To Love a Scoundrel (33 page)

"He did steal her emeralds, Miss Pinkerton, but he stole them from Beau, not from my mother." Brent cocked his head, and leveled a finger at her. "What made you think it could be otherwise?"

Retreating in earnest now, Jewel circled the canopied bed and ran her nervous fingers across the embroidered white coverlet. "It was an understandable error," she muttered, trying to reconstruct the crime in her mind. "Relieving wealthy women of their jewelry
is
Harry's specialty, you know. What else was I to think?"

"Maybe a little more of me," Brent grumbled, facing her from across the bed. "I find it insulting both to my mother and to me that you could actually believe I'd bring Harry into my home under those circumstances."

"It did seem a little callous on your part, but I still don't know what else I could have thought. The very idea of Beau losing the jewelry to Harry is so ridiculous, I can't even entertain the notion."

Still frowning, his feelings injured, Brent shoved his hands in his pockets and walked back to the window. Staring out at the cedar trees lining the pathway to the barns, he said, "The war shattered this family's spirit for a while, but it did not rob us of our honor. My mother is a true wife to my father and an extremely noble woman. Perhaps I need to question Beau a little further, but if he says Harry stole the jewels, then Harry stole the jewels. Understand?''

"Not really, Brent," she said softly as she approached him from behind. "Why don't you tell me exactly what happened to Beau? Maybe then we can get this all straightened out."

"There's not much to tell," he said, still staring out the window. "Beau went on down to New Orleans about a year and a half ago to make a loan so he could pay the taxes on Sumner Hall. He was going to use the emeralds as collateral."

Jewel waited a long moment, then prompted, "And?"

"And nothing." He shrugged. "He said Harry stole them out of his hotel room before he had a chance to find a lender."

"And you're absolutely certain he said the man's name was Harry Benton?"

Brent recalled the night his brother, wild-eyed and trembling, related the story of the theft. "Yes. I'm positive the name was Harry Benton."

"But that's absolutely ludicrous," she said, more baffled than ever.

Spinning to face her, Brent gripped her shoulders. "Why do you keep saying that? What's so ridiculous about a crook like Harry Benton stealing a diamond and emerald necklace of considerable value?"

As Jewel stared up into his sensitive brown eyes, it became increasingly difficult for her to make the objective observations of a detective. Fighting the sympathetic woman inside, she tried to explain. "Please try to look at it from my side, Brent. I've made a thorough study of Harry Benton, and while he may be a lot of things, most of them unsavory, he is definitely not a thief."

"Excuse me?" Brent said, his brow high and incredulous.

"All right, that was a bad choice of words." She laughed. "But if you put him in the picture you're trying to paint, he simply isn't a thief of that sort. Harry has had a long and checkered career, to be sure, but he always takes his payments from ladies. That's one reason he's been so difficult to catch. Most of his victims do not want him prosecuted for one reason or another."

"Those reasons being?"

"Their husbands or fathers, for one. All of his victims were attached to very successful men." No longer able to look into his honey-brown eyes, Jewel blushed and glanced out the window.

"What's the other reason?"

"He, ah..." She sputtered around, her usually glib tongue unable to speak of Harry in such terms. "He apparently leaves most of them happy. The women generally decide that he's entitled to whatever he helps himself to."

In spite of his earlier dark thoughts, Brent burst out in laughter. "That definitely does not match Beau's story."

"No, it most certainly doesn't." Turning back to him, she pleaded, "Why don't you have a long talk with your brother and see if hasn't confused Harry with someone else?"

"Doesn't sound as if I have much choice," he said, sliding his hands off her shoulders and down her back to her waist. "What do we do if he has made a mistake, partner?"

"Why don't we worry about that later? For now, I'm just glad to hear he wasn't involved with your mother. I really couldn't understand how you could be so nice to him all the way out here. You can happily drop that little act now. It was beginning to get on my nerves anyway."

"It wasn't that much of an act. In spite of the fact that I still believe he stole my family heirlooms, I think Harry's a pretty likable fellow."

