Patricia Potter (20 page)

Obviously, there was very little to Devereux. Very little good, at least.

The carriage pulled up to a small but very respectable hotel, and a tall dignified servant approached them from the entrance, his mouth smiling widely. “Miz Seaton, we’ve been lookin’ fo’ you.”

In minutes, they were installed in two of the best rooms, and Meredith had ordered a meal sent up to them. Opal was tired, and Meredith had to prepare for her meeting with Brett in the morning. She knew he was going to be troublesome, but she needed additional funds to continue the detective’s search for Lissa, and the Underground Railroad was always in need of funds—for clothing, for horse and buggy rental in Ohio, steamboat fare across the border, for new starts in Canada, and occasionally for those conductors who took pay for their risks.

She could see Brett’s frowning face now and hear the same lecture. “Your grandfather—”

Meredith’s mind once more wandered disobediently to Quinn. How could two brothers be so different? Why did she even care? She wondered over it as she finally fell off to sleep several hours later.

Brett’s office revealed much about his disposition: warm, neat, comfortable, yet very practical.

As she entered, he rose from behind his desk and moved toward her, his voice pleasant but a bit wary. “Meredith. I didn’t think I would be seeing you so soon.”

Meredith forced a silly smile to her lips. “I find myself,” she said, “in need of more of my trust fund.”

Brett sat on the corner of his desk. “I seem to remember that you’ve already drawn more than this year’s allotment,” he said dryly.

“Fiddlesticks,” Meredith said crossly. “There’s more money in the fund than I can ever use.”

“I doubt it,” he replied in the same wry tone. “What now?”

“I’m thinkin’ of gettin’ engaged and I need some new clothes. There’s the most divine new silk at Madame Gereaux’s.”

Brett’s brows knit together. “Engaged?” Fortune hunter, he thought privately. It would have to be a fortune hunter. And then he thought of Quinn. He hadn’t seen his brother since he had arranged the invitation to the Seatons’. Please, Lord, no.

She fluttered her eyelashes at him. “So you see how important it is I have suitable clothes.”

“May I ask the name of this fortunate man?” he said quietly.

“Why, our neighbor, Mr. MacIntosh, of course.”

Brett slowly released the breath he had been holding in his throat. The way she had been spending money, God knew, she should have enough clothes to last her a lifetime. However, relief softened his usual reluctance. He sighed heavily.

“Regardless of what you may believe, Meredith, your money is not inexhaustible. I wish you would use a little restraint….”

“Oh horsefeathers, Brett. What else is there to do with money if not spend it?”

Brett winced. With a slight frown, he looked at his visitor. He had not enjoyed inheriting this particular duty from his father, acting, he often believed, as keeper for an irresponsible and silly child. They went through this same discussion at least three or four times a year, and still huge bills for clothing came from Cincinnati and other places. In addition, he had to listen to the constant harping for personal funds.

“Your grandfather,” he started, knowing he had repeated the same words many times, “wanted to protect you—”

“And I’m mos’ grateful,” she interrupted with a secret smile at his predictability. “But you must see I need a new wardrobe…an’I need money for Christmas gifts an’, well, I just know you understand.”

“I understand only too well,” he said. His smile didn’t quite cover the sarcasm that had crept into his voice, and Meredith, for the first time, felt a resemblance between the Devereux brothers.

“Then you’ll transfer the funds?” The question was asked with a smile that she hoped looked tentative. She knew she would get the money. She always did as long as her demands weren’t completely outrageous, and she had purposely refrained from doing that. But she had to complain in such a way that he didn’t suspect her. It wouldn’t do for the flighty Meredith Seaton to be reasonable.

“How much?” he asked with resignation.

“Oh,” she said, “I have this little list…but I just remembered my paintin’ materials. I do need some money for those too.” She took a package from under her arm. “I even brought you a present, my latest work.”

She smiled as he took it graciously, but gingerly. She had given him paintings before and had expressed disappointment that he never displayed them in his office. He had always replied that he preferred them at home. In a closet, she thought with amusement. “So you see,” she rattled on “I just must have at least five hundred dollars.”

“Three hundred, and no more this year,” he bargained.

Meredith allowed her face to fall while silently she calculated her expenses. One hundred to the detective, one hundred for the Railroad, ten for her art supplies. Her lodging and riverboat fare would take much of the rest.

“But—”

“That’s all, Meredith,” he said with a voice she thought he must also use with naughty children. “I have a responsibility to your grandfather.”

She pouted slightly, then urged him to open her present. It was one of her least objectionable landscapes, a painting of the Mississippi near Briarwood. There was nothing good about it, but neither was it quite the horror some were.

He looked at it briefly, complimented her on it, then put it on his desk. “Now tell me about this young man….”

When Meredith finally escaped, a bank draft in hand, she hurried down the stairs to where a hired carriage waited. She had been able to avoid Opal, who had slept late this morning, and Daphne, whom she had put to work sewing a rip in one of her dresses.

If she hurried, she would have time to visit the detective. The sun hit her eyes as she hurried out of the dark bank, and she didn’t see a loose sheet of paper on the front steps. When her boot heel hit the paper, it slid, taking her foot with it, and she lost her balance. Her body spun forward, and she threw out her hands to soften her landing, but suddenly strong arms grabbed her and her body was steadied.

She didn’t have to look up. The warm tingling of her skin where confident fingers held her told her all she needed to know. She closed her eyes, even as she wondered how she knew.

Captain Quinn Devereux!

C
hapter 11

HOW LIGHT SHE WAS
. So much lighter than he had expected. Perhaps, Quinn thought, it had been the bows and flounces and layers that had made her look gawky.

