“No? I seem to remember you’ve professed not to want my lovemaking. Maybe I should find a woman who will appreciate my better qualities.”
“Maybe you should!”
Kyle would have vigorously continued their public argument, except that he realized a porter from the hotel had come out to serve them and was staring at them goggle-eyed. Determined not to create a further spectacle, he bit back his fury and jumped down from the carriage.
Selena accepted his help alighting with rigid politeness, angry heat still stinging her cheeks. When Kyle thrust Horatio’s cage into the gaping porter’s arms, she clamped her lips shut, afraid the outrage she felt would spill over into words.
In tight-lipped silence, he escorted her through the arched doors of the hotel, where they were greeted by a smiling proprietor. Kyle immediately requested two bedchambers and a private parlor. Originally he’d planned on taking only one room, for he had been willing to give their marriage a chance. But he would be damned if he would plead with Selena for permission to exercise his husbandly rights.
When he had made the arrangements and then tersely informed Selena that he would see her in the morning, Kyle turned on his heel and stalked from the hotel.
Selena wasn’t sure where he spent the night. Despite his engagement of a separate bedchamber, she couldn’t be sure he chose to use it—particularly when she remembered the redhead’s promise to “wait anxiously” for him.
Kyle did not, however, pay a visit to Veronique—although he did send her an expensive gift and a carefully worded note of apology in an attempt to soften the blow of parting. Then he spent the entire night in an exclusive gambling hell playing cards and losing. Feeling plagued by women in general and one in particular, he emphatically refused the feminine companionship that was so willingly offered him. And when he finally returned to the hotel at dawn, he found himself standing in front of his wife’s door, glaring at the unoffending portal.
His pride and his passions were waging a terrible war. Selena had no grounds for cutting up stiff over his past association with Veronique. He had explained the situation and asked her forgiveness, and he would be hanged if he would grovel. Selena had no right, either, to deny him her bed. As her husband he was entitled to the physical privileges marriage entailed.
Setting his jaw, Kyle reached for the latch. Then he jerked his hand back as if he had touched a hot coal. He’d never forced himself on a woman, and if he opened that door, that was precisely what would happen.
Kyle raked his fingers through his hair. If Selena was upset about Veronique, how much more resentful would she be when she learned about his son?
He didn’t want to think of the answer. He wouldn’t think of it.
Stalking away, Kyle let himself into the room that was two doors down from Selena’s and threw himself into bed—quite alone.
Chapter Nine
Selena didn’t see Kyle at breakfast, but she received a curt note from him shortly afterward. It would be another day, his bold, slashing hand informed her, before the Washington left for Natchez.
At loose ends, she wandered down to the enclosed courtyard of the hotel, where the lush vegetation reminded her of home. She would have liked to explore the New Orleans shops, but she didn’t want to walk the streets of a strange city without an escort or a maid in attendance, and she had too much pride to approach Kyle with such a request. Besides, according to his note, he intended to spend the day away from the hotel, calling on business acquaintances in the city.
Settling herself on a bench shaded by small palms and surrounded by bougainvillea and fragrant white jasmine, Selena occupied herself reading long-outdated issues of ladies’ magazines from London and Paris, which a kindly servant provided.
She ate a solitary dinner that evening, and the following morning, the porter came for her trunk and parrot. It was nearly afternoon, however, before Kyle appeared to escort her to the wharf. They made the short carriage trip in silence. Selena was inclined, after so many hours of loneliness and boredom, to initiate a conversation with him, even if it consisted only of polite small talk, but Kyle’s grim expression had returned, and she wasn’t quite desperate enough to brave his ill humor.
The earthy smell of the river reached her when they were still a block away. And as they neared the throng of people and merchandise that crowded the levee, the steamship caught her eye at once. The great white bulk of the Washington’s superstructure stood out from the long line of boats like a clumsy giant among dwarfs, while thin ribbons of smoke curled from the towering black chimneys.
