To Love a Scoundrel (43 page)

Thinking back to the caper, Jewel burst out laughing. "And there's something else," she managed to say through her chuckles. "You should have seen the sketch Harr—Faathah made of Skinner's girlfriend."

"I said I could pull this job off," Harry said, sniffing and raising his chin in mock indignation, "but I do not recall laying claim to any artistic talent. How do you think dear Monique liked my portrait of her?"

At the reference to the saloon girl, Jewel's laughter faded in her throat. "Oh, I don't know. I feel sorry for her. I really can't say I enjoyed duping her so much as I did her miserable excuse for a boyfriend."

Harry reached across the table and patted her hand. "While your compassion is commendable, Jewel dear, you would do well to remember one unerring truth: No two people will be equally happy with the same comforts or with the identical station in life. She's probably as well off in her circumstance as she'd be anywhere else. As the French would say,
c'est la vie."

Jewel wrinkled her nose. "Still, just the thought of her calling a loathsome creature like Skinner her beau turns my stomach."

"Again, my darling, I must remind you that even a three-toed horned toad is considered beautiful by someone—even if that someone is another three-toed horned toad." Pausing while she laughed, he added, "If you think Skinner is disgusting, just try to imagine the pair of misanthropes who begot him."

Laughing along with them, Brent addressed Harry. "I can't think of a better name for old Skinner than three-toed horned toad."

"I can." Jewel gave it to another burst of laughter. "How about Rudyard."

"Rudyard? Skinner's given name is Rudyard?" At her nod, Brent shook his head and laughed along with her. "Silly as it is, it almost sounds too human for him," he commented, his attention back on Harry. "I want to thank you for getting my mother's emeralds back. I can never repay you, but if there's anything I can do, just ask."

"It was my pleasure." Harry accepted Brent's outstretched hand. Dismissing the caper, he went on, "Just the fact that a woman as lovely as your mother is once again in possession of what was rightfully hers is thanks enough for me." He rose then, gesturing to Jewel to follow suit. "Now if you'll excuse us, my daughter and I have some traveling plans to discuss. Perhaps we'll see you in the dining hall at supper tonight."

Brent's suspicious gaze shot to Jewel, but she deftly avoided acknowledging him. "Traveling plans?'' he said to her back as she joined Harry over near the door.

"Yes, old chap," Harry answered, eager to protect his daughter's heart. "Jewel has decided to accompany me on a tour of Europe. We shall be going abroad as soon as we can make all the arrangements."

"Jewel?" Brent persisted, trailing after them. "What's he talking about?"

Unable to avoid him any longer, she turned back and managed a halfhearted smile. "It's something Father and I discussed on the way back to the steamship, Brent. I'll let you know all about it after we've gone over the details."

"Good day, Brent," Harry said, tipping his hat. Then he ushered Jewel out through the door before the handsome gambler had a chance to digest her explanation.

Slowly making his way to the side bar, Brent drew a toothpick from his pocket and stuck it in his mouth. Jewel had to have some kind of ulterior motive for allowing Harry to think she'd join him on a European tour, he decided, some new little twist in the Harry Benton saga he hadn't figured out yet. She would return, he reassured himself as he poured a shot of bourbon. Soon she would come back to his office and explain this newest puzzle in the life of Jewel Flannery Benton. Lifting his glass high, he addressed it before he downed the liquor. "She'll come running back to explain before we move two feet from the dock. I can bet the
Dawn
on it."

* * *

It was a good thing Brent was no longer a betting man. He sat in his office pouring over the ship's operating expenses, wondering why Jewel had been so difficult to corner over the last two days. She was all he could think about—all he seemed to be able to acknowledge. He stared at the rows of numbers, but saw her stunning green eyes. He rubbed his palms against the coarse fabric of his trouser legs, but felt instead the soft satin of her skin and the silky texture of her hair. Guessing her scent would fill his senses, he didn't take a breath of air.

