To Love a Scoundrel (5 page)

She gave him a short nod, then waited until he was out of earshot before she turned on the gambler. "I am not really convinced that I know you, sir. I simply didn't want my dear father put through any more of your silliness. Just what is it you expect to gain by besmirching my good name in his presence?"

"First off, I don't even know your name." He pulled a toothpick from his vest pocket. "Second, from what I've seen of you so far, there isn't a hell of a lot left for me to besmirch."

Jewel caught her breath and clenched her teeth. She couldn't afford to let this lousy excuse of a two-bit gambler ruin her first appearance at the Harvey House and perhaps jeopardize the entire mission. She swallowed and produced a wan smile. "You don't know what you're talking about or with whom you're dealing."

"I don't?" His eyes lit up as if this amused him. "You're right. Maybe this would be a good time for you to inform me just whom I am dealing with, and while you're at it"—he reached out and lifted the brim of her bonnet—"let me know what you did with your yellow hair and the big brown mole you had just about there." He flicked his fingertip across her upper lip and grinned.

Jewel slapped his hand away and stepped back. "If my father knew what you were saying to me, if he knew what you were doing, why he... he'd—"

"What?" Brent held his arm out, taking a long-distance measurement of the stubby-legged man, then drew his hand to mid-chest. "Will he run over here and kick me in the shins until I crumple into a heap and cry for help?''

Jewel bit her lip and glowered up at him, but he became a blur as she strained to glare through the thick glasses she'd donned for the assignment. Her eyes began twitching and blinking with involuntary spasms.

Brent jerked his chin back and stared at her. "What's the matter with your eyes? You're not going to pull that fainting act on me again, are you? I'm warning you, if you try it, I'll just let you fall."

"My eyes are fine. They're a little tired, that's all." But they kept on blinking, in spite of her efforts to calm them.

"If you're quite through harassing me, I believe I'll join my father."

"Indulge me a moment longer, if you will. I don't believe I remember hearing your name—the real one. And I would also like to know the name of the man with you."

He had no right to know the answer to either question. She had no obligation to give them. But as she studied him, remembering the first time they'd met, she knew he wouldn't give up easily. He was as determined as he was handsome, as perceptive as he was cocky. If answering the questions—with the fabrications she'd settled on for the assignment—would appease him, it might be worth giving in to him. If her instincts were right, he wouldn't rest until he thought he knew all about her. Silently cussing him, she settled on a plausible story for their earlier meeting.

"All right, sir. I can't hide the truth any longer, but please... don't tell my father about—you know . ." With a dramatic sigh, Jewel whispered, "That horrid little affair in Chicago."

Brent rolled his eyes to the heavens. "I wouldn't dream of such a dreadful thing, ma'am. Do go on."

"Of course." She choked back an imaginary sob. "My name is Jewel MacMillan. And that man is my true father, Archie. Everyone calls him Mac."

"And dear departed Scotty?"

"He, ah... Well, it's a truly painful story, sir."

"I'll try not to cry."

Her nostrils flared and her green eyes widened, nearly filling the lenses of the spectacles perched on her nose.

Brent squinted and leaned back. "I don't mean to be indelicate, ma'am, but do you suppose you could remove your spectacles until we've finished talking? I believe if I have to look into them much longer, I'll be gooch-eyed for life."

If the man hadn't been so damned insufferable and nosy, Jewel would have thanked him for the suggestion. As it was, she merely pursed her lips and plucked the offensive glasses from their perch.

"Thanks, ma'am. Now then, as you were saying? Scotty was your...?"

"He was my nothing," she snapped. "He forced me to accompany him on a wild gambling binge—kidnapped me, if you will. I was happy when he was killed and I could return to my father and the genteel life I was used to."

Brent arched an eyebrow and pushed the toothpick to the far corner of his mouth. "Genteel? I somehow doubt that. But back to your father—ah, this newest one, that is—does he know of the indignities you've so recently suffered?"

