Mombasa, British East Africa
April 13, 1896
The voyage was almost over and the steamship would be docking soon. It had required three weeks for the trip from London to Africa. The weather had remained clear and calm, preventing any rough seas or more delays, and Leigh was glad. It was three-thirty, but it did not get dark until after eight in this area astride the Equator. Passengers were in their cabins or staterooms, grooming themselves to leave the ship and preparing to watch the sights as they neared shore.
The ship had steamed down the English Channel into the Atlantic Ocean to skirt France, Spain, and Portugal. It had passed through the Strait of Gibraltar between Morocco and a British colony on the Rock, a wondrous sight, reaching to a height of thirteen hundred and eighty feet. The peninsula had been owned by the British since the eighteenth century and was a symbol of British naval strength.
They had sailed through the beautiful and tranquil Mediterranean Sea that separated Europe from Africa. They had neared Egypt and the Suez Canal, which crossed the Isthmus of Suez, connecting the Mediterranean to the Red Sea. In 1888, the canal had been opened to all ships and nations in wartime or peace, and no acts of hostility were allowed in its waters, though it was considered to be still hazardous.
Leigh had stayed on deck during the time it required to pass through the area. She had heard how many ships had failed to make this crossing, but plans were being made to widen and deepen it even more. As it was so important to international trade, she knew everyone would be delighted when that was done. As for their voyage, the canal had saved them four thousand miles over the cape route.
They had entered the calm Red Sea to reach the Gulf of Aden. At Cape Asir, they had sailed southward in the Indian Ocean along the African coast. Before nightfall, they would dock at Mombasa.
Mombasa, her mind echoed in anticipation. It was one of the oldest cities in Africa. By the ninth century, ships filled with silks, spices, carpets, porcelain, and other luxurious goods sailed on the northeast winds from India and Arabia to this area during the winter to spring season. From spring to winter, opposing, favorable southwest winds carried ships from Mombasa to transport ivory, skins and hides, rhino horns, slaves, oilseeds, kanga and kikoi cloth, mangrove poles, coral, tortoise and cowry shells, ambergris, and wild coffee. The territory had reached its golden age as a center of coastal commerce during the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries, and was still dominated by that activity.
As she completed her grooming and packing, Leigh reflected on what she had been told about British East Africa, particularly Mombasa. The traders had come first, the Arabs and Chinese and others with their caravans—seeking the wealth of ivory, animal hides, and slaves. By the fourteen hundreds, Mombasa was a substantial town with a premier position on the coastline, along which was a chain of Omani Arab trading posts, ruled by the Sultan of Zanzibar. Mombasa was a prosperous city that many nations craved but Britain now ruled.
The area had changed hands many times over the centuries. The Portuguese had sacked and claimed Mombasa in 1505, and dominated the coast and trade route to India for many years. But the Oma-nis had wanted East Africa, and the two opponents had battled time and time again for its possession. Then, the Dutch, Persians, Belgians, Italians, Germans, French, and British had moved in, and the greedy scramble for portions had begun in 1879. In ‘84, the “Dark Continent” had been divided into “spheres of influence” at a Berlin conference, to which no Africans were invited.
The missionaries had arrived next to “Christianize and civilize” the natives. Many battles had resulted in the struggle for religious supremacy. Many of them had been—and so remained—financed by the Church Missionary Society of London. One such battle in Uganda had culminated in that area being claimed as a British protectorate, and later the area she was to visit.
Other battles had come about as the results of political and racial differences, such as the Zulu war in ‘79 and the Jameson Raid against the Dutch Boers last year. Her studies had taught Leigh that Africa could indeed be a dangerous place.
During the voyage, she had listened to many conversations. Most passengers—who were heading for Rhodesia—viewed Africa as an exotic paradise, with its tropical climate, abundance of big game, splendid landscape, and a large supply of cheap native labor. Others claimed it was a harsh, unpredictable, and perilous land that could devastate any reckless man and could drain the very life from him. Leigh had decided she would draw her own conclusions after she visited East Africa—one day to be renamed Kenya—and completed her safari.
Leigh smiled, thinking how pleasant the trip had been so far. Louisa Jennings and Cynthia Campbell had been on their very best behavior, and Chad had cooled his excessive ardor toward her. Even Reid had been friendlier and fun to be around. There had been dances, and dinners, parties and teas, interesting conversations, and lessons in skeet shooting to absorb her time and energy. She had enjoyed that sport, as it had allowed her to practice for the safari.