Reluctant to board the strange ship, Selena took Kyle’s arm with great unwillingness. She had just put one slippered foot on the gangplank when a hoarse blast from the steamboat nearly startled her out of her skin. With a small cry, she whirled and collided with the hard wall of Kyle’s chest. She would have bolted if Kyle’s strong arms hadn’t closed around her, preventing her from fleeing the ship.
“It’s all right,” he said gently. “They’re just getting up steam. The boat isn’t going to sink.”
Selena warily eyed the clouds of white vapor above the twin stacks. “Oh,” she said lamely before glancing up at Kyle. His hazel eyes were tender, amused.
Flushing at her cowardice and the absurd way she was clinging to him, Selena disengaged herself from his embrace and smoothed the skirt of her gown, then allowed herself to be led up the gangway.
The steamboat’s clerk appeared instantly to greet them, escorting them through a maze of deckhands who were handling cargo to a steep flight of steps. When they mounted the stairs, they found themselves on a second deck that occupied the rear two-thirds of the steamboat.
The entire upper deck, Selena learned from the clerk, was actually one long cabin. It boasted a drawing room, a ladies’ dormitory, a common room lined with berths for the accommodation of the male passengers and three handsome private sleeping rooms, two of which Kyle had taken for their use. The arrangement didn’t seem to surprise the clerk; it was customary for well-bred couples to sleep apart. Still, Selena found herself wishing it wasn’t so.
She thanked the clerk as she entered her cabin. Before she closed the door, however, she heard Kyle asking about the steamboat.
“Yes, sir,” the clerk replied eagerly. “The Washington is Captain Shreve’s own design.”
“Perhaps the captain might be persuaded to allow me a tour.”
“Of course, sir, as soon as we get under way.”
Of course, Selena thought. Naturally Kyle would want to inspect the boat. A seaman at heart, he would be interested in anything that floated—even a box that made unearthly noises.
She made herself comfortable in her small quarters, removing her gloves and bonnet and setting out her toilet articles. After checking to see that Horatio had plenty of water and seeds, she returned to the small, open gallery that faced the bow. Kyle was already there, observing the activity below, along with a few other of their fellow passengers.
Not wanting to disturb him, she occupied herself with scanning a printed list of regulations that had been posted at the cabin entrance: “Gentlemen” were forbidden to lie down in berths with boots on, the rules decreed, or to appear coat-less at the table, or to enter the ladies’ dormitory without the ladies’ consent.
She was instantly aware when Kyle came to stand behind her.
“I wonder what is allowed with consent,” he remarked dryly, reading over her shoulder.
Selena glanced up at him with amusement. “I’m afraid it doesn’t say.”
“I’ve heard some excellent reports about Captain Shreve, but it’s plain he’s a river man. On his vessel we males have no rights at all.”
“Do you mean to say you’re disappointed that you aren’t allowed to ‘whittle or otherwise injure the furniture’?”
Kyle laughed, a warm, resonant sound that caught Selena’s attention. His reply, though, was drowned out by another shriek of steam. Selena jumped and immediately his hands came up to steady h
er.
“It…sounds like an animal in dire pain,” she breathed, knowing her tension came far more from Kyle’s gentle grip on her arms than from the steamboat’s deafening clamor.
Kyle seemed to be aware of the intimacy as well, for something flickered in his eyes and his gaze dropped to her mouth. He was close. So close she could smell the clean, fresh scent of his shaving soap. So close she could see the green flecks swimming in his gold-brown eyes. She wondered with a sudden thudding of her heart if he meant to kiss her.
But disappointingly, he released her.
“More likely one of the sea gods protesting the ruination of a good ship,” Kyle said with a twisted grin.
Selena took a steadying breath, trying to recover her composure. “Are you sure it won’t sink?”
“Relatively sure. A demasted frigate like the Washington wouldn’t last two minutes at sea, for she’s got a shallow hull and no keel—” Kyle broke off when Selena’s blank look told him he was getting too technical. “But she’ll be fine on the river,” he continued, “where there aren’t waves or wind to contend with. And Shreve is reputed to be one of the best pilots around.”
