To Love a Scoundrel (21 page)

Amused, touched, and more than a little eager to learn what she'd been up to all night, he slid the rocking chair over near the bed and eased down on it. Giving himself some time to collect his thoughts, he stared down at her. He could have returned to his cabin hours ago, he admitted with a twinge of regret, but staying away had seemed to be the proper thing to do at the time. Now he wasn't so sure. Had he been chivalrous—or a damn fool?

She looked impossibly tiny and defenseless lying alone in his big bed. Her hair, a deep rich sorrel, was spread around her, across his pillow, and down over her nearly nude shoulders. In slumber, her thick lashes brushing the rise of her freckled cheeks, she looked almost like a child, oddly vulnerable somehow. Was that a true side to her nature, one she'd been able, up to now, to hide from him? Did she conceal this gentle, susceptible side of herself from everyone or just from him? Finally accepting what he'd known since he first saw her on the ship, that he was trapped like a three-legged possum in a bog, he let his breath out in a sigh.

The sound reached Jewel's subconscious. She rolled over on her back and stretched her arms high above her head, where they stayed as she slipped back into the dark abyss of slumber, into an enticing wish-dream state where she could actually will her mind to produce the fantasy of her choice. Her choice that night, and probably for many to come, she acknowledged from the logic sector of her mind, was Brent Connors. Brent and his wonderfully exciting hands and mouth. Brent and the marvelous way he'd made her feel. Brent, with a feather for a whip. All he needed to do was wave that plume her way, and she would be his—anytime, any place.

Jewel lowered her arms, catching the pillow between them, and buried her nose in the flannel-covered down. She inhaled the hint of bayberry, the scent of the man himself, and issued a faint moan. Her smile serene, satisfied, she murmured through a sigh, "Brent."

Feeling guilty about watching her as she slept, Brent leaned forward, intending to announce his presence, but then she lowered her arms past her full, partially exposed breasts to her thighs, where her torn drawers afforded him just the tiniest peek of her auburn thatch and the satiny skin beneath. Once again she stretched, languidly, sensuously, twisting her hips from side to side as she slid her fingers along the length of her body on the return journey to the pillow.

Good Lord, he groaned inwardly, knowing he'd never get this sight out of his mind, her out of his heart. Thoughts of Jewel, of the way it felt to be inside her, of her fluid, natural movements as she responded to his touch, were destined to be a part of him for the rest of his life. Desire, intense and demanding, suddenly raged throughout him in a fire storm of passion. Brent leaned back in the rocker, struggling to get hold of himself, determined not to risk taking her like an animal again.

He looked around for a distraction, anything to keep him from staring at her beautiful face, from gawking at her luscious body. He found it on his pillow—on her hand. Not certain of what he saw, he leaned forward again and examined her little finger. It seemed to be exceptionally short, even for a pinky. He glanced at his own hand, at the graduating dimensions, then back to hers. It was definitely smaller than it ought to be—and just about the cutest thing he'd seen since his niece, using her voice as only a cocky two-year-old could, and begun calling him Unkee Bent. He was bent all right, he laughed to himself, twisted, to have thought he could waltz in here and watch Jewel without so much as—

Green eyes flew open, startling Brent, popping Jewel to an upright position like a catapult. "Holy hell," she cried, snatching the sheet and covering herself. "What are you doing in my bedroom?"

"I—" Brent glanced at his surroundings, no longer sure he trusted his own mind, then said, "This is
my
bedroom. I belong in here."

Jewel's memory caught up with her at the same time her headache did. She managed a sheepish "Oh," just before a bolt of lightning split her forehead in half. With a heartfelt groan, she collapsed back on the pillow and held her forearm across her face.

Brent grabbed the empty bottle and waved it in the air. "Did you have a good time last night?"

"Shut up," she muttered. "Go away and leave me alone."

"This is my suite, remember? You go away."

One watery green eye peeked out from under his arm. "In a minute. Is the boat all right?" she asked, buying a little time for her pounding head.

"The boilers overheated, but we got them under control. Everything's new—the crew, the machinery. I think they just need a little time to get used to each other, but things should be all right from here on out."

"Umm. That's wonderful. Absolutely wonderful."

Brent stood up and banged the bottle down on the table. Laughing as she winced, he started toward the door. "Why don't you get dressed? I'll have some breakfast brought in for us."

Just the thought of food brought bile to her throat, but she held her tongue. As soon as Brent closed the door behind him, Jewel sat up and swung her legs over the edge of the mattress. What in God's name had possessed her to drink an entire bottle of champagne? her brain screamed. But she knew the answer. She'd tried to drown thoughts of Brent and their explosive passion, dilute them into pleasant memories she could deal with. It hadn't worked. Now she had to figure out a way to control herself for the rest of this trip, and she had to do it with the worst headache of her life. Her legs wobbly, her mouth tasting as if she'd mopped the floor of a saloon with her tongue, Jewel slowly dressed herself.

Then she trudged out of the bedroom and headed for the double doors, muttering as she passed Brent, "If my time is up, I'd just like to go to my stateroom. I couldn't eat a bite, but thanks for the offer."

"Wait a minute," he said, catching her as she reached for the doorknob. "There's something I'd like to say, and we need to discuss a few things."

"Can't this wait?" she said wearily. "I'm really in no condition for a debate."

"Then just listen. That's all I really want from you right now, anyway."

Jewel glanced up into his eyes, stunned by the sincerity, the sensitivity, she saw there. "I'm listening," she said with a softness that surprised her.

