By the time Samuel reached the second-class card lounge, there were only a few gentlemen remaining, cognac and cigars in hand, conversation pleasantly low. Luxuriant in its wood-panelled décor, the lounge was lit by glass domed wall sconces, music from the string quartet in the next room drifting through the gilded-double doors.
No matter how hard he tried to stop thinking about Amelia Wakefield, she continued to linger in his mind. He liked her spunk. Her independence. Her beauty. In fact, the depth of his interest in her had made him decidedly uncomfortable. His life had always been filled with too much worry, responsibility and work to consider romance. Now he was aboard a ship that could offer a life-changing opportunity – should he choose to take it – yet, instead of concentrating on whether or not to stay in America, his attention had been captured by a beautiful and mysterious woman.
Ladies had come and gone in Samuel’s life. He was no saint, but honourable, he hoped. Mutual assignations followed by mutual separation. No heartbreak. No broken promises. That was all he had been capable of… all he was capable of.
So, why was it bothering him that he’d left Miss Wakefield in the clutches of strangers?
Because now her wellbeing felt like his responsibility, that’s why.
She had an unusual and intriguing aura of vulnerability and strength, wisdom and uncertainty, that struck at something deep inside of him. Whatever it was, it made Samuel want to spend more time with her, to talk to her and get to know her.
He strolled through the lounge, glancing with disinterest at the games being played and the money changing hands. He could never afford to gamble the money he earned and considered the men who did complete fools.
Every penny he earned would always be accounted for, needed. Or else, spent wisely.
His shift had finished ten minutes ago and as he made his way back to the cabin he shared with Archie, Samuel tried to banish thoughts of Miss Wakefield and, instead, pondered New York.
Since his discussion with Archie and Harold, Samuel had tried to bury any possibility of staying in New York, citing the notion as ridiculous and impractical. Yet, wasn’t Archie right in that Samuel had no set-in-stone obligation to return home? Morally, his selfishness, should he stay in America, could be assuaged by regularly sending money home, but that wouldn’t lessen his mother’s emotional need of him. Maybe without him there, Katherine and Fiona would think about finding their own employment and showing their mother some kindness and consideration.
Just as Samuel was leaving the card lounge, Mr Weir strode past him, his face etched with concern, his gaze manically flitting from side to side as though searching for someone.
Samuel immediately tensed. Hadn’t Miss Wakefield returned to her cabin? He glanced at the wall clock. He’d left her over an hour ago.
Worry clenched like a fist in Samuel’s gut and he hurried after Weir. ‘Excuse me, sir. Mr Weir?’
The other man halted. ‘Yes?’
‘Is anything the matter? Only you seem—’
‘Yes. As a matter of fact, I am looking for my ward. Miss Wakefield. I’m sure you wouldn’t remember her, but—’
‘I remember her quite clearly. Slim, dark, brown hair. Pretty.’
Mr Weir arched an eyebrow. ‘Quite. However, when I knocked on her cabin door to check her safely abed for the night, the young woman sharing with Miss Wakefield confirmed she had not returned since before dinner. I agreed that she might take a walk about the ship but have not seen her since.’
Samuel glanced towards the doors. ‘I see. Would you like me to look—’
‘How am I to sleep tonight without knowing she is all right? My employers expect me to ensure she comes to no harm—’
‘Allow me to help you locate her, sir.’ Samuel smiled, trying to hide his anxiety. The last thing Amelia would want was Weir venturing into first class and embarrassing her. ‘Maybe she has become lost. It is easily done, considering the maze of corridors, cabins and suites. What is your cabin number, sir? If I find her, I will ensure she lets you know she is safe and well.’
Weir continued to look about the decking, his brown eyes shadowed with worry, which, rightly or wrongly, reassured Samuel that the man wasn’t quite the arse he’d thought him when they’d met previously.
‘I’m in cabin E-78 and Miss Wakefield’s cabin is directly opposite.’
‘Good. Then I will go in the opposite direction from you and between us, rest assured, we will find her.’
Samuel headed along the deck and straight for the grand staircase. It was already common knowledge among the staff that the first-class passengers were prone to going to bed much later than most of the other passengers. Their demands were higher, their capacity for alcohol consumption somewhat astounding, and their need for gossip and eavesdropping even more so.
