by Sandra Jones
He plucked the hat off her head and tossed it aside. “That’s better.” He gazed into her eyes with intensity. “Of course I’ll help you. It would be my pleasure to help an old friend with such an altruistic mission. But perhaps you’ll grant me one favor in return.”
Hellfire. Dell’s heart jumped in her throat. Just how far was she willing to go to right her wrongs against Jeremiah?
He moistened his lips. Dell braced for whatever he had in mind as those mysterious green eyes peered into hers. She felt his hand moving in small circles on her back, and a spiral of pleasure formed in her stomach. “What can I do for you?”
His teeth flashed in a wicked smile. “I’m sure I’d love to find out.” Then his face went serious, and she could see the determination in the set of his brow. “All I ask is that you return with us. Go back to stay with your stepfather—at least for a while.”
Surely she’d misheard him; standing in his loose embrace had rattled her head. “I’m sorry, I thought you said you wished me to go back with you.”
“I do. And if my mates’ impropriety gives you any doubts, let me assure you they’ll not touch a hair on your pretty head. We frequently have female passengers on board. It’s nothing out of the ordinary. If it means anything, you have my word no one will harm you on board any Moreaux vessel.”
His voice was as steady as his stare. His confidence compelled her to believe he was telling the truth—or at least he believed it himself.
But how could she go back to the Mississippi—the very place her mother gave her life to escape? Dell had promised her she’d make a better life for herself. A respectable life as far from the steamboats as she could get.
She gave a negative shake of her head and pulled free of his arms. “Please don’t ask me that. I understand you feel I should reunite with your mentor, but I can’t go back. If there was anything else I could offer—”
“No. That’s the price. After all these years spent apart from you, it’s what I know Moreaux would ask.”
“I can’t. It was my mother’s wish I shouldn’t return.”
He folded his arms, and his thumb drummed impatiently. Voice gone cooler, he said, “Stay with your pigs and goats then, finding lost trinkets for farmer’s wives, and keep hiding that lovely skin of yours.” His eyes hardened to cold emerald stone glittering down with icy contempt. “It’ll take a while getting over the guilt of your friend’s death, but once you’ve married some rustic and borne his offspring, then you’ll have your respectability.” His last word came out with a sneer.
Dell blinked, stung by his shocking new anger. She hadn’t seen this side of him before and wondered at the cause of his disapproval.
Even through her current resentment and guilt, she instinctively sought the man’s signs. The gesture with his thumb must be one of his tells. Her agreement was vital to Rory for some reason.
Yet, Quintus had raised him like a son. As one of his captains, Rory earned a prince’s ransom, so of course he would want what was best for his boss’s interests. If that meant leaving Jeremiah to swing, he would do it.
Through gritted teeth she said, “Fine. I’ll go.” Fresh tears blurred her eyes, but she refused to cry. “However, I want travelin’ money. After I’ve visited my stepfather, I’ll need enough to pay my fare to school in Peoria.”
A shadow passed his haunting green eyes, but he nodded. “Done. Now where is that money you spoke of? Our haggling over favors and payments won’t mean a damn if the man’s already dead.”
Chapter Eight
Rory blinked against the glare of sun on the river. The packet sat high on the current, fully-kedged to the east, ready for release from her mooring lines. A couple of his crew rowed a keelboat to shore to fetch him. Any other day, his chest would be filled with gladness, eager to feel the deck beneath his feet and the freedom that came with being captain. Yet today he could only muse that he was little more than a slaver himself, taking a man into bondage and delivering an innocent woman to the hands of the most ruthless human being he knew. Good cause or no, it didn’t make the act any easier.
Part of him had hoped she’d changed her mind and wouldn’t show up. Although Moreaux was no threat to Dell—the gambler preferred to deliver cruelty to those of his own gender—Rory would rather not expose the woman to the ugly side of her stepfather.
He should’ve left Arkansas without her, taking her wounded friend with him, but she was waiting for him at sunrise on the river’s bank. With a valise in one hand and a rifle in the other, she stood wearing the same dress she’d worn at the dance. His gut squeezed at the sight.