"Just don't become too enamored of him," she grumbled, disturbed by the idea of Brent and her newfound father becoming friends. "One way or another I intend to put that man behind bars for the rest of his life."

"Do you also intend to masquerade as his daughter right down to the end?"

"Yes, and don't you dare even hint that I'm only pretending to be the heir to his throne."

"Some throne," he laughed, pulling her close. "More of a gallows, if you ask me."

"Well, I didn't. You just go on downstairs and talk to your brother; then let me know what you find out. Can you manage that,
partner?"

"I believe so." Brent linked his fingers, tightening his grip around her waist as she tried to back away. "Don't run off yet. What do you think of my family so far?"

Vaguely uncomfortable with the new direction the conversation was taking, and with the fact that she was so close to him, Jewel pressed her palms against his chest. "I think they wouldn't approve of you being alone with me in my room."

"And here I thought you didn't understand southerners." He leaned forward and kissed the tip of her nose before indulging himself with a quick taste of her mouth. "I've missed holding you, Jewel, missed touching your skin and kissing your lips. I've missed all of you. Perhaps I was a bit hasty in setting the guidelines for our partnership. Maybe this would be a good time to remove one of the more stupid rules," he murmured softly, hovering above her parted, trembling lips. "There's no reason I can think of that we shouldn't do this. No reason at all." And before she could agree or object, he covered her mouth again, this time in a deeply satisfying kiss.

The door opened at the same instant a young woman's voice called out, "Brent? Is that you?"

He released Jewel and quickly stepped back from her, but not fast enough to escape the inquisitive cinnamon eyes of his youngest sister. He turned, speaking in a hoarse voice, and scolded, "Good gracious, Brandee Leigh, you should know better than to walk into a room without knocking."

She giggled into her hand. "I'm sorry. I didn't know you had company in here. I thought I heard your voice, so I've been running up and down the hall looking for you." Standing on tiptoe, she craned her neck and peeked behind her brother's shoulders, then acknowledged Jewel's presence with a little curtsy. "Excuse me, ma'am."

Her cheeks in full bloom, Jewel managed a quiet "That's all right."

Brent beckoned his sister to cross the room as he said, "Jewel, this is my nosy sister, Brandee Leigh." Addressing the young woman as she approached, he explained, "Miss Poindexter and her father are our guests for the night. See if you can't mind your manners and stay away from their bedrooms until after they leave tomorrow. Mr. Poindexter is in the teak room. I'm sure he wouldn't want you barging in on him the way you just burst in on us."

She giggled again. "He didn't mind too much."

"Pardon me?"

"It wasn't my fault," Brandee said, lowering her gaze. "I told him I was looking for you. How could I have known there was a strange man in the house?"

"Oh, for heaven's sake," Brent complained again, this time under his breath.

"Don't worry about it," Jewel said. "I'm sure my dear faathah has been through much worse."

Brandee's cinnamon eyes lit up and she blurted out, "Did you hear that, Brent? She said 'faathah.' How exciting these two are. When I looked in the teak room, the man said, 'Goodness, my dear,' or something like that. Oh, golly, you both sound so deliciously foreign
.
Where are y'all from?"

Her mouth curved up at one corner, Jewel glanced at Brent, then addressed the girl. "Chicago."

"
Chicago
?"
she echoed in a sigh. Clearly disappointed, Brandee pulled one of her caramel-colored curls across her shoulder and began to twirl it. "But your daddy sounded so—"

"Foreign. I know. But that's understandable," Jewel explained. "Faathah has traveled extensively in Europe. I suppose some of the accents he's been exposed to have just naturally become a part of his speech."

"Doesn't matter whether Harry's got an accent or not," Brent grumbled, as he bore down on his sister. "To Brandee Leigh, anyone who comes from east of Kentucky is a foreigner. And for a young girl of fifteen—"

"Sixteen," Brandee interrupted with a pout.

Brent raised his brows. "Since when?"

