Her Wicked Captain: The River Rogues, Book 1

by Sandra Jones

  Quintus collected lost boys like farmers collected stray cats. She shuddered thinking about that wretched man showing up at an orphanage, plotting to bring home a youngster to mold into a killer.

  Hiding her revulsion, she patted Asa’s shoulder. “Okay. Just be sure to do your practice shooting on sandbars and open places, right?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  She headed back to the captain’s quarters, but her thoughts slowed her steps.

  Another frail boy taken in by Moreaux who’d died? No wonder Rory was so protective if he thought of these wards like brothers. And Asa had been so ill… Knowing his guardian’s penchant for duels, Rory would try to steer these boys from using guns too soon.

  Guilt weighed her down. She should’ve been more understanding with Rory. Of course he’d been eager to be free of Moreaux, but he’d also wanted to put an end to the man’s succession of killers-in-training.

  Now despite Rory’s precautions, Asa had a gun. The boy needed guidance. If Moreaux was going to give the gift of a weapon, then he’d better take responsibility for what the child did. She would make sure he heard her opinion on the subject!

  She marched to her stepfather’s office, but halfway there, she ran into Moreaux’s moll. The madam smiled broadly. Her porcelain skin had been powdered, giving it iridescence in the afternoon sun. Dell conceded the lady was beautiful and bore a small resemblance to her mother that went beyond the same mode of sultry dress and makeup. She would’ve avoided her if she could, but the woman stood in her path as if seeking an introduction.

  “You are Rory’s amant, oui?” When Dell hesitated, searching for the meaning of her French word, the woman nodded. “But of course you are. Vous êtes d’une beauté innocente avec le corps d’une déesse.”

  With the way the madam’s gaze raked over Dell’s frame, her words had to translate to something about her being beautiful, but she doubted the lady’s true intention was to compliment. Rory’s lover? And innocent? Her cheeks heated and she made an angry fist around Asa’s bullet.

  “Je m’appelle Vivienne LeBlanc, but Rory calls me Viv.”

  I’ll bet he does. “What does Quintus call you?” Dell cringed inwardly at her own barb born out of jealousy—the second time that day she’d made a remark she’d regretted.

  Viv’s blue eyes brightened. “Whatever he wants.” The madame looked over both shoulders and then spoke low. “Walk with me, s’il vous plaît. I wish to talk with you.”

  Dell looked for someone to intervene, but they were alone. Most of the crew were below, getting ready for the night’s guests.

  LeBlanc moved gracefully beside her along the breezeway. “I am delighted to see another woman joining Quintus’s crew. Molly is beautiful but the others are…très banales. Ah, bland. I have told the men before, if they wish to bring in more customers, they must employ the finest women possible. And not only that, but women who will accommodate the needs and tastes of their customers. Quintus is savvy, but he is still more gambler than businessman.”

  Dell recalled the ledger she’d seen in Moreaux’s office. His business was in the red. He owed money in Memphis, having too many payouts and not enough wins for the house. Rory was clever to engage Wainwright in a game at such a time. The lure of a high-stakes wager would be impossible for his boss to resist.

  “I doubt they’d consider me as much of a draw for anyone.”

  Viv turned her head, sharing a reserved smile. “Oh, but you are. In all the ports from New Orleans to Cincinnati, men love their exotiques. That is what I told Rory yesterday.”

  Yesterday? “You saw him in the city?” Not a question she wanted to know the answer to, but she couldn’t help herself. Why was it suddenly important to know whether or not he visited his lover? Dell had no claim on him.

  “Oui. I hope you liked the dresses he bought for you. Miss Elizabeth is a fine seamstress, non?” She passed her ivory hand down her lace bodice for Dell’s consideration.

  Her teeth clenched.

  “Maintenant, you must tell me, how did your visit with the Monsieurs Wainwright go? Were they enamored with your beauty?” She leaned close to Dell in a conspiratorial whisper as one of the crew passed by. The whites of her eyes at close range were red. “Quintus was pleased when you received the invitation to his old foe’s home.”