Why was she doing this to him? he wondered for the thousandth time. They'd met for dinner the last two evenings and even managed to have a few strained conversations, but Harry was always lurking nearby, cutting in or actually dragging Jewel away to her next lesson in etiquette.

And Jewel was allowing it. She was acting as if she and Brent were casual acquaintances, as if nothing had passed between them save a brief handshake or two. Was she really so involved with learning how to be a daughter that she had no time for him? Or was it something else? Had he made some thoughtless remark or gesture or inadvertently offended her?

A light tapping at the door interrupted his thoughts. In no mood to be disturbed by yet another deckhand, Brent barked a quick "Come on in—it's open," then rubbed his eyes and forehead in a feeble attempt to clear his head.

The door opened and closed. Then he heard the faint rustle of silk. Before he could open his eyes to identify his female visitor, the barest hint of fresh violets drifted under his nose.
Jewel.

Brent jerked his hands away from his face and pushed out of his chair. "It's about time you decided to grace me with a visit," he complained, but the relief in his voice belied the anger it contained. Sighing heavily as he rounded his desk and started toward the center of the room, he added, "I was just about to fashion a lasso from one of the drape pulls and go round you up myself."

"I'm sorry," she said with more nonchalance than she felt. "I was just trying to make things as easy as I could for all of us."

But Brent was filling his senses, not his logic, as he took a good look at her. She wore a dress of lilac and white candy-stripe silk that fit her like a wet camisole from the lace ruffle at the throat to the curve of her hips. There the overskirt and bustles flared out, tumbling down past her heels into a fashionably long train. Never before had he been privileged to view her dressed like a woman of high breeding.

"Good gracious, Pinky," he said, his breath catching in his throat. "If you aren't a sight."

Jewel raised one eyebrow and advanced a few more steps. "Am I to assume, then, that you like my new dress?"

"You're absolutely stunning—if you don't mind my saying so, that is," he added, finally regaining his usual balance.

"Thank you. I'm sure Harry thanks you, too, since he bought it for me back in Natchez. It's a Charles Frederick Worth, you know."

"No, I didn't know, and," he added raising one corner of his lip. "I wouldn't, since I've never heard of the fellow."

"He's a Parisian designer who's all the rage in New York. Father says he's—"

"I don't care who he is," Brent cut in as he gently pulled her into his arms. "I just care about you. Now, why are you so dressed up, and why in hell have you been avoiding me the last couple of days?''

Jewel looked up into his warm brown eyes, then quickly turned away as she thought of what she had to do next. Bracing herself against his broad chest with both gloved hands, she whispered, "Harry told me to stay away from you."

"
What? After all we've been through together—and I'm talking about the three of us—what possible purpose would that serve? What have I done wrong?"

"Brent, please let me go. I can't think when you hold me like this."

But he was a starving man, hungry for the sight of her, craving a taste of her sweet lips. Brent stubbornly fit her against his body and said, "No, dammit. I want to know what's going on, and I want to know now." He took her chin between his thumb and forefinger and forced her to look into his eyes. His gaze intense, demanding, he said, "What's happened to you?"

Jewel steeled herself, expecting the inquiries, and quietly answered, "When the
Dawn
arrives in Memphis, and I'm told we'll be docking shortly—"

"Within the hour," he interrupted, impatient, uneasy. "Go on."

"When we get to Memphis, Harry and I will be leaving the ship." Her eyes grew cold as she prepared for his next remarks. "We're going on to Chicago by train."

Brent stared at her, the blood frozen in his veins, the air trapped in his lungs. Finally his system sprang to life, and he whispered harshly, "
Chicago
? You can't still be planning to turn Harry in, can you?"

Even though she'd been expecting the words, Jewel's defenses were stifled, trapped as much as she was by his grip. Using surprise as her only leverage, she tore out of his arms and spun away from him, nearly tripping on the fine ecru lace edging the silk hem of her train.