The ship’s horn blasted in the quiet air, alerting the few departing passengers they were near port. Quickly Leigh fastened her last case, locked her door, and hurried to the deck to view the sights.
Leigh was wearing a pale blue day dress and carrying a parasol to shield her eyes from the bright tropical sun. She sighted Chad and the others at the railing and went to join them. “It’s so exciting,” she said to him, as he turned to smile at her.
“We finally made it. I can’t wait to get into that jungle.”
“Me, too,” murmured Louisa and possessively took his arm.
There was a sparkling glare from the water’s surface, and the air was hot as it blew into Leigh’s face. She raised her parasol to shade her squinted eyes. Despite the ocean breeze and the thin material of her dress, she felt beads of moisture forming on her face and body. She had never been in the tropics before, but she had been told the coastal temperatures were warm all year. The coolest season in this equatorial area was in July, about eighty degrees. The warmest month was March, when it reached nearly ninety. But the nights were supposed to be pleasant, dipping only into the sixties. Of course, rain showers were frequent from April to September.
The steamship sailed past stretches of wheat-colored sand that drifted into prolific undergrowth of succulents and mangrove. The coral coast with its idyllic reef lagoons and sylvan beaches beckoned to Leigh. The cautious vessel sailed into the narrow channel toward the small island where they would drop anchor. From there, they would be transported into Mombasa. The British flag could not fly over this landing area, because it was the property of Simba—the Sultan of Zanzibar—and Britain paid him fees to use it.
Chad pointed out a variety of boats that were preparing to meet them and vie for their business. “Look …” he gestured to Fort Jesus, a symbol of past domination during the time the Portuguese had tried to destroy the Arab grip over trade here.
Leigh’s eyes returned to her destination. She gazed at the emerald setting that was outlined against an azure sky, and beyond the blue ocean. Her pulse raced with suspense. She saw mango trees and coconut palms, almost dazzlingly white flat-topped homes, coral block structures with red or white roofs, Arab dhows with billowy sails, and Moslem mosques that told a history of trade and intwined cultures.
“We’ll go ashore first,” Chad announced, “then our possessions will be unloaded and sent to the hotel. I’ve paid a man to take care of that task for us. Come along, ladies. Let’s find carriages and take a better look at this town.”
Chad selected the Arab dhows to give them an entertaining boat ride. When their group reached the landing steps, individual rickshaws were rented to carry them from the island into town to their hotel. They crossed a wooden bridge and traveled down a dirt street.
Leigh was amazed by how fast the men could run while pulling an occupied rickshaw. Their pace was steady and swift, as if hurrying to get in as much business in one day as possible. The runners appeared to be in excellent condition, but the day was hot and the distance was long for such a gait. As she traveled, she wondered how they held up under such a burden in this climate. Yet the ride was surprisingly smooth; it was fun, and gay laughter spilled forth. All Leigh’s senses were alert, but the unfamiliar and intriguing sights flashed by too fast to suit her. She couldn’t wait to savor them at her leisure.
The town was large, spread over a wide area. Streets went in all directions. Many were shadowed by two-and three-story buildings and homes of coral block or stucco with high-pitched makuti roofs. Huge, ornate doors—some inlaid with silver designs—sealed off the interiors from courtyards brightened by the hot sunlight. Windows had shutters to hold back the intense light and intricate grills for protection. Many homes had verandas and balconies on upper levels.
Shops were everywhere, of every description, size, and purpose. Stalls lined some streets where colorful fabrics from India, China, Arab countries, and other lands were for sale. She glanced at the costly silks and satins. At other stalls or along the street, native cloth such as kanga, bark cloth, and kikoi were on display. Within a few feet, artistically woven baskets, fresh fish, unknown foods, and other goods were offered.
Leigh noticed items made from ivory, coral, tortoise shell, cowry, gold, silver, brass, ebony, hides, and rhino horns. Merchants sat amongst sacks and piles of aromatic tea, coffee, spices, fruits, and nuts. In the rickshaw, she passed Moslem women, veiled in black chadors and the traditional bui-bui garment as they strolled the streets making their purchases. She saw people in an assortment of clothing and accessories: African tribesmen in their bright garb and fascinating jewelry, bearded Sikhs in black turbans and white kanzu robes, British in their white or khaki clothing, and others in their own country’s raiment. There were peoples of all walks of life and from all nations: Arab, Indian, Persian, African, European, Asian.