  Dell blanched. Did the madam know about Rory’s plan? How much would he want her to say?

  “It was just a casual visit. His nephew is an acquaintance.”

  Vivienne’s hand caught her arm, her expression serious. “If one of them offers you a sum to come to bed, you must ask for double. That is my advice to you, since you are an ingénue. The coyer you are, the more the old fox will be willing to pay. I told Rory you would bring him wealthy customers, and I see I was right.” She wagged an index finger in front of Dell’s nose. “Double what Wainwright offers. Do not accept a penny less.”

  Sleep with Christopher or Bartholomew? Dell closed her eyes against a wave of nausea. Rory and this woman had been discussing using her as a whore. Really? Rory used low tactics, especially when it came to gambling and revenge, but to use her body? Had he intended for her to seduce the widower if needed to complete his plans?

  “Philadelphia, I want to be your first lover.”

  First?

  No. She had to be wrong! He wouldn’t want that to happen to her.

  But Rory played his cards close to his chest. Who knew how far he’d go? He’d spoken of sharing a future with her, but how? As business partners…or lovers? He’d had no qualms about sharing Viv in both respects.

  After parting with Madam LeBlanc and passing up her stepfather’s door, Dell collapsed in a deck chair to watch the passengers boarding the gangway. She would face Moreaux later over Asa’s new gun when she was in better spirits. Now instead, she would wait for Rory. She had only to ask him what he expected from her, and she’d have the truth. No one could lie to her.

  Her eyes burned with sudden tears. Honesty had never mattered before, but she needed it now.

  She’d never lost her heart before, either, but she’d certainly fallen in love with the wicked captain.

  Shortly after sunset, Rory boarded the Queen along with a steady stream of new guests, and tamped down his disappointment when he didn’t see Dell on the deck waiting for him. He knew he was wrong to expect her to, though, after he’d stayed gone so long. He’d wanted to come back with her. The thought of her sharing a carriage with Kit didn’t sit well. The man smiled at her too damn much!

  Christ, it wasn’t as if he owned the woman. She could do as she pleased. It just infuriated him knowing there wasn’t a thing he could say to stop her from climbing into another man’s bed.

  Or could he?

  He knocked on the door to his quarters. He’d used a bathhouse in town to clean up a bit, but he needed a change of clothes for the night. And…hell, he wanted to spend a little more time alone with Dell before they went to work.

  A scraping sound came from inside the room, but after he waited, there was no answer. It wasn’t like Dell. His gut tightened. Even if she was angry with him—which she very well could be for him dragging her to Wainwright’s with no explanation—she would never ignore him. He opened the door, his hand on his gun.

  In front of the bed sat a tub. Steamy vapors filled the air with the delicate perfume of honeysuckle. His body reacted immediately to Dell’s scent, sending blood rushing to his groin, though he soon cursed his slow reflexes as skin blurred past. Dell plunged into the bath with a splash before he could enjoy the view.

  “Get out!” she snapped.

  He grinned, his mood already better. “Good evening, to you, too, angel.” He kicked the door closed, unable to take his eyes off her.

  She had her hair piled loose on top of her head with a few long, walnut waves clinging to her neck, running down into the valley between her breasts.
He stood on the toes of his boots, hoping to catch a glimpse of her beneath the water.

  “Shoo!” she flung a hand at him, slinging a plume of water on his suit.

  He laughed. “I thought you’d be glad to see me.”

  “You thought wrong. Can I have a little privacy?”

  He walked around the tub. Her legs moved under the water as she tried to hide herself. Perspiration broke on his forehead. He’d meant to talk with her, to apologize for earlier, but words could wait.

  “Damn, that looks hot.” He stopped, standing just above her.

  “Of course it’s hot. I wasn’t ready to get in yet.” She glared at him, holding her arm across her chest. Her face flushed.

  “You should get out, let it cool.” He slid his hands in his pockets and rocked back on his heels.

  “Not with you watchin’ me.”