Brandee's gaze drifted around the room as she gave him a tiny shrug. "Next month."

"As I was saying," Brent continued, taking Brandee by the arm. "For a girl of fifteen, this one spends entirely too much time thinking about foreigners and about men in general." As he started toward the door with his sister in tow, he whispered a warning into her ear. "I don't want to see you making a fool out of yourself in front of Miss Poindexter's daddy. Behave yourself, you hear?"

Brandee turned mournful eyes on him and slowly nodded.

"Good." Brent glanced across the top of her head to the window where Jewel stood grinning. Keeping his gaze locked on her laughing green eyes, he said to Brandee, "I'm afraid we left our luggage on the
Delta Dawn.
Go get Mary Mildred. Mama says you gals can find an extra dress for Jewel to wear to supper."

"Oh, sure," she said with high-pitched exuberance, forgetting her reprimand, looking ahead to the events of the evening instead. "I won't be but a minute, Miss Jewel. We have a pile of gowns you can choose from."

Brent waited for her to brush past him and scurry on down the hallway before he bowed slightly at the waist and said, "Welcome to Sumner Hall, Miss Flannery. There's two more just like her on the way in here as we speak. Think you can manage them?"

Through her laughter, Jewel said, "I think Brandee and Beau are delightful. I'm sure I'll enjoy the rest of your family as much."

"Mary Mildred and Trilonnie Georgette are older and more formidable than Brandee Leigh," he warned. "I suppose you ought to count yourself lucky that my married sister, Mildred Mary, who lives in Vicksburg will not be joining us this evening."

Still laughing, she said, "Mary Mildred
and
Mildred Mary?"

"Oh, yes, ma'am. We southerners do like to keep our names going 'round and 'round."

Jewel's chuckles eased, then increased just as suddenly when she recalled her earlier meeting with Brent's brother. "I guess," she gasped, "that holds true for you boys, too, then. I noticed you both have the same initials—B.S."

Through his laughter he said, "So the detective in you has not been completely disarmed by my charms. Yes, there are two B. S. Connorses. Until the Yankees robbed him of his pride and his mobility," Brent explained as he stepped out into the hall, "my father was not without a sense of humor. See you at supper, and good luck with the Connors gals. You'll be needin' all you can get."

He pulled the door shut on her laughter and carried the sound with him as he negotiated the hallway and staircase and headed for the study. Finding the double doors open, he stepped inside, then closed them behind him when he spotted his brother working at the rolltop desk in the far corner.

"Got a minute, Beau?" he said as he strolled over to the side table set up as a bar.

"Huh?" Beau looked up from the column of figures and grinned as he saw his brother take two glasses from the shelf. Pushing away from the desk, he sauntered across the room. "I've always got time for a snort with you."

Brent chose a bottle of Kentucky bourbon from the row of decanters, then poured two fingers neat into each glass. After handing one drink to his brother, he raised the other and said, "To the brothers Connors, and to truth." He fixed Beau with a narrow gaze as he tapped the rims in a quick salute.

"Truth?" Beau said before taking a long pull on his drink.

"Yes, brother, the absolute truth." Brent sipped the bourbon, testing the flavor, then downed it. After a long sigh, he explained. "I have been chasing up and down the Mississippi looking for this Harry Benton fellow you told me about. It has come to my attention during my travels that the thief in question could not possibly have stolen our mother's jewels from you in New Orleans, or anywhere else for that matter. One of us is mistaken about the name of the man who robbed you. Now which is it, you or me?''

"Gee, Brent. I don't know. I'll have to think on that some."

"You have five minutes," he said, refilling both glasses. "I'm always happy to give anybody five minutes to come up with a story. Just make sure the one you come up with this time is the God's honest truth, you hear?"

Keeping his head down, Beau glanced up at his brother, then nodded before he slowly turned around and walked over to the fireplace. Resting his elbow on the lace runner that covered the oak mantel, he closed his eyes and raked his fingers through his hair.