It was a crowded, busy, and enchanting sight. She inhaled odors she did not recognize, mostly from the strange foods being cooked and sold. She took in deep breaths when she passed spice sellers, and savored those delightful smells. She enjoyed the heady fragrance of tropical flowers, some being sold near the streets, and her nose told her that breads and pastries were being prepared close by. She savored the wonderful aromas.
Some areas were noisy and cluttered where men were hawking their goods and services, and people speaking several languages were haggling noisily or bartering briskly over prices. Others, where owners were content to relax and await customers, were quiet and calm. She heard laughter and snatches of conversations. The predominate language was Swahili, a mixture of Bantu and Arabic, but it also borrowed heavily from other languages, including English. Swahili was the common link between this melting pot of races.
Leigh heard the creaking of carts and the heavy fall of oxen’s hooves as goods were taken here or there at a leisurely pace. She heard the clinking of metals as brass containers were examined. She heard merchants yelling at her group to halt and inspect their wares. She heard wind whistling past her ears.
By the time they reached the hotel, it was six-thirty. Chad had selected one away from the noisy coast and bazaar area in a section of lush greenery and quiet seclusion. The rickshaws halted before the entrance, and Chad paid the runners.
“Jambo, rafikis. Karibu, bwana, bibi. Oonitwa nani?” the hotel doorman greeted them. When no one responded and Chad said they didn’t understand, he repeated in English, “Hello, friends. Welcome, sir, ladies. What is your name?”
As Chad conversed with the man and the others gazed about and chatted, a large cart arrived with their belongings.
Chad grinned and remarked to the man in charge, “You said you were prompt. A job well done, my man. I hope you were careful.”
“Plenty careful,” the man responded, grinning broadly in anticipation of a fat tip from the well-dressed Englishman.
Hotel helpers were given instructions about the luggage and crates, and they went to work moving the baggage to the appropriate rooms. The crates for the safari were to be stored in a separate room: the cleverly invented Kodak box cameras, a gramophone and records, silver, crystal, china, tablecloths, wine, special blends of tea, and other “necessities” to make their journey comfortable.
“Everyone get settled in and refreshed,” Chad told his group. “Then, we’ll meet downstairs for dinner at eight. I’m hungry as a lion.”
In her suite, Leigh paced the floor, tense from the episodes during dinner. Louisa had been in a foul mood, Chad had been too attentive to Leigh, and Reid and Cynthia had been strangely silent. Louisa’s mood had worsened when Chad had danced with his ward, then ignored the sullen redhead for most of the evening. Leigh had escaped at the first available moment, but only after teasing Chad into dancing with Louisa to calm the woman. Chad seemed surprised and annoyed that their guide, Jim Hanes, hadn’t arrived by the time their native meal ended. Leigh was eager to begin their safari, to get into the lush jungle and out of the hotel where she felt cooped up.
Leigh fretted that if Louisa’s behavior didn’t improve, Chad was going to end their relationship any moment! If he did, the Texas girl worried, Chad might aim his sights on her!
A pouring rain began. Leigh hurried to the door that opened onto a private balcony overlooking a lush garden below it. The torches were extinguished by the heavy rainfall, and smoke escaped skyward until it was obscured by the water. Heavy drops pelted loudly on the tropical plants with their large leaves, beating upon the fragrant hibiscus, bougainvillaea, and frangipani and sending delicate blossoms to the ground. Yet the breeze accompanying the heavy shower was like a caress upon Leigh’s face and body. Fireflies no longer danced with the flowers in the garden, but the distant sounds of music and birds and tree frogs drifted to her ears. It was dark, because the silvery moon was hidden behind clouds. She leaned against the door jamb and closed her eyes as she inhaled the scents and listened to the sounds of nature.
Leigh’s dreamy mind floated toward another topic and affixed itself there: the mysterious stranger in London. She had thought of him constantly during the voyage and she chided herself for scheming how to locate and ensnare him, and for avidly searching every face and deck of the ship with the hope he was aboard. He hadn’t been, and he could be anywhere in England by now, could be anywhere in the world. Yet the thought of never seeing him again brought on intense feelings of loneliness and anguish.
