Patricia Potter (15 page)

“It’s seldom dull, Cam. We’ll leave the boat at Vicksburg and stay there a few days until it’s time for the ball. We’ll take two horses with us.”

“Marigold?” Cam asked. Quinn had picked a fanciful name for the great gold stallion that he kept at his townhouse on Jackson Place.

“I think Marigold would be the most impressive, don’t you?”

“And you want to impress someone?”

“Only for Daphne, Cam,” Quinn retorted quickly.

“Hmm,” Cam said with the impertinence of familiarity. “Couldn’t be your pride, Capt’n?”

Quinn’s eyes narrowed. “Pride?”

“Women don’t usually say no to you, no matter what you want.”

Irritation rose within Quinn. The suggestion that Meredith Seaton had, in some way, bothered him was not welcome. “Don’t you have something to do?”

“Yes suh, master, suh. I could always scrub the decks, haul yore crates, fan yore body.”

“Go into town, Cam.” A wry glance accompanied his words.

Cam gave him his rare smile. Never in his life had he thought it would feel good to tease a white man.

“I’ll do that, Capt’n. I think I’ll just do that.” It was still magic to him that he had choices. Magic.

Perhaps in several weeks he could give that same magic to Daphne.

C
hapter 8

MEREDITH NERVOUSLY
smoothed the satin material of her gown.

Damn her brother!

Why in the name of all that was dear had he invited Quinn Devereux to the ball?

She had been looking out the window yesterday when he arrived. He was unmistakable in his black clothes and white-streaked black hair. So was the slave, Cam, who rode a little behind him.

Meredith had stared with fascination. She hated to admit it, but Captain Devereux was a superb rider. He sat his stallion with ease, although it pranced nervously coming up the road. If it had been anyone else, she would have loved to paint them—the lean straight figure in black on such a spirited gold-colored mount. Instead, she swore in a most unladylike fashion.

What was he doing here?

She left her room and found Evelyn. Her sister-in-law was standing in the middle of her bedroom while the dressmaker was making last minute alterations on her ball gown.

“Captain Devereux is coming up the road.” The statement was obviously a question as well.

“Oh, didn’t we tell you?” Evelyn said. “Brett Devereux sent his regrets and asked if his brother could substitute for him. Opal is delighted. She said he was very pleasant.”

Meredith searched for something to say. “He’s a gambler…he just isn’t received.”

“Well, if Brett says he’s a gentleman, then he is,” Evelyn said complacently. “Anyway it’s too late. He’s been invited. He’ll have dinner with us tonight.” She looked at Meredith critically. “Try to wear something nice.”

Outrage flooded Meredith. For weeks she had tried to rid herself of images of Quinn Devereux and the way she had felt when their lips had met—even though she now realized the kiss had been only part of a plan to buy Daphne.

Daphne. Suspicion started building in her. Perhaps that was why he had wrangled an invitation. Well, it would do him no good. Daphne belonged to her, not to Robert.

And she would be blasted before she shared another meal with Devereux. She put a hand to her head and swayed. “I think I’m getting the vapors,” she said. “My little ol’ head is just pounding away….”

Evelyn did not look sympathetic. Meredith often had the vapors. Usually very conveniently. “It would be very rude.”

“Why should I care about being rude to a gambler? His reputation…well, it’s plain unsavory. I just can’t believe you’d invite him. We’ll be the talk of the whole state.” She fanned her face with her hand.

Evelyn’s face suddenly creased with worry. “You really think so? I mean Brett is so respected. He would never ask anything compromisin’.”

“He was probably forced into it,” Meredith said slyly. “Everyone knows Quinn Devereux just isn’t received.”

“Oh dear,” Evelyn said, forgetting she usually didn’t put much stock in Meredith’s opinion.

“But if you must, you must,” Meredith said. “But I plan to eat in my room.”

“Well…I think I should go and talk with Robert.”