“Did you get Jeremiah? Where is he?” Her urgent demands answered his question about how long she’d been waiting on him.
She set the shabby case down and craned to see the men moving about the deck of The Enchantress.
“The lads brought him on board earlier. He’s settled in a cabin to recuperate.”
Her face smoothed. “Thank God.”
It had probably been a wise decision on his part having Dell go home last night while he’d bartered with Ephraim Matthews. If she had affection for Jeremiah, she would’ve likely caused a scene. When Rory found him, the slave was in a bad way, hog-tied and unconscious, bleeding on the dirt floor of a tool shed. Fortunately, Matthews was eager to be rid of his burden. He accepted the eight hundred dollars Rory pressed into his hand with a smile and no realization he’d just sealed a deal with his own stolen fortune.
Dell had proved herself mighty clever to manage such an admirable scheme.
Rory wasn’t completely convinced she and the slave weren’t more than friends. If they were lovers, he might use that to his advantage somehow. He hadn’t been Moreaux’s apprentice all these years without learning a few things.
So why did the idea of her and Jeremiah sleeping together rankle? “We’d best be on our way before your former fiancé sobers and discovers we’ve dug up his treasure.”
A dimple appeared in her cheek briefly at his mention of the gold miner. Then she frowned. “I left a note to Uncle Reuben and the kids on the kitchen table and snuck out, explaining I’m headed to Peoria. Aunt Ida, on the other hand, will never understand why I would leave this home. I’m so sorry to include you in this, Rory.”
His cheeks warmed unexpectedly. She felt sorry?
Damnation. He’d developed a conscience. “Philadelphia, I haven’t been entirely honest with you. I came to Posey Hollow—”
“I know you beached on purpose.” Her brown eyes sparkled, probably laughing inside at whatever stunned look he had on his face. “Quintus wouldn’t make you captain if you were a poor river navigator. I don’t know why it’s so important to my stepfather to have me visit, but saving Jeremiah’s life is worth that and more. I owe him. Just know I’m not staying long. Only a day or so to offer my thanks.”
A day was not enough. Not nearly enough for Rory’s plans for Moreaux. Unlike Eleanor, Dell was an innocent to the nature of their ways. She ought to never know the truth. He shook his head. “You don’t have to—”
“Is this Quintus’s daughter?”
Rory turned at the sound of Asa’s voice as the boy climbed out of the keelboat leaving Frederick holding the oars.
“Why aren’t you resting?” he demanded, his voice unexpectedly harsh.
“I feel better today.” Swallowed in Rory’s black coat from the night before, Asa’s yellow skin looked like candle wax, but there was more life in his facial expressions. The boy stared at Dell with wide eyes. “I’ve never met a fortune teller before.”
“I’m Mr. Moreaux’s stepdaughter, Philadelphia. And who might you be?” She stuck out a hand for Asa to shake.
The boy grinned, giving her hand a vigorous pump. “Quintus is my father—well, guardian, anyhow.” He slid Rory a glare.
Dell lifted an eyebrow and glanced at Rory briefly before turning back to
address Asa. “I guess that makes you the captain’s brother then, in a way.”
“Yes. Quintus is going to make me a pilot and then a captain, too, one day. I can’t wait to get back and tell him all the places we’ve seen.”
A chill crept into Rory’s heart again. There was no other choice. He grabbed the handle of her bag. “Let’s be on our way then.”
Dell watched as Rory helped the boy onto the boat. With his deathly pallor and sunken eyes, he plainly suffered some malady. It saddened her to see one so young afflicted. He couldn’t be more than thirteen. The captain’s gruff tone made a poor mask for his concern. Perhaps the child had been the reason she’d seen Rory at the doctor’s farm, purchasing medicine. Dell hated to think it, but what if Asa’s condition was contagious? She rubbed her palm on her skirt, regretting her impulsive gesture of shaking his hand. Jeremiah might be trading one danger for another. Yet for now, the most imminent danger was Ephraim, and the chance he might discover their deception before they cast off.