How, she questioned herself, could she feel so strongly about a man she barely knew? She had not seen him in a month, exactly a month today, yet, she could picture him as clearly as if he were standing before her this moment: that windblown brown hair, those secretive green eyes, that bronzed face, that muscular body. He kept intruding on her happiness and concentration. How could such brief encounters have had such a stunning effect on her? If only he weren’t so unforgettable, so alluring, so magnetic!
If only you knew his name, her troubled mind retorted, where he lives, what he does for a living … if you’ll see him again.
Leigh traced her fingertips over her parted lips and called to mind the kisses he had placed there, kisses that had stolen her breath and wits and caused her to behave intimately and passionately. “Who are you? Where are you?” she whispered in torment. “You can’t leave things this way between us. You can’t. And, if you’re married, I’ll kill you for tempting me and teasing me.”
One thing Leigh found amusing—or ironic—was the fact that she now viewed Louisa in a different light. Since meeting the elusive stranger, she now understood how fiery passion could consume a person and how frustrating and alarming it was to desperately desire someone you couldn’t win. And how maddening it was to be just another conquest to a man you loved, a man to whom you had given your all. Perhaps it did make a woman act impulsive, brazen, jealous, and even rude at times. Maybe she did understand Louisa—and love—a little better now.
Love? her mind echoed, and she deliberated that condition. No, Leigh reasoned, she couldn’t be in love with that emerald-eyed rogue who haunted her day and night. She did not know him well enough for that to be true. But, she admitted, her feelings were traveling in that direction. She was physically and emotionally attracted to him, yet she knew, love required far more. It also required knowing, respecting, and liking a man.
Leigh smiled as warm memories filled her head. Her mother had told her of those matters when she was only fourteen and had her taste of first love. Her mother had tried to explain the difference between infatuation, physical attraction, and real love: emotional facets Leigh had not fully understood until now. “Thank you, Mother,” she murmured.
Leigh left the doors open to listen to the rain while she tried to quell her tension and prepare for sleep. She doused the lamps and climbed into bed. “Africa,” she whispered. “You’re actually in Africa.”
The next three days passed in a blur. On Tuesday, the women were confined inside because of the heavy rains and mud. Chad and Reid sought their guide without success. Leigh spent the day reading. Dinner passed smoothly and genially, revealing that Chad and Louisa had settled their differences last night, much to Leigh’s relief.
On Wednesday, they took a ride in a dhow to a small island where they enjoyed a picnic at a beautiful lagoon. Afterward, they strolled around town to see the sights and to shop. Leigh and Chad, with Louisa’s assistance, selected and purchased many items for their client’s restaurant in London, and everyone seemed to enjoy themselves.
Thursday morning, the women were told to relax again at the hotel while Chad and Reid checked out business ventures in Mombasa. At dinner, Chad told them that their guide, Jim Hanes—who had gone inland last week—had not returned to his office yet. All they could do was wait, and have fun. But he did reveal plans for a special evening the following night: a party at Alfred Johnston’s home, and on Chad’s thirty-second birthday.
Friday morning, Leigh sneaked out to go shopping for a birthday gift for her guardian. She was not away long, and for a good reason. During the entire time, she felt as if she were being watched. It wasn’t unexpected for strangers to receive attention and stares, but the gaze she sensed was evil and intimidating. She had searched the buildings and crowds but couldn’t find anyone suspicious spying on her. Uneasy, she had returned to her suite to put away her packages and to drop her derringer inside her purse.
At two o’clock, Chad came to Leigh’s suite with an unexpected gift for her. After unwrapping it, she glanced at him and murmured, “It’s exquisite.”
“An exquisite necklace for an exquisite neck,” he replied. “It’s very old and valuable, but it belongs to you. It was part of the Webster estate, and Mother thought you should have it. I found it in the safe the day before we sailed, and I was saving it for a special moment. Wear it tonight if it matches your gown,” he coaxed.
“It will, and I shall,” she responded happily to the treasure. “I have something for you, too.” She fetched his two gifts and said, “Happy birthday, Chad,” and handed them to him.
He opened the first one and withdrew a two-foot blade. As he examined and admired it, she explained, “It’s a simi, a bush knife for rituals. I thought you could hang it in your office as a souvenir of our safari … Now open the other one,” she coaxed eagerly.