He marched along, his boots stomping on the promenade planks, his eyes peeled for Miss Wakefield’s distinctive hair. Sometimes brown, sometimes bronze, sometimes caramel, it was her hair that had initially attracted him. Since he’d seen her smile, her eyes lighting with mischief and possibility, he was more attracted to her than ever.
And now his heart was thundering that she could be missing, hurt or lost.
He sucked in a breath against the dropping temperatures and rubbed his hands together. At least there was little chance of her being outside. Her evening gown was low-cut and of a light gauzy material. She would be frozen to the bone should she be out here for any amount of time.
Yet, there were more couples and groups of gentlemen walking back and forth than he expected, their chatter subdued as the hour neared midnight. Samuel’s concern deepened. There were no groups of women huddled together as there had been earlier in the evening. Understandably, most would have been in bed at such a late hour. So where was Miss Wakefield?
He headed back to the grand staircase and descended quickly, scanning the area around him. Finally, he emerged onto E-deck and headed for her cabin in the hope she had returned.
Finding Mr Weir’s cabin, he put his ear to the cabin door opposite and heard quiet weeping.
Was it Amelia? Her roommate? Now what? Did he knock?
He gently tapped on the door. ‘Miss Wakefield. It’s Officer Murphy. Are you all right?’
The weeping immediately stopped.
Samuel strained his hearing and tapped on the door again. ‘There’s no need for alarm. Only, Mr Weir is looking for you and I wanted to make sure you are all right.’
‘I’m fine, thank you, Officer.’ Amelia’s voice urgently whispered from close behind the door. ‘If you could tell Mr Weir I am in my cabin, I would very much appreciate it. Good night.’
‘Are you quite sure? Only—’
‘Quite sure.’ Her voice cracked. ‘Good night.’
Samuel stared at the door. He couldn’t leave her without at least seeing her face. If someone had upset her…
He stood back from the door and paced a few steps, his hand in his hair. He’d already witnessed a nervousness in her eyes and the last thing he wanted was to sabotage the improvement in their association.
The sound of the lock being turned halted his pacing.
Slowly, her door opened just a crack, then a little further until she peered out.
Her gaze met his and widened. ‘Oh. I was just—’
‘Making sure I had gone?’ He smiled, hoping to reassure her that he meant no harm. ‘I’m glad to see you are all right.’
‘Officer Murphy, you must go,’ she hissed. ‘I am quite all right, and my companion is sleeping.’
She moved to shut the door. Samuel reached out, placing his hand firmly on the door. ‘I heard you crying.’
Her cheeks turned pink and her throat moved as she swallowed. What in God’s name had happened since he’d left her?
Why the hell had he left her?
She tightened her hand at the collar of her nightgown. ‘I had some unwanted attention from a gentleman as I was walking back to my cabin. I dealt with the situation, but it has left me somewhat shaken. There is nothing to concern yourself about.’
Fury bubbled in Samuel’s chest as he studied her, looking for any signs the bastard had touched her. ‘Did he—’
‘He grabbed me a little too tightly, but I managed to free myself and he walked away once I threatened to scream.’ Her eyes hardened as she stood a little straighter. ‘He’s gone and I’m ready for bed. So, good night—’
‘My name’s Samuel, Miss Wakefield.’
‘Sorry?’
He took a single step closer, wanting to delay their parting, wanting her to know she could trust him. ‘My name’s Samuel. If there is anything I can do, anything at all during the remainder of this voyage, I want you to seek me out. I need for you to promise me you’ll do that.’
Slowly, she nodded. ‘I will. Thank you… Samuel.’
He smiled to hide his rage at the faceless bastard who’d frightened her. ‘You’re welcome. Good night, Miss Wakefield.’
‘Good night.’
Samuel backed away along the corridor, his head reeling and his heart just a little too affected by Amelia Wakefield’s distress. Just the thought of her being afraid or even merely shaken irritated him enough that he couldn’t seem to unclench his fists as they swung at his sides. This was a ship of superior class, yet it seemed the same macho presumptions existed here as they did on the Southampton docks.
Well, as long as Miss Wakefield was aboard, she would now be under his careful watch.