Once on board The Dark Enchantress, Rory hastened Asa inside the crew’s quarters where he indicated Jeremiah was resting. He pulled the door closed before Dell could check on her friend, clearly marking the room as off-limits. She understood. Men only. Ignoring her chagrin, she followed him as he gave her a tour of the rest of the packet.
She strained to recognize crewmen passing her as they prepared the boat to leave, but no one looked familiar. After living in the same small outpost for more than thirteen years, these foreign surroundings unnerved her, and she hugged her rifle tighter against her side. Rory led her to the top deck, where two chairs stood by the helm overlooking the river. He opened the door to the only room on the deck and gestured inside with her bag.
The quarters held a modest bed, a trunk, two windows, a washstand, and a spicy trace of aromatic tobacco. A mirrored dresser on the opposite wall reflected Rory standing behind her. His serious stare tracked her as he set her luggage on the floor.
Dell put her gun on the bed. When she turned around, Rory stood near, his presence shrinking the room at least ten times smaller. “The river’s high and fast. You’ll only have to endure this berth for two days. Until then, Trap’s seeing to your friend. We’ll port at Chickasaw Landing tonight.” He surprised her by taking her hand in both of his and ran his thumb across her knuckles. Her heart made a back flip. “We’ll dine together later. I’d love to see your card skills in action first before Moreaux does. I’d like to see if I made a wise decision.”
In action? No, she needed to make him understand. “I appreciate what you’ve done. I really do. But I’m not reading fortunes anymore. I’m leaving that behind me. I promised Mama I’d become more respectable than a card-turner. No offense intended, of course.” Heat rushed to her cheeks at her unintentional barb. His eyes narrowed. “I just mean as a woman wanting to become a teacher, I should stay away from cards. In fact, I left my mother’s favorite deck with Nathaniel.” The lie slipped out unbidden. He needn’t know the cards were safely tucked in a handkerchief in the valise he’d carried.
His winsome expression returned. “In Posey Hollow, I could see how such a distinction—dabbling in the occult or gambling—might prove troublesome. However, on the waters of the Mississippi, I believe you’ll find we’re more at ease with ourselves, comfortable in our own skin and in our…vices.” He turned her hand over, sending ripples of pleasure up her arm as he caressed her exposed wrist. “You’ll not be judged by any means. In fact, you’ll see most men will revere your services. I know I would.” Mirth danced in his green eyes.
Dell caught his bold double meaning and bristled at his audacity even as she gravitated toward him. Rory hinted at other occupations for her hands. A tawny lock of hair touched his long eyelashes, and she longed to sweep it aside, to trace his forehead with her fingertips, and stroke his beautiful lips with her thumb. She wasn’t a simpleton. Patrons had propositioned her before who wanted more than a fortune for their coins. Ephraim for one. She hadn’t kept her virginity to fall victim to a few sly smiles, no matter how fast they made her heart race.
She pulled free of his touch before he could weave his seductive spell over her again as he had at the dance. “I’m sorry if you expected more. I never agreed to any other conditions, only to pay my stepfather a visit.”
Hoping to avoid his heat-filled gaze, she turned around, but instead collided with his stare in the dresser mirror. In her reflection, she looked like a waif, hair coiled tight on her head, wearing a cheap dress, while he stood behind her in a white suit with a chipper cravat, a storybook prince—presently with a wicked-wolf grin.
He put his hands on her shoulders, and she felt their gentle squeeze. “You have nothing to apologize for. I can see I’ve made you uncomfortable. I’ll leave you to rest.”
Without waiting for another word from her, he slipped out and closed the door. The floor shuddered to life beneath her feet as the whistle whirred outside. Here we go. Any insult she might’ve felt for Rory’s assumptions about her morals and card reading evaporated on the sound of the boat pulling away from Posey Hollow. Sadness touched her heart that she might never see blood relations again in her life, but relief surpassed it—along with an inkling of unease—as she headed toward the unknown and an uncertain future.