Brent watched incredulously as she stumbled over to the billiard table. Then he raised his voice a notch and repeated, "Is that what this is all about? You still have it in your mind to put your own father away?" When she didn't answer right away, he persisted, "And he's agreed? He's just going to let you haul him off to Chicago and put him behind bars?"

Hanging her head, she quietly said, "He thinks we're just stopping off there to collect my things."

"Oh, great plan, lady detective. You should be real proud of yourself."

Facing him again, Jewel gripped the felt railing of the table and raised her chin defiantly. "I don't see why you're so interested. Your precious family and its heirlooms are all safe, sound, and secure. What I'm compelled to do with my own family shouldn't be of any concern to you."

"Aw, Jewel," he said, his voice softer, lower. "I know you don't believe this. You think a little more of our relationship than that, and," he added, crossing over to the billiard table, "I also happen to believe you care more about Harry than you're letting on."

Circling the table, keeping just out of his reach, Jewel grabbed a billiard ball and tossed it down the eight-foot span of felt. The ivory sphere ricocheted hard off the opposite rail, then began its return journey toward her open palm as she tried once again to inform him of her plans

"I didn't come here to argue with you about Harry, Brent. I just wanted you to know we were leaving the ship. It doesn't mean that you and I can't see each other again. Maybe when the
Dawn
returns we can get together again."

"Stop it," he snapped. "There's a lot more at stake here than when and where we meet again."

"I don't see why," she bit off, again thrusting the eight ball down the burgundy felt. "I've spent my entire life just waiting and planning for the day I could bring Harry to justice. My job as a Pinkerton operative demands that I bring him in now. I fail to see what either of those things has to do with you and me."

This time Brent caught the ball before it could start the return trip. Holding it up, he squeezed it until his knuckles turned white. Then said the things he knew he would regret, the thing he
had
to say in spite of those regrets. "Oh, I believe your plans and your sense of justice have everything to do with you and me." Brent positioned the cue ball on the table, then gave it a vicious twist that sent it spiraling off the corners of the railing before it finally came to rest in front of Jewel.

Eyeing the ball, then looking up at Brent, she said, "Then you and I have come to a major difference of opinion."

He regarded her from across the table for a long moment as he searched for a way to reach her heart. Raising his eyebrows, he finally said, "Maybe we do have slightly different views on a few things, but I don't see any obstacles we can't overcome if we're honest with each other."

"I've been honest with you," she insisted, plucking the slick ebony ball off the felt and passing it from one hand to another.

Brent shrugged. "Maybe, but I have to wonder how honest you've been with yourself."

Jewel smashed the ball down on the table. "Look, I'm simply not interested in having my brain picked right now. I only stopped by to let you know we're leaving."

"Hear me out," he demanded. "I think you owe me that much." Taking her silence as acquiescence, he went on. "I happen to know how I feel about everything, especially when you're talking about my family. They are everything I value in my life, except for you."

"I realize that," she said, her tone softer. "You're not telling me anything I don't already know."

"Maybe, maybe not." He leaned down and gripped the railing, spearing her with a pointed gaze. "Do you know that the Connors family—all of us—survived the war only because we knew we had one another? Can you understand what I'm saying about us? We could have lost everything, we damn near did, and it wouldn't have really mattered because we still had one another. That's the kind of honesty I'm talking about."

Suddenly nervous, her breast fluttering with sensations she couldn't identify, Jewel took the ball in her hand again, this time content to hold it and stroke the smooth surface. "I know your family is wonderful and that it means a lot to you, but I still don't see why you expect me to relate to it. Have you forgotten the kind of home I was raised in, the people I have to call family?"

"Not at all. Perhaps you don't understand what I'm trying—"

"I understand perfectly. You're trying to fit me into a place I don't belong. Don't you see that?" she cried, suddenly desperate for his compassion. "Try to imagine how living in that home has made me feel in here," she said, striking her bosom, "how awful I feel inside when I think of those few people I have to call family.
"