"Ah, no, sir, he is blissfully unaware of my adventures in Chicago. I'd be eternally grateful if you'd just forget all about my sordid past and never mention it again."

"That is the first thing you've told me that I believe may actually be the truth."

Even though she had to do it with clenched teeth, Jewel gave him her best smile. "Then I hope I can trust your word as a"—she nearly choked on the word—"gentleman to keep my little secret."

"I give you my word, my dear,'' he said with a grin that surpassed hers. "And please do rest assured that my word is every bit as good as yours."

It was a struggle, but she managed to keep a pleasant, if somewhat frozen, expression. "Thank you again, Mr.—ah, I seem to have forgotten your name, sir."

"Connors," he said, his dimples receding. "Brent Sebastian Connors of the Mississippi Connorses—at your service ma'am. Most folks call me, Brent."

"Yes, I'm sure they do... among other things." She gave him a sassy curtsy, adding, "Thank you for your discretion, Mr. Connors, and good day."

"No need to say good-bye just yet. I'll be surprised if I don't find we're staying at the same hotel. Yes, sir, mighty surprised indeed."

Jewel tilted her chin and drew her brows together. "You're not staying at the Golden Dove."

"Of course I am. Where else?"

"Where else indeed."

Brent bowed and offered his elbow "Allow me to escort you and your father to your lodgings. It seems Topeka has had one of those torrential spring downpours, and the streets are extremely muddy. Perhaps I can be of some assistance in getting your luggage to your rooms."

And because she couldn't think of a good reason to say no, Jewel lamely accepted, "I'm sure Father will be beholden to you."

* * *

Later, in their hotel suite, Jewel sank into the cushions of the settee and removed her dreary little bonnet. "What else could I do?" she called out to Mac. "Besides," she added thoughtfully, "I think it would be better for us to stay close to this Connors fellow. If he's as crooked as I think he is, it would be in our best interest to keep track of his every move."

"I don't know, Jewel." Mac shook his head as he lugged the heavy bags across the large living room and into her bedroom. When he emerged, she was loosening the knot of hair at the back of her neck. "He seems dangerous to me."

"Dangerous?'' Mulling over everything she knew about the gambler, Jewel sighed and rubbed her scalp with her fingertips as the last of her locks fell free. Just who was this Brent Connors? He was insufferable and opinionated, impertinent and much too handsome for his own good, and yet he kept her on her toes and made her think fast and hard to stay one step ahead of him. He tickled her funny bone and made her feel something she couldn't, or wouldn't, identify. No one, especially no man, had done that for as long as she could remember. Maybe never.

Jewel rested her neck against the back of the sofa, relishing the comfort, and thought back to earlier conversations, to the man himself. He was, if nothing else, a worthy adversary. Was he also a hazard, a threat to her assignment, perhaps her life? Probably not.

Jewel smiled, then yawned. "I think Connors is nosy rather than dangerous. He strikes me as just another gambler—although one to be reckoned with. I'm sure he's here for the championship game like everyone else. Fifty thousand dollars is a powerful reason to make a trip to Topeka."

"I don't know. I still don't feel right about him. We should at least keep him under surveillance."

"Oh, I intend to do better than that." Jewel sat up, refreshed by the thought of the hunt—of the quarry. "I'm sure you'll find him milling around downstairs tonight, sizing up the competition. When you do, I want you to challenge him to a friendly little warm-up game of poker. The minute he takes the bait, I'll head for his room. Before you can drop your aces and say 'read 'em and weep,' I'll know more about that man than his own mother does."

"I don't know if that's such a good idea." Mac shook his head and pressed his lips into a thin line. He weighed his objections carefully, knowing if they sounded the least bit protective, she'd come at him with her speech that began with 'I've managed to live for twenty-five years without a father. What makes you think I need one now?'''

Mac opted for reason. "If Connors is what you say he is, I don't see why we should jeopardize our strategy over him. Why don't we just watch him from afar?"