So Meredith had dinner alone in misery. She kept thinking of Quinn Devereux sitting in the room below, so damnably handsome and arrogant while she was a prisoner in her own room. And she kept Daphne with her, although the girl seemed unusually tense.

Still, she got through the evening and most of the next day. There was no way, however, she could avoid the ball. It was one thing to snub him at dinner, quite another to ignore the major social occasion of the year. She comforted herself with the knowledge that there would be more than a hundred people there, including Gil, to serve as a buffer between her and his aggravating smile and derisive observations.

She chose the yellow gown. It made her skin dreadfully sallow and did nothing to enhance either her hair or her eyes, her two best features. The dress had a high bodice and was decorated with hundreds of rosettes and numerous ruffles, which made her look twice as big as she was. She commanded Daphne to curl her hair into tiny little screw curls that hung over her cheeks, hiding the clean oval lines of her face. When her hair was done to her satisfaction, she dismissed Daphne.

And now she stood in the middle of the room, hesitant to go down although she knew she should be receiving with Robert and Evelyn. But her stomach felt sick and her hands trembled.

She had faced danger repeatedly, calmly, had even been nearly caught once handing money to a slave. And she had certainly never felt this kind of nervousness with a man. Gil was comfortable, and she respected him. But the tingling that started in her body whenever she thought of Quinn Devereux, the assiduous assault on her most protected feelings, astounded her. And frightened her in a way she had never been frightened before.

She knew, deep inside, that he was very, very dangerous to her.

Meredith took one last look in the mirror. She was comforted by the fact that a very plain, frumpy woman returned the steady gaze. Perhaps, he would ignore her. There would be many very attractive young girls here tonight. Strangely, the thought sent a wave of desolation through her.

Fanciful fool, she accused herself. The path she had chosen years ago allowed no fantasies or personal feelings. Especially for a man who personified everything she hated and worked against.

She straightened her back, left her room, and joined her brother and sister-in-law.

The room was full when Quinn Devereux descended the stairs, and suddenly it seemed as if there was no one else present. Her legs trembled and her fingers tightened painfully around an elderly woman’s hand, exacting a tiny cry of protest.

She heard a nearby gasp and knew she wasn’t the only one so affected.

Dear Lord, but he was strikingly handsome. His dark elegance made every other man look like a schoolboy. The white hair around his sun-browned face disappeared into an inky rich blackness that boldly invited touching. The icy dark blue eyes swept the crowd below him with something like contempt before a curtain descended, hiding all emotions. They found her and locked with her own eyes with a relentless power, and once more Meredith felt her whole body responding in a rebellious way. By sheer force of will, she moved her gaze from him and turned back to the woman whose hand was nearly broken by now.

“I’m so glad you could come,” she said somewhat apologetically, her fingers gently massaging the white knuckles of her victim.

“Yes, yes, indeed,” the woman said, jerking her hand away while she had the chance. Odd child, she thought as she moved quickly away. Poor Robert.

Meredith smiled wryly. Then she turned to her brother as she saw Devereux approach. “I’m just about to faint with the heat, Robert,” she drawled. “I’m goin’ to get a glass of punch.” She fled before he could object or Devereux could reach them. But she had the surest feeling that his amused eyes followed her. Damn him.

She found Gil, who had been one of the first to arrive. She couldn’t help but compare him to Devereux. Although Gil had little fat on him, he was heavier than the gambler, stockier in build, although not as tall. He smiled, his mild hazel eyes lacking the intensity of those that had just pierced her.

“Meredith,” he said warmly. “May I have this dance?”

She smiled at him. “I would be delighted.”

Like everything about him, he was a comfortable dancer, doing nothing unexpected, nothing exciting. Now why did she think of that? She forced herself to relax, forced herself to keep her eyes from the hallway where she sensed Captain Devereux was, with
his
eyes following her across the floor. She stepped on Gil’s foot and she apologized profusely, much to Gil’s discomfort. There, she thought with hidden satisfaction. Quinn Devereux will never ask her to dance now. If he’d even planned to.

