’s mantle caught between his legs. She heard him cursing, felt the instant he realized that someone was coming. He pushed her violently into the railing, clouting her back with his fists.

“What’s going on here? Hey, stop!”

Suddenly he let her go, and Chauncey sank to her knees on the smooth deck, gasping for breath.

“Mrs. Saxton! Good God, ma’am. Wh-who is that fellow?”

It was Brent Hammond, now crouched down next to her, his hands clasped strongly about her shoulders.

“I’m all right,” she managed, her body shuddering. She raised her white face to his. “He tried to kill me.”

Brent cursed softly and fluently. “Come, ma’am. He’s gone now.” He hoisted her up into his arms.

“Del,” she whispered. “Please, my husband . . .”

“What the hell!”

Delaney halted in his tracks, stunned at the sight of Chauncey in Brent Hammond’s arms.

“Your wife, Saxton,” Brent Hammond said calmly. “She’s all right, thank God.”

Chauncey turned wild eyes to her husband’s set face and felt a flood of sheer relief surge through her body. She struggled free of Brent Hammond’s arms and he set her on her feet. “Del,” she cried, and stumbled toward him.

Delaney enfolded her against his chest, his hands automatically stroking down her back, soothing her. He looked up and met Brent’s dark eyes. “What happened?” he asked quietly.

“It appears that someone—a man—tried to throw your wife overboard.” He lowered his voice, adding, “Perhaps it was an attempted rape.”

Chauncey felt her husband’s arms tighten almost painfully about her back. “It’s all right, sweetheart,” he said. “I’m here now. It’s all right.”

His calmly spoken words brought reality to the nightmare, and memory. She raised her pale face. “Was it the same man who tried to kill me in England?”

His pause was almost imperceptible, but she felt it and didn’t understand it. “I don’t know, Chauncey. Brent, did you see his face?”

Brent lit a cheroot, blowing out the smoke before replying. His smooth brow furrowed in thought. “He was dressed roughly, a wool cap pulled down over his forehead. When he heard me coming, he ran toward the steerage stairs.”

Chauncey’s fingers clutched and fretted with the lapels on Delaney’s frock coat. “I didn’t see him, Del. He was behind me, and I didn’t recognize his voice.”

“What did he say, love? Do you remember?”

“Something like ‘I’m sorry.’ ”

“A criminal with regrets,” Brent murmured.

“I believe we’d best speak to Rufus about this. Can you manage it, Chauncey?”