  He shrugged. “Nothin’ I haven’t seen before.” When she didn’t budge, only stared up at him through eyes gone glassy, he sighed and went to get the towel. He opened it for her and averted his eyes. “I’m sorry. Come on.”

  He heard the water slosh and felt her tug on the towel. He wrapped it around her along with his arms, bringing her against him as he lifted her out of the tub.

  He turned his face into her throat. She smelled so good. “I hate to see you scalding yourself because of me, Dell. You don’t like me anymore?”

  She didn’t answer, but slowly her arms wound around his neck. “We need to talk, but I’m getting you all wet.”

  “I don’t mind.” He licked her throat, tasted her sweet skin on his tongue. She moaned softly in response, and all rational thought disintegrated from his brain as his shaft took over. His hands slipped over her slick shoulders and arms. She felt as good as she smelled. He kissed her ear and whispered, “Talk to me.”

  Dell trembled. “All right.” He heard her swallow, and her fingers slid into his hair. “About today…”

  Rory closed his eyes. The pleasure of her breasts pressing against his chest made his mind as foggy as the air around her bathwater. “What about today?” He kissed the soft skin under the ridge of her cute, stubborn chin.

  “Um, well,” she spoke softly, “after I got back, I…ah…I found Asa shooting at targets on the deck.”

  He pulled her towel lower, exposing the side of her bosom, which he quickly cupped in his palm. “That’s my fault. He’s seen me do that. I’ll talk to him.” He kissed the slope of her shoulder. Painfully hard, he rubbed his erection against her naked skin. “Whatcha say we get those bedsheets wet?”

  “Please,” she said, slightly out of breath. Her fingertips stopped his lips just as he was about to kiss her breast. “You’ve got to ask your boss not to give the boy weapons without showing him how to handle them.”

  Her words hit him with the force of a steam engine. He leaned back, holding her at arm’s length. “Moreaux gave him a gun? A new gun?”

  “Yes.” She frowned. “Uncle Reuben gave me my first shotgun when I was eight so I could help put food on the table, but I never got to touch it unless he was with me.”

  The bitterness in her voice reflected the same he felt, but his boss’ impulsive gift meant so much more than she imagined. He cast his eyes over her with regret. “I have to go.”

  “Wait. That’s not the only thing I have to discuss—”

  He touched her cheek as her expression darkened, then turned for the door. “I’ll be back later.”

  He had to find Asa and warn him. It always started with a gun and other gifts. The abuse followed soon after—

  “Rory?” He turned at her voice. She had the towel wrapped around her slender body. “I understand why you want to beat Quintus at the table. But I have to know, where would you draw the line? Just how far would you go to bring him down?” She held his gaze.

  His stomach went cold, but her concerned eyes told him she didn’t know the twisted truth of his circumstances, about the abuse he’d suffered, nor the depth of his hatred. How often he’d considered killing Moreaux and the sweet relief his death would provide them all. Though with the bastard’s murder Rory would become everything Moreaux had hoped for. A calculating killer with a taste for revenge.

  Even at the end of his life, the monster would have the cards stacked in his favor.

  If it came down to that choice, Rory knew what he would do. Dell, if she knew his situation, might even help him, becoming an accomplice in the bloody deed.

  Yet he hated to imagine her participating in something she would later regret, hated the nightmares she would likely endure. It had never been easy for Rory, knowing he’d worked for a murderer, and the faces of Moreaux’s fallen victims often haunted him.

  No, it was better that she stayed in the dark about her stepfather’s crimes. Relieved by that small mercy, he found his voice. “I’d do whatever it took.”

  Chapter Twenty-One

  “Don’t tap the glass,” Moreaux had warned Rory when a novice card player left his table. When Rory looked at him questioningly, the monster explained in an impatient hiss, “Never scold a fish or try to remind him when he’s playing poorly. Idiot!” He’d then punctuated his lesson with a cuff to Rory’s ear.

  After that, gambling had seemed a predatory sport to Rory as he’d been taught to locate weaker opponents—to corner them, to offer no quarter even when they wagered their last cent.