"I believe this is where Allan would say, 'Better safe than sorry.'" Her mind already made up, Jewel pulled herself off the comfortable sofa and started for her room. "I don't see how we can take the chance of jeopardizing our plans by
not
checking him out. I'll be ready to go in fifteen minutes."

Mac shrugged, sighing as he said, "All right, but if anything goes wrong, I'll leave you to answer to Allan."

* * *

Thirty minutes later Mac and Jewel strolled into the grand foyer of the Golden Dove Hotel. The walls, awash with scarlet and gold wallpaper and brightly burning glass lamps, made a silent statement of affluence, daring to overwhelm even the most prosperous of visitors. Unimpressed, the Pinkerton agents moved past newly arriving guests lining up at the registration desk, and headed toward the doorway with the large gold letters "Saloon" perched above the lintel.

The steady plink-plink-plink of piano keys pounding out "Buffalo Gals" beckoned reveler and teetotaler alike, but Mac held out his arm just before they passed through the doorway.

"You'd better stay in the lobby, daughter dear. If Fred Harvey should frequent this establishment, I don't think he'd take too kindly to finding one of his pristine waitresses in the saloon."

"Oh, pooh," she grumbled, but knowing he was right, she turned away. "Just be sure to let me know when you've got the gambler set up. I'll be over in the corner trying to blend in with the wallpaper."

Mac took in her Quakerish appearance and chuckled. "In that getup, you won't have to try." Then, with a tip of his low bowler hat, he disappeared into the gay atmosphere of the saloon, leaving Jewel to her own devices.

She stood tapping her toe against the polished wooden floor for several minutes, longing to join the merriment, wishing she were dressed like the fashionable ladies in the lobby. In keeping with her assignment, she wore a calico dress of dragon green with a plain little prune-colored bonnet hiding her crowning glory. She still wore the spectacles, but had learned to push them as far down her nose as possible, eliminating the need to look through them often. She was drab, dull, and decidedly bored.

With a sigh, Jewel strolled over by the stairway and sat on a wooden settee. She picked up a copy of
Godey's Lady's Book
and absently thumbed through it as she studied the visitors sprinkled throughout the lobby. Most of the guests were men, and most, she concluded from their manner of dress, were here for the championship. She scanned their faces, searching for one in particular, finding no one she recognized. She'd seen Harry Benton only once, three years ago in New York City. He'd sported a full beard and coal-black hair back then, and he'd cut a fine figure. Had he changed? Was his hair gray? Would she recognize him if she came face to face with him?

Yes, she thought with a scowl. She would know him by his small beady eyes, his calculating manner, and his aloof—

"Is everything all right, daughter?"

Jewel's head snapped up, knocking her bonnet askew. She straightened the hat and managed a feeble smile when she noticed the gambler standing beside Mac. "Yes, Father. I was just thinking."

"I sincerely hope you were thinking of someone other than me," Brent said with a tip of his hat. "If looks could kill, I fear I should have to order my gravestone."

"Given your penchant for sticking your nose in other people's business," she blurted out as she rose, "I would think that to be an excellent idea regardless."

"Jewel," Mac complained. "Where are your manners? Mr. Connors had just consented to a game of cards. I would like him to think he'll be playing with a gentleman who has raised a fine daughter."

"I am sorry, Father. I don't know what came over me." Digging deep into the bag of tricks she'd acquired during her college drama course, she turned to Brent and managed to apologize as if she meant it. "Please forgive me, sir. I must be more tired from our long trip than I thought. I believe I shall retire." She gave the gambler a quick nod, then turned to Mac. "Good night, Father. And good luck."

"Good night, daughter." Mac leaned forward and kissed her cheek. "Don't wait up for me. Mr. Connors and I may attract a few other players."

Again she smiled and gave them a short nod. Then Jewel began to climb the long stairway.

After forcing herself to wait until she'd reached the first landing, she finally spun around and glanced throughout the lobby. Mac and Brent were gone. Moving quickly, Jewel hurried back down the stairs and pushed her way through the crowd to the reception desk.