Moonwitch (20 page)

Kyle finally spoke as they drew up before a large, three-story building on Chartres Street. “Here we are,” he said needlessly, “the Hotel des Etrangers. They accept Americans here. When I’m in town I usually stay at a public house that caters to Creoles—a business acquaintance of mine sponsors my visits. But with you along, I thought this would be better.”

“It is very handsome.”

“Look, Selena, about what happened back there…”

When he faltered, Selena looked down at her gloved hands. “She is your mistress, isn’t she?”

It was said in a low, calm voice that made the directness of her conjecture all the more startling. Kyle ran a finger along the edge of his cravat, for the cloth suddenly felt too tight. His relationship with Veronique had never been as permanent as that, though he had paid well for the courtesan’s favors. “The sea has always been my mistress,” he muttered, providing what he thought was a diplomatic answer.

“She is very beautiful,” Selena observed, not allowing him to escape the issue so easily.

“Not more beautiful than you.”

He meant it, but his hasty gallantry was wasted, for Selena slanted a glance at him that said she clearly didn’t believe him. Kyle felt like squirming in his seat. He hadn’t meant to expose either his wife or his sometime mistress to such an embarrassment. Indeed, he never intended for Selena to find out at all about his affaire with the beautiful redhead. He had meant to pay Veronique a visit, tell her of his marriage and sever their relationship—in private, not with dozens of bystanders looking on, watching them embrace…including his
wife,
for God’s sake. Chagrined by his inability to finesse this awkward situation, he made an attempt at an apology.

“Listen, I’m sorry you had to witness that. I’ve known Veronique for a long time—”

“No doubt.”

At Selena’s dry-voiced interruption, Kyle shot her a hard look, suddenly angry at having to defend himself, even if he
had
just been hoping for the opportunity to do just that. “But I’ve ended the connection,” he continued, forcing the words between his teeth. “I have every intention of respecting our marriage vows.”

“That is a matter of supreme indifference to me.”

This time his heavy brows snapped together. “Look, I wasn’t a saint before I met you, I admit it. I’ve always enjoyed the pleasures of life, and women happen to be one of the pleasures.”

Selena raised her chin as she returned his glare. “Must you be so blunt?”

“
I
, blunt? Lady, you take the cake for bluntness. When you deign to speak, that is.”

“At least I am never crude!”

“No, you’re just the coldest, most unresponsive woman I’ve ever known,” Kyle shot back, ignoring the fact that he had once had her shuddering against him and gasping with passion. “You don’t even seem to have the faintest wish to make love to a man.”

“I am not,” Selena replied stiffly.

“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.

S
elena 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 her.

“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.