  Dell was the fish at the boss’s table that night, although she didn’t know it.

  Rory watched her between his own poker hands, admiring the way she worked. She’d been invited to play the game to muddy the waters for the boss’s benefit, but her loose bets were actually working. ’Course the woman was hard to beat. A little more training and she could easily be as good a gambler as any. She knew exactly what the men held by the way they leaned on one butt-cheek or the other—or some such nonsense like that.

  Hell, with enough time inside their heads, she’d have them stripped of all their secrets. It was both unnerving and brilliant at once.

  Rory showed his hand to his opponents. Three deuces and a pair of jacks. Another win.

  He’d had to relinquish the painter’s ring to Moreaux, and now he watched it gleaming on the boss’s finger. Maybe he’d bury it with the man, hands folded over his black heart as they lowered his casket into the dirt. Asa’s ring would make a fitting tribute.

  Earlier, he’d found the boy in the dining room where he was playing dice with another youth. Losing his temper, Rory had ordered him to stay in the men’s quarters that night, not to go out unless Rory, as his captain, came for him. The boy’s eyes had hardened to flint, but he did as told. Rory thanked his lucky stars he didn’t have to explain his actions to Asa. They shared the brotherly bond that came from growing up in the orphanage, and it served Rory well. The boy seemed to realize that no matter how strict Rory’s directions were, he had his best interests at heart. He’d never worked him too long or put him in harm’s way. He’d been there to listen, to talk, to guide. Now he prayed the boy would remember that when he urged him not to disobey.

  But how do you tell a boy that the man he respects as a father figure is hunting him like prey?

  Presently, Rory watched Moreaux’s man Laughton lean to his ear.

  Rory dealt the next round at his table, but focused on his enemy. Moreaux nodded and whispered something in return. Dell spoke to one of the customers across from her, laughing. Rory wished she’d pay more attention to Moreaux, but she didn’t know what was at stake.

  She’d shot angry glares at Rory all night.

  He had never told Trap about the abuse he’d suffered at Moreaux’s hands, but he’d felt his friend’s pity before. Perhaps his first mate knew. It would be nothing compared to the way Dell would look at him.

  No. He’d leave things the way they were. Better to make her angry than let her know how damaged he truly was—inside and out
. She could either choose to help him ruin Moreaux, or not. He’d beat him another way if he must. Most likely with a bullet if there was no time to see his scheme to fruition.

  And Asa’s new gift was a sure sign that time was indeed running out.

  Laughton nodded, straightened and left the room. Quintus stuffed a cigar in his mouth and squinted at his cards. A satisfied smile curved his lips.

  Rory had seen that expression before. It filled him with thoughts of wrapping his hands around the bastard’s neck.

  He dealt two more rounds, losing one and folding the other. His heart wasn’t in the game. After folding again with a straight in his hand, he rose, brandishing his unlit cigar as an excuse to go on the deck, and left Zeb to take over as dealer for a while. He had to know what Laughton was doing.

  First, he checked on Asa. When his knock failed to return an answer, he poked his head inside and found no one in the room. His stomach fell. Damnation.

  The crew’s deck was empty with everyone else working in the salon. After a turn through the dining room produced nothing, he checked the passenger deck, thinking Asa might’ve gone back to playing dice. But the search proved fruitless. His worst fears became true when he came upon Laughton sitting outside Dell’s vacant stateroom—the same one Moreaux had tried to move Asa into before.

  “Evening, Captain. Shouldn’t you be below?” The gunman climbed warily to his feet.

  Rory flexed his hands and put on an icy smile. “Came out for a smoke. Boss wouldn’t let you play?”

  “Nope.” Laughton tucked his thumbs in his belt, and his pinky finger touched his gun holster.

  Dell might have the better eye for bluffs and tells, but Rory’d been trained by one of the best gunmen in the country. He could spot an itchy opponent when he saw one.

  He lit his cigar and ambled to the rail. Laughton followed casually, but Rory noted he kept his hand inches from his gun.