“Emma Cross, you are incorrigible.”
For a brief moment eyes darker than the surrounding night held me immobile. My heart continued to thump, but no longer from fear; from a multitude of other emotions, however, desire and exasperation not the least among them.
“Derrick.” I released the boat line and pressed to my feet. “What in the devil’s name are you doing here?” I demanded, making a monumental effort not to allow my voice to rise above a whisper lest the McPaddens come to investigate. “You’re supposed to be back in Providence by now.”
“Am I, Emma?” He strode closer, taking care to muffle his footsteps now that his dramatic appearance had effectively captured my full attention. “And leave you to your own devices?”
“My de—” My chin hefted in the air of its own accord. “You’ve been spying on me, haven’t you?”
The scoundrel had the audacity to smile, the fog-tinged moonlight caressing his lips with a silver glint. At the sight of that now-familiar gesture a slight tremor went through me, and I pressed my own lips together. “My plans changed the moment I got wind of what happened at Marble House yesterday.” His gaze swept me up and down, and a chuckle blended with the light slap of the water against the seawall. “Oh, Emma, how predictable you are. Did you think I’d let you investigate another murder on your own?”
Predictable? Why—I opened my mouth to protest but quickly realized the futility of arguing the point, at least there on that little dock, with my errand waiting to be accomplished. However . . . “That shows how much you know, then. Because it so happens I am not investigating a murder.”
“Ah, then you’re dressed like a boy and stealing a boat . . . because you’re off to a costume ball on your uncle William’s yacht?” He reached out to graze my chin with his fingertips, then held them up so we could both see the coal dust smudging them.
“Borrowing, not stealing,” I said with a huff. “And it so happens I’m looking for someone, and I can assure you that someone is not a murderer.”
I expected a return quip; I did not expect Derrick to grip my shoulders and pull me closer. “Stop playing games with me, Emma. Yes, the moment I heard about the murder at Marble House I began following you. You mean to tell me you never sensed it?”
In a whirl of confusion fueled as much by the scent of his shaving soap as by his anger, I could only stare wide-eyed up at him and shake my head.
“Then maybe you’re not as good at this as you think you are. Didn’t getting mixed up in one murder and nearly getting yourself killed teach you anything?”
That time I did intend to answer him, but before I could gather the words his face dipped, bringing with it the scent of his skin, the heat of his breath, and the press of his lips against mine. His evening stubble was rough against my cheek; his mouth was hard, punishing. All at once I felt myself spinning as if the dock had broken loose from its pilings, leaving us at the mercy of the tide.
But then he released me, his face tight, pained, his own chin now shadowed by traces of that dratted coal dust. Slowly he pulled back from me, though his fingers continued their vise grip on my shoulders. “I’m sorry.” He looked away. “That was uncalled for.”
“Derrick . . . I . . .”
“No, leave it, Emma. You don’t need to repeat the things you said the other morning. There is no need for either of us to be redundant.” He released me, his arms swinging to his sides. As the cool air claimed my neck, I couldn’t remember the things I’d said to him that morning, or why on earth I would have said them. I only wanted him to hold me again.
Kiss me again.
He shoved his hands into his coat pockets and eyed me levelly, all hint of turmoil gone from his gaze. “So . . . who is this mystery person we’re off to find?”
“It’s my . . .” Aunt Alva’s admonitions stilled my tongue, but then Derrick’s choice of words struck me. “We? Who said anything about you and I . . . ?”
His cool amusement returned. “Come, Emma. It’s you and I or nothing. I’m not letting you row off across the bay or wherever you’re going alone. So start talking. Now. Or I take you home.”
It was all I could do to keep from stomping my foot. “Impossible man.”
“Yes, now, as we say in the newspaper business, who, what, where, and why?”
I heaved a sigh. “My cousin Consuelo. She’s missing—been missing since right after the murder.”
“And no one saw fit to call the police?”
I explained the reasons why not. “And before you decided to take ten years off my life moments ago, I was on my way to Rose Island. I think she might be there, or might be going there tonight, possibly to meet up with another boat to take her off the island.”