Selena nodded, relieved to know Kyle’s opinion and even more relieved that he was finally speaking to her again. “Does that mean you’ve traveled on a steamboat before?” she asked, determined to keep him talking.
“Several, in fact. But they were all designed by Fulton’s group…I suppose I should tell you about that. You should be aware of our American politics if you’re going to live here.”
Selena thought that particular comment regarding her future somewhat encouraging, so she listened attentively as he told her about the steamboats that the easterners Robert Fulton and Robert Livingston had built, and how Shreve had successfully challenged the monopoly contract with Louisiana that had given them exclusive rights to navigate the Mississippi.
Kyle was about to tell Selena about the sudden boom in the steamboat industry the previous year, when the ship’s bell began to clang, followed by the grinding of the capstan as the anchor was weighed.
Feeling the Washington’s hull start to quiver, Selena quickly reached out to grab hold of the gallery rail. “What is that noise?” she asked nervously, hearing the slap of the paddles as the giant wheel began to turn.
Kyle gave a rueful shake of his head, as if wondering how she had ever managed to survive the storm at sea, let alone save the life of one of his men. His lips twitching in a smile, he took her hand and directed her attention toward the single waterwheel placed near the stern. The giant wheel worked in a recess, nearly out of sight, so Selena had to crane her neck around the long cabin to view it.
“That’s what drives a steamboat,” Kyle said gently. “I’ll show you more closely when Captain Shreve takes us around. You won’t be so apprehensive if you know more about how a vessel like this operates.”
Selena wasn’t so certain. The clanging bells, the panting engine and the thrashing paddle wheel all combined with the creaking and shaking of the vessel to make her extremely uneasy. But she did accompany Kyle on a tour of the boat. And she discovered he was right; the Washington wasn’t as alarming as she had expected. Indeed, the boiler that Captain Shreve pointed out was fired from both ends by furnaces similar to those of a sugar works.
Captain Shreve himself conducted them through the vessel. An energetic man of medium build, Shreve was perhaps five or ten years older than Kyle, and he gave the impression that he loved his avocation as much as Kyle loved the sea. Shreve seemed flattered by Kyle’s interest and answered all of his questions without reservation, explaining at length about the steamboat’s unique design.
Uninterested in the technical details of machinery, Selena let the captains’ words wash over her and instead watched her husband. A faint smile curved her lips at Kyle’s reaction to the steamboat. He was like a small boy with a new toy. He spent a long time poking his nose into every nook and corner, his face lighting up in an endearingly boyish way whenever he discovered something unusual. Not for the first time, Selena experienced a twinge of sorrow that he had had to give up his ship.
It was only when Kyle mentioned that his parents had been killed in the Merilinda’s accident the previous year that Selena began to pay attention once more. Kyle hadn’t told her precisely how his parents had died, but the information that he had lost them to a steamboat explosion only heightened her concern about the safety of such vessels and made her wonder how he could be so casual about it. She didn’t understand him—but then he really was a stranger to her.
She studied Kyle intently as they climbed the stairs to the high-perched wheelhouse, realizing how little she knew about him. The captain talked about the financial rewards the business had brought him. In one good season, the captain claimed, an owner could return his entire investment and then some. Selena was surprised when Kyle’s thoughtful gaze sought her out absently, surprised, too, by the wistfulness in his expression as their eyes met across the short width of the wheelhouse.
When Kyle finished peppering the captain with questions about steamboats and river navigation, he escorted Selena back to her cabin.
“Why did you ask the captain how much a vessel like this would cost?” she asked as they descended the stairway to the passenger deck.
“Because Natchez could use a regular steamboat service to New Orleans. Someone ought to establish one.”
“Are you thinking of doing it yourself?”
Kyle’s eyebrows drew together for a moment. Then he shook his head, as if he had been dreaming of an impossibility. “No, not seriously. You heard what Shreve said. To build a stern-wheel boat, it takes around fifty thousand dollars in capital, plus ten thousand a year in running expenses.”