He did so, and she related, “It’s a carved statue of Ngai, the Kikuyu god who lives atop Kere-Nyaga, the tall mountain here. Isn’t the workmanship wonderful?”
“They’re both magnificent, Leigh. Thank you,” he said, and kissed her cheek. “I’ll always treasure them. They’re the best birthday gifts I’ve ever received. No, the best gifts for any occasion, because you selected them with the best motive of all: friendship.”
Leigh smiled, but tensely. Chad was standing too close, was smiling too warmly, and was gazing at her too tenderly. Yet, for once, his mood seemed genuinely affectionate and sincere. That worried her even more than his overt flirtation. “Where is Louisa?” she asked to bring him back to reality.
Chad realized he was making her jittery again, so he slowed his pace. “Taking a nap. She’s expecting a long and busy evening. Why don’t you rest, too? We’ll leave at seven.” Chad took his gifts, thanked her again, and left.
Leigh was dressed in the sapphire-and cream-gown she had worn the night she had been attacked on the London wharf. Thanks to the delay in departing, it had been repaired in time to bring with her for special occasions.
Her tawny hair was swept up on the sides and secured atop her head with the new blue aigrette. The remainder of her wavy mane flowed down her back like a golden river. She lightly dusted her lids with the blue powder Louisa had sent to her room, and smeared a thin coating of pink cream on her lips.
Leigh lifted the necklace that Chad had given to her. She had never seen her grandmother wear it, but she had been around the woman on very few important occasions. The blonde was delighted that Chad and his mother had passed it along to her, but was surprised Fiona had parted with the unusual treasure.
Leigh studied it with keen interest and admiration. On a delicate gold chain was attached an irregular-shaped piece of labradorite, an iridescent blue feldspar whose surface alluded to a dreamy underwater world. With very little imagination, one could easily pick out gently undulating algae and a sunken ship that had found its final resting place on the sandy floor of a deep blue ocean. She fastened the necklace around her neck.
When the correct time arrived, Leigh left her suite. As she descended the steps, Chad came forward to meet her. His blue gaze swept over her, then alighted briefly on the necklace.
“Does it go all right with this gown?” she asked.
“It makes me think of peaceful oceans, and sunken treasure ships, and magical sirens. You look absolutely stunning tonight. Every man in the room—single or married—will be aching for your company.”
She laughed softly. “You do wonders for a woman, Chad. Thank you, for the compliment and the keepsake.” As they hesitated at the stairs chatting, Louisa came to join them.
“Ready to go?” she hinted, watching Chad observe Leigh in a disturbing manner. “You look lovely. That necklace is beautiful.”
Leigh fingered it and said, “It belonged to my grandmother, so I inherited it when Grandfather died. It’s exquisite, is it not?”
“You’re lucky those ruffians didn’t steal it when they accosted you. Isn’t that the same gown you were wearing that night?”
Since Leigh knew that Chad had revealed the episode to his flame-haired lover, Leigh had also related her experience to Louisa during the voyage and asked her to keep her secret. “Yes, but it was repaired in time to bring it. along. As for this treasure, I wasn’t wearing it that terrible night. Chad passed it along to me only this afternoon.”
“How fortunate for you that he brought it with him. It’s perfect with the gown. And I like your eyes and lips.”
“Thank you for loaning the cosmetics to me. You’ll have to tell me where to order them when we return home.”
“Why don’t you simply borrow mine until November,” the redhead suggested, “then I’ll give you a whole supply for your twenty-first birthday. And Chad can throw a huge party for you. Won’t that be fun?”
“Sounds wonderful to me,” Chad declared. “You ladies ready?”
Both said, “Ready,” and they exchanged glances and laughter.
The estate at the edge of town was elegant and large: a white stucco, three-story mansion nearly surrounded by the lush greenery of wild Africa. There were about seventy guests: a mixture of Brit-ains, with a few Arabs, French, and Indians. All were either close friends or local business acquaintances of their host, Alfred Johnston, who had invited her group the moment he heard they were in Mombasa.
Music was being played in several rooms, and champagne and wine flowed. Treats had been placed here and there for guests to nibble on after the sumptuous dinner had been completed. Floral fragrances wafted through the mesh-covered windows that kept out mosquitoes and other insects. Everyone was dressed in his or her finest garments and the rooms were vivid with the array of colors from the ladies’ gowns and jewels. Men’s talk and pipe smoke drifted through the cleverly decorated areas, and women’s laughter floated through the air with them.
