Caroline would probably look delightful on the riverboat. She’d probably wear summer whites and one of those broad-brimmed, daringly feminine hats. He threw his pencil down in frustration. He couldn’t explain this overwhelming urgency to see her again, but during the days she’d been gone, he’d thought of her constantly.

What kind of harebrained woman walked into a war-torn environment where the local population lacked food and basic resources? Knowing Caroline, she’d shown up in a silk gown and satin pumps, with perfectly styled hair and one of those wasp-waisted getups, all of which would make her a prime kidnapping target.

Plus, her trip was doomed to failure. He’d had John Wilkie pull whatever was known about Luke’s case, and it stank to high heaven. Caroline didn’t deserve this. Her ship was supposed to have docked hours ago, so why wasn’t she back yet?

There could have been trouble in Cuba. Transportation breakdowns or brigands, and Caroline didn’t speak Spanish. He should have figured out some way to stop her from leaving.

The telephone rang, and he snatched up the receiver. “Trask here.”

“The lady you asked about is heading toward the staff entrance.”

His shoulders sagged in relief. “Does she look okay?”

There was a moment of confusion on the other end of the connection. “I guess so,” the guard said. “Was I supposed to be looking for something?”

“No, that’s fine. Thank you.” He replaced the receiver on the hook, willing his heart to resume its normal rate. He wasn’t responsible for Caroline’s safety, and besides, she’d obviously come through the trip just fine. A couple hours late, but more or less on time.

He pulled on a suit jacket and headed downstairs to intercept her. He needed to see for himself how she’d fared, but by the time he got to the far side of the house, he only caught a flash of a sapphire blue skirt as she disappeared up the stairwell to the staff quarters. He vaulted after her.

“Caroline?” His voice echoed up the stairwell. The clicking of her heels paused, but she didn’t say anything, and that wasn’t like her. He vaulted up the stairs, catching sight of her on the flight just outside the third floor.

She looked terrible. Flawlessly dressed, as usual, but drained and despondent. He ached for her.

“How can I help?” he asked.

For once, she seemed to be at a loss for words as she glanced around the interior of the stairwell, the single lightbulb casting a garish light that made her face look ashen. Finally, she simply shrugged.

“I don’t know,” she said, lowering herself to plop onto the top step. “Maybe by not saying ‘I told you so.’”