Moonwitch (19 page)

How was that possible when the sunlight had suddenly gone out of his day?

He made one more attempt to approach her, that night at supper. As always, she had eaten with his officers, but he thought she seemed even more reserved than usual, and though she didn’t ignore him precisely, she never addressed him directly. And even her occasional comments to her other tablemates were cool and scrupulously polite.

When, at the conclusion of the meal, Kyle realized she meant to return to her cabin rather than stroll on deck as she regularly did, he followed Selena to the door and caught her arm as she prepared to leave. He released it immediately when she flinched at his touch, gazing down at her in puzzlement and concern. “Selena, would you mind telling me what is going on? Is there some problem I don’t know about?”

Selena managed to return her husband’s gaze briefly. For once she was grateful to Edith, for teaching her how to deal with rejection. She was able to answer Kyle’s question with scarcely a pause. “Problem? I don’t know what you mean.”

“The way you’re behaving…so stiff and formal. I thought after last night—”

“Am I being stiff? I didn’t realize it.”

If she sounded cool, perhaps even haughty, then she was glad. Glad that Kyle couldn’t see what an effort it was to be so near to him.

He searched her face, hesitating a long moment before he replied. “Would you like to stroll on deck, then? I could accompany you, since Hardwick is unavailable.”

“Thank you, but I fear I’m quite weary after being kept up so much of last night. I think I shall retire.”

“Well, if there’s nothing you need—”

“Your crew is seeing to my needs quite well. Thank you, Kyle… and good night.”

She fled, thinking that she’d managed to cover her hurt well—until she reached her cabin and couldn’t stop her tears.

Three afternoons later the
Tagus
docked at New Orleans. Selena stood at the rail, eyeing the colorful sights with the first interest she had felt in days. New Orleans differed in many respects from the seaports to which she was accustomed. The Mississippi was far wider than any river she had imagined, for one thing, and far muddier, as well. There were no docks, either, merely a high, earthen levee—to keep the city safe from floods, Hardwick had informed her. The natural wharf was bustling with commerce—piled with crates and barrels and bales and hogsheads and lined with drays and carriages.

The hundreds of boats that lay alongside the miles of levee were also strange compared to the seafaring merchant ships and naval vessels she was used to seeing in English Harbor. These wooden vessels were long and squat, without sails—flatboats and bateaux, Hardwick called them. Or keelboats, if they had a sail. According to him, these flat-bottomed boats floated downriver laden with cotton, sugar, tobacco, leather and furs for exporting to Europe. The ones that were long and narrow like bananas were pirogues, which Hardwick said were used in navigating the bayous.

“‘Bayous’?” Selena asked, unfamiliar with the word.

“It’s like a swamp that’s been overrun by a river,” Hardwick explained. “This area is full of them. And until recently the bayous provided a haven for pirates.”

“Pirates?”

Hardwick grinned at Selena’s tone. “All the notorious ones are gone now, though a few smugglers are still actively engaged in illegal trading.”

Relieved, Selena gestured upriver at a big, ungainly boat that sported two tall chimneys and an odd lump at the stern. “What is that one called? I’ve never seen anything like it.”

“That’s a steamboat, ma’am. It’s powered by steam instead of wind. We’ll be seeing more and more of them on the river, I’ll wager. Steamboats will never take the place of a good sailing ship, of course, but here on Western waters, they’re catching on. They have a great advantage over flatboats, since they’re so much faster and they can go upstream as well as downstream. That one’s the
Washington,
if I’m not mistaken. She’s about the biggest there is. You may even get a chance to travel on her if she’s headed for Natchez. Now if you’ll excuse me, Mrs. Ramsey,” he said as the schooner’s gangway was run out, “I’d better be seeing to my duties. The captain will have my head, else.”

At the mention of the captain, Selena glanced toward the forecastle, where Kyle was deep in conversation with his cabin boy. She was always aware of where he was on the ship, even though they had scarcely spoken since she’d returned to her own cabin.

Despite the warmth of the day, he wore a pristine white cravat and had donned, over a waistcoat of embroidered silk, a superbly tailored bottle-green coat that molded his powerful shoulders to perfection. When he lifted his high-crowned beaver hat to his head, he looked every inch the gentleman, ruggedly handsome and refined. A man any woman would be proud to call her husband. Or lover.