When she spun around again, she saw him talking to Vinnia Fields, one of the prettiest girls in the district, and she felt an agonizing and incomprehensible streak of jealousy. Her hand tightened on Gil’s, receiving in return a corresponding pressure. Dear God, what was she doing? For the first time in years, she felt totally out of control, unable to harness either her emotions or her actions.

Meredith felt a bump at her back and she turned. It was Devereux, who was dancing with Vinnia. He bowed low, his eyes laughing at her as he apologized. Her gaze went to Vinnia, who was obviously enraptured by her partner.

Meredith took a deep breath, trying to keep the anger from her face, from her eyes. “Captain,” she said with a giggle. “How…surprising to see you again.”

“I’m pleased to see you’ve recuperated from the illness that kept you from dinner last night.”

“Ah la, just something in the air, I think. Hopefully, it will be gone soon.”

The corners of his eyes crinkled, and for a moment she wondered whether she was being too clever. There was something all too intelligent in those cold emotionless eyes.

“Perhaps it will, Miss Seaton,” he replied courteously. He looked at Gil curiously, and she suddenly realized her lapse in manners.

“Our neighbor, Gil MacIntosh. Quinn Devereux, our banker’s brother.” The last was said with a disdain that was unmistakable.

Gil shook hands but looked at her with a question in his eyes. “Mr. Devereux,” she explained further, “is a gambler.”

Quinn bowed low, his mouth twitching. “I also own the
Lucky Lady,
Mr. MacIntosh, and I’m looking for shipping contracts in Vicksburg. I would like the opportunity to talk to you about it.”

“Of course,” Gil said easily. “Come by tomorrow and we can discuss it.”

“I’ll do that.” He turned back to Meredith, his smile mocking. “Thank you, Miss Seaton.”

Meredith merely lowered her head in acknowledgment, hiding her dismay. If he received her brother’s business, and Gil’s, dear Lord, he would be around all the time.

The dance was soon over, and Meredith accompanied Gil to the overflowing table, guiding him well away from the man she was quickly believing was her nemesis.

Her appetite completely gone, she nonetheless filled her plate. Nibbling would give her something to do, and hopefully take her mind from the altogether too handsome Quinn Devereux.

But Gil wouldn’t permit it, peppering her with questions about the guest. “How well do you know him?” he asked.

“Well enough not to trust him,” she said acidly, hoping that she might spoil Captain Devereux’s plans to do business in this area. “He has the most frightful reputation in New Orleans…he just isn’t received. My brother was put in the most difficult position when Brett Devereux passed his invitation on to his black sheep brother. I just can’t understan’ what Brett was thinkin’.”

Gil’s eyes went around the room to the striking man in black. He was leaning attentively over another young lady. “He certainly seems to have a way with the ladies.”

Meredith clenched her teeth together. “Handsome is as handsome does, Sister Esther told me. I personally see nothing attractive about him.”
Lie,
she told herself.

“Would you like to dance again?” Gil asked.

Her eyes went around the floor, and she saw Captain Devereux dancing, moving gracefully across the floor with another very pretty girl in his arms.

“Yes,” she said with a kind of ache inside.

When the music finally stopped, she smiled brightly at Gil and saw Devereux’s sardonic gaze once more on her. Damn the man. She looked her worst, was dancing her worst, and certainly had been discourteous at her worst, and still he was making his way over to her.

“I wonder,” he said when he reached her and Gil, “if I might have the honor of this dance?”

Anger, dark and hurting, flooded her. All he wanted, she suspected, was Daphne, and she didn’t understand why the thought was so excruciating. “I don’t dance with gamblers,” she said rudely, loud enough for those around to hear.

His face flushed with the insult, and his eyes turned icy. He bowed elaborately. “I certainly would be the last to lure you from your very admirable God-fearing ways,” he said mockingly.