She nodded, more in reflex than in truth. She was terrified, fear curdling in her stomach, making her want to retch. “Who, Del? Who wants me—?”
“We’ll find out,” he interrupted her quickly. “Brent, would you please ask Captain O’Mally to come to our stateroom?”
Brent Hammond nodded, and watched Delaney lift his wife into his arms and stride away with her. He stared thoughtfully after the couple, then tossed his cheroot over the side, into the still dark water.
Delaney felt Chauncey clinging to his neck as if he were her lifeline. Jesus, he thought, what if Brent hadn’t come along in time? He felt his muscles tensing and realized his forehead was covered with a fine sheen of perspiration. He tried to remember every detail now about her nightmare. He hadn’t really believed it, not then. He realized that he really didn’t know all that much about Chauncey and her past in England. Whoever wanted her dead came from her past. An attempted rape? He didn’t think so.
He set her down in their stateroom. A steward had lit the lamps, and for the first time he could see her face clearly. She was utterly without color, her eyes dazed, the pupils dilated. An ugly bruise was darkening on her jaw. He could see her swallowing convulsively, and quickly led her to the basin atop the commode. He peeled off her mantle and held her shoulders while she retched up the little dinner she had eaten. He left her a moment to pour her a shot of whiskey, and she sank to the carpet, her beautiful silk gown now wrinkled and soiled, spread around her.
He dropped to his knees in front of her. “Here, Chauncey, drink this.”
She took a cautious sip of the whiskey and fell into a paroxysm of coughing as the fiery liquid burned to her stomach.
“A bit more. That’s good, sweetheart.”
He laid her on the bed and fetched a damp cloth and placed it on her forehead. “Lie still a moment, love.” He gently ran his fingers over her jaw. Nothing broken, thank God. He saw her eyes lose their wild, frantic look, and felt himself ease a bit. “Better?” he asked softly.
“Yes,” she whispered. “I’m sorry I made such a fool—”
“Hush, love.” He lifted her limp hand and kissed her fingers. “You scared the hell out of me. Listen to me, we’ll find him, I promise you.”
There was a sharp rap on the stateroom door, and Delaney raised his head. “Come in,” he called.
Captain O’Mally, looking utterly bewildered, came into the stateroom. “What’s going on, Del? Hammond said something about rape and murder and—”
Delaney squeezed Chauncey’s hand and rose, interrupting the captain sharply. “Sit down, Rufus. We’ve got a problem.”
Get a hold on yourself, you weak fool, Chauncey chided herself as she listened to her husband speak calmly and precisely. She sat up, swaying just a bit, and planted her feet on the carpet.
“Can you tell the captain exactly what happened now, Chauncey?” Delaney asked, moving to stand beside her, his hand resting on her shoulder.
She did, drawing strength as she spoke. She realized vaguely that her husband was gently kneading her shoulder as she spoke, comforting her. “I never saw his face,” she concluded after a woeful few moments, knowing her story would be of no help in locating the man. “You know, though,” she added, “his accent was odd, blurred.”
Delaney looked at her sharply. “What do you mean?”
She tried to find the right words but couldn’t. She shrugged, quivering slightly with remembered shock.
Rufus O’Mally fretted with his captain’s hat. He wanted to curse, but couldn’t, of course, not in front of a lady. “I don’t understand this,” he said finally. “Who on earth would want to harm you, ma’am? Well, no matter now, we’re wasting time! I’ll
get my men together and make a search, but . . .” He shrugged, knowing the odds. His eyes met Delaney’s. It would be useless, both of them knew that. “Do you want to come, Del?”
Delaney felt Chauncey’s fingers clutch about his wrist. “No, I didn’t see the fellow. Brent Hammond is our best bet, I think.”
“Very well. I’ll come back as soon as I can.” Rufus turned to Chauncey. “I’m really sorry, ma’am. Most distressing. I can’t believe that . . . well, enough of my nattering! I’ll be off now.”
Delaney said nothing until the door closed on the captain. He slowly drew Chauncey into his arms. He felt her heaving breasts against his chest, felt her fingers gripping his shoulders. “Let’s get you out of those clothes and into bed,” he said, his voice somewhat shaky. Damn you for a rutting pig, he cursed himself silently. He rose, turning away from her for a moment to regain his control.
Chauncey was blessedly numb. She felt him unfastening the long row of buttons on her gown and obeyed him silently when he told her to turn around. She still wore no corset, and was soon standing before him clothed in only her lace-edged linen shift.
“Into bed now, love,” he said, giving her a gentle shove.
She raised bewildered eyes to his expressionless face. “But my nightgown,” she protested.
“Yes,” he said, nearly choking. He walked like a mechanical man to the built-in armoire and fetched her the most modest gown he could find. When he turned around, she was standing still as a statue where he had left her, watching him.
The last thing she needs is a horny idiot gaping at her, he thought, trying not to look at her soft breasts thrusting against the material of her shift. To his utter surprise, Chauncey grasped her shift and lifted it over her head. He froze.
She raised her head and looked into his blazing eyes. “Please, Del, help me,” she whispered. She felt his eyes roving hungrily over her naked body. “Please, don’t leave me.”