"What happened last night... I just—"

"Can't we just forget about last night?" she cut in, alarmed at the direction the conversation was taking. "I think it would be better for us both if we did."

Brent raised one eyebrow, then slowly shook his head. "Maybe it would be better for you, but not for me. I don't know what goes on in your mind, but I do know my own. I can't just forget what happened here or how I feel about it today."

"Oh, Brent," she cried, not ready for this conversation, unwilling to search her own heart for her true feelings. "I don't want to know how you feel. Please don't tell me. Maybe you're making too much of this. It was just a silly bet, and even if the payment got a little out of hand, that's still the way we should look at it—as a payment, a way to settle the score."

Cold.
The word leapt into his mind unbidden. Was this an act? Was she hiding something? Was there another man in her life? A husband, perhaps? Brent shook off the thought, but not his suspicion. This was not the same lady he'd seen asleep on his bed a few moments ago. Where was the sweet, guileless woman who'd turned his world upside down? How could he find the real woman, the truth? Too far from the answers he sought, Brent decided to let her think he was as unaffected as she—for now.

He popped a toothpick into his mouth and shrugged. "Most women—certainly most southern women—would demand much more than a short memory from me right now. They would expect me to restore their honor with a proposal of marriage."

"Marriage?"
she nearly strangled on the word. "Please save yourself the trouble and embarrassment of showing me your misguided chivalry. My honor is just fine the way it is, thank you."

Again he shrugged. "Then we just forget about last night?"

"Absolutely. I've already forgotten it," she lied.

"Fine," he said. "Now that I think about it, I believe you could even say that last night meant nothing to me."

Jewel opened the door and stepped across the threshold, curiously piqued. She gritted her teeth and said, "That's perfectly wonderful news, and rest assured, last night meant nothing to me either, do you hear me? Less than nothing."

Then, forgetting about her dreadful headache, she slammed the door in his face.

Chapter 10

"Zee seven of clubs on your queen of diamonds promises good fortune and happiness, but bids you bevare of zee opposite sex—hah. Truer vords vere never spoken." Jewel added impulsively.

"I
beg
your pardon?"

Jewel looked up at the offended matron and rolled her eyes. "So sorry, Mrs. Astor. Sometimes zee cards take control." She looked back down at the table, hoping the explanation would satisfy the woman, and went on with her reading. "Now ve have zee ace of diamonds—humm. Zis means you veel soon receive a letter. Let us turn up zee neighboring cards to see from whom and about vat."

She droned on with the reading, telling the woman what she thought she'd want to hear, automatically reciting the meaning of each card she turned up. But her mind was on Brent. Brent and the fact they'd studiously avoided each other for the past two days. When the
Delta Dawn
docked in Cape Girardeau the morning after the
incident
, as she now referred to that night, she had half expected him to demand she leave the ship. But it hadn't happened.

The best she'd gotten from Mr. Brent Connors over the last few days was an occasional perfunctory nod. A couple of times she'd actually caught him staring at her, but then he would just salute her as if she were some kind of regimental soldier and go on about his business. Had what passed between them really been so insignificant to him?

"Are you quite finished?"

The nasal voice startled her, and Jewel realized she'd been sitting there staring at the three of clubs as if she expected it to come alive.

"Pardon, madam, but zis is very interesting and I vant to be sure before I speak. Zee card says you veel be more zan once married."

Mrs. Astor choked, and then began laughing into her diamond-laden fingers.

Working to keep her expression impassive, Jewel watched as the rotund matron cackled like an egg-bound hen, her bovine breasts jiggling beneath the bodice of her black silk dress. When the cackles became occasional clucks, Jewel pressed her lace-shrouded fingers into a tent, and raised one eyebrow. "Zee cards never lie."

"My, oh, my, Madam Zaharra," the society woman finally managed as she spoke through her perfumed hanky. "It's a good thing Mr. Astor didn't hear you say that."

Jewel shrugged. "Send him over to me. Perhaps vee can determine ven your next marriage will occur."

"Oh, my, my," the woman said through a chuckle, "you're quite impudent, aren't you?" Mrs. Astor dropped a couple of coins on the table, then labored at lifting her bulk from the chair. "Impudent," she went on, puffing for air, "but very entertaining as well. Thank you for the delightful card reading."

"You're velcome," Jewel replied, her smile strained. "And please be sure to geeve my regards to your husbands—all of zem."

The woman began cackling again, but once she was out of sight, Jewel collapsed against the back of her chair. She peeked around the end of the large partition Brent had installed to separate the men from the women, and glanced into the card room. The bar was crowded, but she saw no sign of Brent Connors or Harry Benton. She imagined that the shipowner would be up in the pilothouse, since the
Dawn
was due to dock at its next port in a matter of minutes, but where had Harry been hiding for the last two days? Although Jewel was an employee of the shipline and a confidante of the other workers, all she'd been able to learn was that he'd taken sick and was having his meals sent to his cabin. Was that true? she wondered, or was it part of another scam—a way for him to move about the ship in one of his famous disguises?

"Good morning, my dear."

Startled, Jewel lurched forward, nearly knocking the crystal ball out of the silver bowl. "Oh... hello."

"So sorry, my dear. I didn't mean to sneak up on you," Harry said as he deposited a teacup and saucer on the table and eased his wiry frame onto the chair. "And how are you this fine morning? Better than I've been these last few days, I hope."