If only she could predict what would happen…
She touched the bed. It was much softer than the one she’d slept on with Sarah all these years. Her hand fanned over the bed’s coverlet with longing. She hadn’t slept the night before, after digging up Ephraim’s money and waiting on Rory to arrange for the sale of Jeremiah. Now a yawn overcame her. She lay down beside her rifle. Turning her face into the delightful softness of a good feather pillow, she breathed in the scent of tobacco and spice, so overtly male and Rory. The captain’s quarters. Her pulse quickened. She was sleeping in his bed.
Did he mind giving up the only private room on the packet? Perhaps she should’ve thanked him, but she didn’t have to be there. It was his condition, his terms.
His loyalty to her stepfather must’ve been great for him to seek her out and fetch her back. Of course, the gambler had raised Rory. Wasn’t that like being father and son even if they weren’t blood relatives?
A tremor passed through her.
Sons often became their fathers.
She closed her eyes and murmured, “Oh, Mama. Please forgive me.”
“How’s the patient?” Rory met Trap at the helm. His friend guided the boat into the channel, and Rory watched Posey Hollow and all their recent debts grow distant in their wake.
His mouth pulled thoughtfully. “He’ll live. He’s been awake some. We told him where he was. At first he got a wee bit anxious, but he soothed down quick enough when Asa told him his lady-friend was on board.”
Rory watched the steep calico bluffs as they passed, recalling how Dell had led him to same spot the night before and insisted on helping him dig for Ephraim’s money. Jeremiah had no idea how lucky he was to have her. Living on the Mississippi, Rory had known very few kind women and even less with such courage. “I don’t think she would’ve returned to Moreaux without him.”
Trap grunted. “If she has half the skills her mother had, she’ll be damned useful. You can use the slave as leverage when you need her to bait Wainwright.”
Rory nodded, gladdened for the chilly wind numbing his skin. “If she’ll play along. She’s adamant against it now.”
“It wouldn’t take much to make her see things your way. Just the truth about the boss.” Trap took his eyes off the water, searching Rory’s face.
The cold seeped into his chest. “She doesn’t need to know everything about Moreaux. Her mother didn’t tell her much. She was only six-years-old when the woman died, but she seems to understand her stepfather wasn’t exactly the Good Samaritan, either.”
“You could persuade her to help ruin him, Cap’n.” He grinned suggestively. �
�But you already had that in mind, didn’t you? You’ve got her in your bed.”
Rory forced a smile. “Did I have a choice?”
Thoughts of Dell’s body, her soft creamy skin moving between his own bedsheets assailed him, making him harden. He tugged at his snug cravat, yearning for more of the cool autumn air on his skin. Maybe if he took Dell as his lover she would be safer. He owed her his protection for coming back to Memphis. Then he’d be able to guide her while he completed his plan. The idea pleased him. He would have to consider it more later. “I couldn’t very well put her in your bunk, could I?”
Trap chortled. “God no! Molly would have me ears.” He grew serious. “But where will you sleep?”
That was a good question. On the smaller vessel, there were only the crew’s quarters and his, and now he’d taken on two additional passengers. Neither of those places would work. He could never allow anyone to witness his private torment.
Though no woman ever stayed long in his bed, he never slept alone. His nightmares always kept him company.
Chapter Nine
Dell awoke to the sound of her stomach growling. Her deep sleep combined with the pitch darkness of the room disoriented her. Where was she? What time was it? She sat up, feeling a soft coverlet fall away from her body. Not home. In her own bed, Sarah would’ve stolen the entire cover—a rough quilt with stuffing hanging from its threadbare patches.
Then the sound of water lapping outside brought her memory crashing back to the present. She swung her legs over the side and stood. This was Rory’s bed. And she was wearing the same clothes.
She’d slept the entire day. Why hadn’t they awakened her?
She felt her way to the wall and pushed back the curtains. Moonlight lit the dark woods surrounding the boat along with weak lantern light. Apparently at port, they teetered on the end of mooring lines. She groped along the wall until she felt the cold brass doorknob. When she stepped out, her foot struck something on the ground, making a cacophony of sounds—metal and glass.