Yet she could tell that the thought of operating his own steamboat appealed to him. And she didn’t believe it was the money that was keeping him from pursuing the opportunity. If rumor was correct, Kyle was wealthy in his own right, notwithstanding the proceeds from the Markham plantation, which would allow him to buy five steamboats if he chose to. So it must be the responsibilities he faced in Natchez that were preventing him from even considering such a step.
But Kyle appeared to dismiss the subject as they arrived at the door to her cabin. “Supper will be served at seven bells…that is, half past seven. I’ll return to collect you then.” He started to turn away, then glanced down at her. “Do you need any help changing your gown?”
She was immediately conscious of the subtle change in his voice. The tone seemed to ripple over her skin. Selena looked at him sharply. “Thank you, no. I’m not…wearing a corset.”
His gaze dropped to her breasts, measuring, lingering. A slow smile curved his lips, as if he could see very clearly what lay beneath the high-necked bodice of her gown. “I know you aren’t.” The words were an intimate murmur, his gaze a probing visual caress.
At his scorching look, warmth flared in the pit of Selena’s stomach. Kyle’s eyes smoldered with the same heat she remembered from that stormy night of passion, arousing sensations and images that made her recall other things about that night… How his mouth had closed hotly over her nipples. How the hard expanse of his chest had rasped sensually against her breasts as he moved inside her. How the weight of his sleek, muscular body had felt between her thighs....
Selena stiffened. It was wholly unnerving the way memories of lying beneath this magnificent man haunted her. Particularly when it was all too likely that he had only recently left the arms of his mistress.
Pressing her lips together in determination, Selena murmured a cool “Good day” and let herself into her cabin. She would not allow his scorching looks and suggestive remarks to affect her.
In the narrow corridor, Kyle stood staring after her, wondering how he was going to manage being confined in close quarters for several days with Selena. It had taken the severest restraint just now to resist the temptation of her tantalizing mouth, to overcome the yearning to take her in his arms.
&n
bsp; Clamping his teeth together, Kyle dragged his gaze away from her door. He was quite glad he had taken separate sleeping accommodations. There was no way in hell he could share a cabin with Selena and still maintain his distance. The trouble was, even distance didn’t help. She bedeviled his dreams, bedeviled his waking hours, bedeviled his thoughts....
In frustration, Kyle plowed his fingers through his hair. What he needed was a good stiff brandy and the width of the Atlantic Ocean between them. Though he had the sinking feeling that even that wouldn’t be enough to make him immune to the elusive charms of the frosty, straitlaced lady who was now his wife.
They dined in the common room with the other passengers on board the Washington, in a social atmosphere that resembled one of the finer hotels in New Orleans. Kyle found the encounter as difficult as he had anticipated. He was unused to jealousy, and he didn’t handle it all well, but the frequent glances his beautiful young wife was receiving from the dozen or so other gentlemen gave him the urge to put his fists to good use.
Yet he could see what attracted their notice. Selena was dressed in an evening gown of blue crepe that fairly shouted taste and good breeding, but the paisley shawl draped demurely across her slender shoulders did little the hide the elegant line of her white neck or the ripe swell of her breasts.
Gazing across the table at Selena, Kyle was struck afresh by her loveliness. It was easy to forget he hadn’t wanted to marry her. What was difficult was controlling his physical reaction to her nearness. An exercise in fortitude, he thought grimly. His body was achingly aware of her, even though she occasionally favored him with a distancing glance from those cool blue eyes of hers.
Selena couldn’t be said to be enjoying the meal, either. The fare offered a wide variety of meats but few vegetables and none of the luscious fruits she was accustomed to on her island. And she was experiencing a similar physical reaction to the one Kyle was experiencing. A dark blue coat and closefitting buff trousers hugged the contours of his muscled torso and long, well-defined legs, making her fully aware of his overwhelming masculinity.
Moonwitch Page 16