Leigh had danced many times, and sipped a little champagne. She was admiring a painting when her host asked her to join him for the next dance. She walked to the appropriate room and slipped into his arms. They chatted in a cordial manner as they moved about the room. Alfred Johnston was an interesting man whose company she enjoyed. She recalled seeing his name on a warehouse door at the wharf that terrible night. When she mentioned it, he explained about his export/import business.
As he spoke, she studied him. He appeared to be over fifty, with salt-and-pepper hair, and a lean body. His face was pleasant and darkly tanned from the tropical sun. He was around five feet ten inches tall, and a good dancer. She liked his heavy English accent, and notice how educated and intelligent he seemed. From what she had observed during the evening, he was happily married, and was well-liked and respected in the area. He was also very wealthy and good-humored.
Their conversation moved to the impending safari. He enlightened her on the jungle, wild beasts, natives, and African history. He warned her about harmful vegetation, insects, and snakes, and how to avoid them. She noticed how his dark eyes glowed with love and pride for his adopted land. His mood and manner were infectious, making Leigh even more eager to get her journey underway. If only their guide would arrive!
As her second dance with him ended, he suggested, “Why don’t you come into my special room and view the artwork there?”
Leigh accompanied Alfred to the rear of the mansion and into a large room whose walls were covered with magnificent paintings and artifacts. Small tables held other treasures that he had collected from Africa and around the world. She looked around, fascinated.
“Each one has a special story and adventure behind it,” he hinted.
“Please, sir, tell me all of them. Or as many as time allows,” she entreated eagerly. “What about this vase?” she asked, pointing to one with Egyptian symbols and pictures painted on it.
Before Alfred Johnston could relate any stories, a Hindu servant summoned him. “Stay here and look around if you wish. I’ll return later and fill your ears.” He excused himself and left the room.
Leigh walked to a painting of a group of lions and gazed at it.
Jace Elliott halted at the doorway and stared at the woman’s back. At last the people he was awaiting had arrived. He had begun to worry that he had been tricked into leaving London. For weeks he had stewed over this mystery and fretted over Laura’s involvement in it. He had met the most beautiful and desirable woman ever seen, only to discover she was his enemy’s ward, or so she claimed. He had met her under curious conditions that made him suspicious. The men who had attacked her were certainly not sailors! Then she had mentioned a safari during their second meeting, a safari with the man who wanted to destroy him.
Of all places in Africa, he reasoned, why would Chad come to his territory? How had this enchanting creature come to be his foe’s ward, and why had he brought her along? That bastard was up to something, and Jace needed to learn what his former friend had in mind. He suspected he was being lured into a deadly trap and this female perhaps the means to blind him to the pitfalls ahead.
He would have to thank Alfred again for including Chad’s group tonight and for agreeing to lure Laura away from the guests and her guardian. He wanted their reunion to occur in private. If he was going to learn anything from her, he had to take her off guard. Jace never doubted for a minute that Chad had come to Africa for revenge and that this female was part of Chad’s plot. But, he mused, how and where did she fit into his foe’s treacherous scheme? And was she a willing participant? The suspense had chewed on his nerves. “One never knows whom one might meet in Africa, does one, Miss Laura Leigh?” a husky voice asked from behind her.
Recognizing it instantly, Leigh whirled and gaped at the man whose vision had haunted her for over a month. He was leaning negligently against the doorjamb and grinning broadly. His brown hair was combed neatly, and he was attired for this occasion in a dashing white linen suit. The tapered coat and pants evinced his muscular physique, their snowy color enhancing his dark tan and matching his teeth. His eyes were like flaming emeralds, and she felt consumed by their roaring blaze. Her pulse and heart raced, and her breath was stolen. Joy flooded her and washed away her wits. Unable to move again, she stared at him. “I didn’t think I would ever see you again,” she murmured as her softened eyes seemed to caress him.
“Didn’t you now, my enchanting damsel in distress?” he teased, coming forward and halting within inches of her. His engulfing gaze never left her wide blue one. “I had no doubts whatsoever that we’d meet again, and again, and again,” he vowed in a tone which caused Leigh to warm and tingle. “But you made me wait too long,” he added.