Selena clenched her gloved hands, fighting the memory that thought aroused. She didn’t like to remember their night of lovemaking. Sometimes she forgot for hours at a time the incredibly wanton things they’d done, the pleasures they’d shared. And then an accidental touch or the sound of Kyle’s voice would send them rushing back again. Yet he seemed to have dismissed that devastating night so easily—

Just then Kyle shifted his gaze momentarily and met her eyes across the stretch of polished deck, and Selena blushed to have been caught watching him. Her blush deepened when his scrutiny dropped to her breasts. She felt half-naked without the restraints of a corset but had left off wearing it ever since Kyle had refused to help her with her laces. Worse, though, was the way that her nipples hardened instantly whenever Kyle merely looked at her—as he was doing now, his hazel gaze lingering on the spencer jacket that covered her rose-colored gown. She could almost feel the quick strokes of his tongue pleasurably tormenting the bare crests, the gentle tugging of his lips arousing her desire.

Hot-cheeked, Selena turned away and focused her gaze on the bustling levee, trying to remember that she had been comparing the wharves of New Orleans to those of Antigua. At least the sight of stevedores and slaves loading and unloading goods and cargo was familiar to her.

She managed to distract her thoughts momentarily, yet one corner of her mind was still attuned to Kyle. She was relieved to see him shortly leave the ship. He was followed by the cabin boy, and while the lad went off in one direction, Kyle strode off toward the steamship Selena had noticed earlier. To make arrangements for accommodations, she presumed, wondering if those accommodations included her.

It was nearly half an hour later when her attention was directed beyond the levee to the arrival of an elegant chaise drawn by a pair of high-stepping chestnuts. The lone occupant of the carriage was a woman, and even from the distance, Selena could tell she was beautiful. Her figure was voluptuous yet graceful, draped becomingly in an expensive high-necked gown of jonquil-colored silk, while her lustrous Titian hair was secured in a sedate chignon beneath a tall bonnet with a sweeping plume.

“Oh, Lord,” said Hardwick softly from close behind her. Selena turned to see him standing frozen as the beautiful red-haired woman secured the reins and stepped down from the carriage. Then, as if recovering from a shock, he leaped into action. Despite the stiffness warranted by his bandaged ribs, he hastened down the gangplank to greet her.

He intercepted her at the foot of the gangway, successfully preventing her from boarding the ship.

The beauty bestowed a charming smile on him and offered her gloved hand for him to kiss. “How good to see you, M’sieur Hardwick,” she proclaimed in a lilting tone that was obviously French, belying Selena’s initial hope that she was one of Kyle’s sisters. “How fortunate that my carriage was passing just at this moment,
n’est-ce pas?
I shall be able to greet Kyle properly.”

“He isn’t here, Mademoiselle Rouvier,” Hardwick said quickly—or at least that was what Selena thought he said. He had lowered his voice so that she could barely make out his words above the normal din of the levee.

The French lady’s accented voice carried easily, however, striking a discordant note in Selena’s ears, despite its musical quality.

“But of course! M’sieur Kyle does not care to have women on his ship, is that not so? I am an imbecile, me, to have forgotten.
D’accord,
perhaps you will tell him to pay me a call as soon as he is able. I shall wait anxiously, please tell him.”

Hardwick glanced uncomfortably over his shoulder, up at the rail, where Selena stood. The red-haired beauty started to follow his gaze, but then she spotted Kyle’s tall figure moving through the crowd toward them. With a glad little cry, she launched herself at him, flinging her arms around his neck and pressing her mouth ardently against his.

One of Kyle’s sisters, indeed, Selena thought with a fierce stab of jealousy. There was nothing sisterly about the embrace the woman was giving him. Even the most naive of wives would have realized the beautiful redhead was his mistress.

“Veronique!” Kyle said firmly, grasping her affectionate arms and holding them away, at the same time casting an uneasy glance up at his ship. When he caught sight of Selena, he disengaged himself entirely from Veronique’s embrace and, taking her by the arm, directed her away from the levee. “Where is your carriage?” Selena heard him say before his words were lost in the general chorus of activity.