But there was nothing gawky about the slim form he was holding now. Even under the heavy cloak she wore, he could feel the soft curves.

Reluctantly, he released her.

Quinn waited for her eyes to open, for she had shut them tightly, and he wondered briefly if she would faint. He somehow doubted it. He regarded her lazily as her eyes flickered open, and he saw a momentary flare of golden fire. It was gone almost immediately.

“Why, Miss Seaton, how delightful to be of service,” he drawled ironically, his hand very properly remaining on her elbow. “I did not expect to see you here in New Orleans. A most pleasant surprise.”

“For you, perhaps,” she answered ungraciously, not a little abashed at her body’s reaction to him. Her elbow felt on fire. It was a most humiliating encounter, and she did not appreciate his smirk.

“Now, Meredith,” he started. “Ah, but you have not given me permission to call you Meredith despite all our…many interesting moments together. My pardon, Miss Seaton.”

Any gratitude she may have had quickly fled. He was as insufferable, as arrogant, as bullying as ever. She gave him her haughtiest look, then moved her eyes slowly down to where his hand still touched her elbow. “If you would release me?”

“But I would hate to see you faint now. I might not be as quick next time.”

“I never faint,” she retorted before thinking. She only wanted to get away from him. Damn it, but his face was even more handsome than she remembered. She couldn’t keep from looking at him—and noticing the devilment that danced in his eyes.

“You don’t?” he said with a raised eyebrow. “I seem to remember any number of occasions when you were indisposed.”

“There are many reasons for indisposition,” she snapped back. “For example, the company one is forced to keep.”

He grinned wickedly. “I can always help you back down to the ground, if you so regret accepting my assistance.”

Meredith knew she was behaving badly, as well as stepping out of her role. If only his eyes didn’t probe so deeply, if only the words from his tongue didn’t sting so painfully…

She forced a smile to her face. “I do thank you,” she said, bending her head so he wouldn’t see the lie in her eyes. She would much prefer to have landed on her backside, injured dignity or not, than endure this charade.

“May I help you to your carriage then?” The voice was soft and suddenly surprisingly gentle.

The change in tone, the unexpectedness of it, sent bolts of lightning through Meredith. The tension, the electricity, had always been there between them, although she’d fought against recognizing it. Now, as she lifted her eyes, there was no doubt of it. His presence, his touch, affected her as nothing else had in her life.

Confused, she stepped away and almost fell again. His arm once more went around her waist, and she felt the enormous strength behind it.

“I think I’d better see you to your lodgings,” he said with only a touch of irony, for he too was feeling strange sensations, a craving as dark and deep as the coal pit he had once labored in.

“Just to the carriage,” Meredith managed to say. Even to her, her voice seemed drugged.

“If you wish,” he said, surprised at the mildness in his own voice. The craving was growing, even as his mind kept telling him he was a fool. The biggest damn fool in the South.

His hand stayed beneath her elbow as they walked toward the carriage. He was close enough that she could smell the barest scent of musk and spices mixed with soap and leather, an aroma that was pure sorcery. She didn’t want to let it go. She didn’t want to let
him
go.

But when they reached the carriage, she did. Her pursed mouth and the artificial brightness of her words had nothing to do with the loss she felt as he handed her carefully inside.

“Where are you staying?” he asked.

“A hotel on Chartres.”

“Will someone be there to assist you?” He was amazed at his concern. It was ridiculous. She had told him any number of times she wanted nothing to do with him. And he really wanted nothing to do with her. Dowdy, awkward, rude—she was all of these, yet there was something else too, something he didn’t understand. And it bothered him. God damn, but it chafed at him.

“Aunt Opal and Daphne.”

“Daphne?”

Whatever softness he had created in Meredith in the past few moments hardened. So that was where his interest continued to lie. Some vulnerable part of herself started aching. Badly.

She ignored his question. “My thanks again, Captain,” she said, her chin climbing into the air.

“I’ll call on you to make sure you’ve had no ill effects.”

“There is no need.” Her tone was sharper than she had intended, and he looked startled.

“Ah, but there is, pretty lady.” Quinn wasn’t quite sure what had happened, but she had certainly frozen over more thoroughly than a shallow pool in Minnesota in January.

“You don’t understand, Captain,” she said tightly. “I don’t wish my reputation tarnished. I do appreciate your help, but you need trouble yourself no further.”

She was spared a retort for, at her nod, the driver snapped the horses into a fast pace.

Quinn watched the carriage disappear around the corner, a small smile lurking in his eyes. He had again felt that strange incomprehensible fire that always blazed between them, and knew that she did too. He damn well didn’t understand why it was eating at him, but it was, and he knew eventually he would satisfy both his hunger and curiosity. Perhaps once he’d had more than a brief whiff, his appetite would find it poor fare indeed.

With that comforting thought settled, another more disquieting one took its place: Daphne. She had said Daphne was with her. Damn. He and Cam had been waiting daily to hear that Daphne had made it North, and now she was here in New Orleans.

He released a long stream of curses that would have made Terrence O’Connell proud.

Meredith directed the carriage driver to a less than respectable quarter of New Orleans. She pulled the hood of her cloak over her hair as she stepped down from the carriage and entered a doorway.

The office she was seeking was on the second floor. She knocked but no one answered and she leaned against the wall, frustrated, discouraged, and altogether disgusted with herself. She was still there several minutes later when she heard the heavy tread of steps. Her heart sped for a moment. It seemed that Quinn Devereux turned up every place she went, and she would not have been startled to see him here now.

But it wasn’t he, and she sighed with relief as she watched the detective she had hired move swiftly toward her. He had come highly recommended by Elias, although she had precious little to show for more than two years and two thousand dollars.