Selena followed their progress, unable to tear her eyes away. And although she couldn’t hear him, she could tell from the look on Veronique’s face that Kyle was telling her about his marriage.

Selena hardly noticed when Hardwick addressed her.

“Perhaps you should return to your cabin, Mrs. Ramsey,” he urged, looking highly embarrassed. “I’m sure you’ll want to make certain all your belongings are packed.”

“I’ve already done so.” She was proud that her voice scarcely trembled.

“Then perhaps you could show one of the men which trunks you want delivered to your hotel.”

She had already done that, as well, but to refuse his suggestion of a graceful exit would be to acknowledge the incident she had just witnessed—which a well-bred woman would never do. She would also be denying Hardwick’s kindness in trying to spare her humiliation. That he hadn’t succeeded wasn’t his fault, Selena reflected as she allowed herself to be led away.

Still, she had difficulty regaining her composure, even in the privacy of her cabin. Her cheeks felt hot and flushed, and the ache in her breast wouldn’t go away, especially when she remembered Veronique’s fervent embrace. She could never behave so boldly with Kyle, Selena thought, forgetting how she had propositioned him that night on the beach. And the redhead’s lush figure… Her own figure was willowy at best—no doubt too meager for a man of Kyle’s lusty appetites.

Selena’s conjecture, however, was very much mistaken; Kyle found her slender body more than capable of arousing him. The sudden tautness of his own body whenever he came near her proclaimed louder than words how much he was attracted to Selena, meager figure or not, and how difficult he was finding it to control his physical reactions to her.

Kyle had been puzzled and frankly astonished that after all the exquisite passion she had shown him, Selena had suddenly turned so cold. Her response had disturbed him, as had the way she’d flinched at his touch.

He wasn’t quite sure what had happened, but he didn’t like to consider the possibilities. That night Selena had become his wife in more than name only, and the thought that she might have used her body to secure her position and the use of his name was acutely distasteful to him. His instincts told him he was wrong. Another kind of woman might have been so calculating, but while Selena might be cold, he didn’t think she was cold-blooded. Yet he couldn’t dismiss the thought entirely. The moment he had agreed to accept Selena as his wife, she had retreated into her chilly shell of reserve, making it quite clear she wouldn’t accept his attentions.

Perhaps she truly was too prim and cold natured to accept her own passion. But whatever her reasons, it was clear she didn’t want him for her husband—at least not physically.

He wasn’t going to try to press the issue, though, Kyle decided, at least not yet. He needed time to come to terms with the situation himself. And he needed to determine what he was going to do about his son. He couldn’t seek an annulment now, and that left him limited alternatives.

And unlimited frustration.

He was disgusted that their passionate night together had left him throbbing for Selena like a youth hungering for his first woman. Yet there was little he could do to control either the lust licking at his veins or the disquietingly tender feelings that were prodding at his heart. He took refuge in silence, keeping his highly aroused body rigid and tightly restrained whenever it wasn’t possible to avoid her.

It was no different when Hardwick shortly escorted Selena to the hired carriage that would transport the Ramseys to their hotel; Kyle sat stiffly in the driver’s seat, his muscles taut, his expression wary as he waited for her reaction to what had happened back there on the docks. Selena wouldn’t look at him, Kyle noted with chagrin, though as she took her place beside him, he glimpsed that wounded look in her eyes that he had learned to dread.

But if he expected her to take him to task, he was far off, he realized. Selena wasn’t playing the betrayed wife. Except for the fact that she placed Horatio’s cage between them, she seemed to be ignoring the incident altogether, pretending that it hadn’t happened, as she observed the passing scenery of New Orleans.

Somehow her indifference stung him more than anger would have. And it frustrated him that as a gentleman, he couldn’t bring up the subject. He wished she would say something so he could at least defend himself.

They were both silent as they drove along the narrow streets of New Orleans, Kyle focusing his attention on the horses, Selena focusing hers on the architecture. The two-story houses stood flush with wooden sidewalks that lined the unpaved streets. Nearly all were built of stuccoed brick and decorated with lacy ironwork, while many possessed galleries.