Kathleen Y'Barbo (38 page)

Twenty-One

D
inner did not disappoint, nor did the evening’s entertainment of music and oratory readings afterward. As Kyle escorted Millie to her stateroom, he checked his pocket watch and was stunned at how quickly the time had passed.

“You turned me down for a walk this afternoon,” he said when they had reached the now-familiar spot in the passageway.

Eyes the color of café au lait looked up into his. “Perhaps you should ask again.”

So he did, and a few minutes later he was escorting the prettiest lady on the
Virginia Anne
around the promenade with the other dandies. A nod here and there fulfilled their social obligations, for no one expected two people young and in love to actually engage anyone but themselves in conversation.

When Millie paused at the aft rail, Kyle moved to stand between her and the crowd. The protective gesture had been ingrained in him during his Pinkerton training, and yet that was not why he did it. Not this time. For Millie Cope was no client of his, even if she did insist on trying to pay him to help her solve the mystery of her family’s lost treasure. As much as he didn’t want to admit it, she had dug in deep and was holding on tight.

If only she knew.

He would not tell her. Could not. Because then the game they played that kept the predators away from the pretty girl would turn into something much more serious. And neither of them wanted that.

She was saying something, and he struggled to concentrate. Something about the alignment of the constellations tonight and...

It was no use. While his ears needed to listen, all his eyes saw were her lovely lips moving.

He was the worst kind of cad, thinking only of holding her. Of standing there with his arm around her and allowing every passenger aboard the
Virginia Anne
to believe he was the luckiest man aboard.

She had stopped speaking and was now looking up at him, turning those eyes in his direction as if waiting for him to respond.

“Orion,” she prompted, and he looked up in the direction of that collection of stars.

“Yes, there it is.” When he looked back at Millie, he knew instantly that was the wrong answer. “I’m sorry. What were you saying?”

“My science tutor.”

“Ah.”

Kyle prided himself on being able to fit in almost everywhere. To join in a conversation and appear as if he knew exactly what he was talking about. It was a skill that made him a top-notch Pinkerton agent. And yet at this moment, that skill was failing him badly.

“Mr. O’Ryan?” She shook her head. “You did not hear a word I said, did you?”

Just as he was about to open his mouth and give further credence to her statement, the
Virginia Anne
’s bell began to ring.
Thank You, Lord.
He shrugged as if helpless to compete with the noise.

“You know, Kyle,” she said when the clanging ceased. “What with this steamboat stopping at every possible port and dock along the Mississippi, we still have a few more days of pretending ahead of us.”

“We do.”

Their progress downriver had seemed interminably slow. Not that he was complaining. Once they arrived in New Orleans, he would have a duty to be first and foremost a Pinkerton agent again. And Millie would go back to just being Millie.

She looked away. “I wonder if we should take our meals in our cabins. Separately, I mean.”

“No,” he said far too quickly.

Her gaze collided with his. “No?”

“No, I think that would be...”

“Inadvisable?”

“Yes, inadvisable.” He reached out his hands to grip the rail beside hers.

Quietly, she moved to place her palm atop his. “All right.” They stood side by side without speaking for what seemed like a very long time. “But no more kissing.”

“No?” he asked as he looked down to see silvery moonlight washing across her features as she once again cast her gaze across the water.

“No. It would be...”

“Inadvisable,” he supplied, curling his hand into hers to grasp her fingers.

“Yes,” came out like a soft sigh, barely heard over the splash of the paddle wheel. “Inadvisable.”

January 28, 1889

New Orleans

Stepping off the
Virginia Anne
felt like coming home. To be sure, Millie had not yet been to the city, at least not that she could recall. And yet everywhere she looked, she felt welcomed.

Not in actuality, of course, for the looks of the people were suspect, their language coarse. But they were citizens of a city she could now claim for her own.

To them it was an ordinary Monday in the dreary month of January. To her, it was her day to come home. And so she studied it all. The warehouses, the bundles of cotton piled high just as they were in
Memphis, and the odd collections of vessels clogging what was indeed a wide and very brown river.

She looked to the south as thoughts of the pirate Lafitte came to mind. He had traveled this river, sailing down its depths to hide in bayous and
plunder in the Gulf. And if she believed what she had been told, he had also sailed north. To Memphis.

“Move along,” Kyle said firmly, his palm pressed against her back.

His tone held a note of humor his words did not convey. With a backward glance at the river, partially obscured by her companion’s broad shoulder, she complied.

“Thank you. I had hoped to cross the distance between the vessel and our carriage in less than an hour,” he said. He tugged on a curl and grinned.

“I believe the trouble here is that our agreement was that you would lead and I would follow. After you, Emperor.”

His laughter filled the space between them as he reached to clasp her hand in his. For just a moment the world telescoped to a place where there was no dock, no ships, and no constant confusion from workmen and passengers. In that moment, it was just them. Kyle and Millie. Emperor and Empress.

And then, in an instant, it was gone and the world had returned. With it came the treacherous walk across muddy ground to the carriage awaiting them.

“I can carry you,” he offered when he realized the difficulty with which she was treading across the wooden walkway.

“Don’t be ridiculous. I can manage this.”

And then she slid. Of course.

Had he not grasped her by the arm and kept her upright, Millie might have tumbled headlong into an amalgamation of mud, debris, and other things she preferred not to consider. She breathed slowly in and out and walked more carefully.

As she allowed Kyle to help her into a carriage, she realized the weight pressing on her heart was gone. In truth, with each mile the steamboat had rolled southward, the progression had begun. But here, in this messy, muddy, awful place, the process was complete. What had mattered in Memphis became memories to cherish or hurt to be slung off and thrown aside.

“What is wrong with you?” Kyle asked when he took his place beside her. “Or, should I say, what is right with you? Your entire countenance
has changed.”

“You will laugh.” She struggled for a place to rest her attention and finally gave up and looked directly at him. But he was not laughing, nor did he seem amused in the least. To the contrary, his expression showed more than a little interest. Whether it was in her or the topic at hand, Millie could not say.

“Tell me anyway.” His voice was low, husky almost, his eyes intent.

The carriage jerked into motion, and Millie grasped the edge of the seat with a gloved hand. “It’s just that...well, I cannot exactly explain it, but I feel as if I am finally at home.”

“Oh, that.” He shrugged. “Well, as a son of this city, I suppose I should explain this is a natural phenomenon brought on by the high humidity and low elevation. Give it time and a generous dose of beignets and café au lait, and it will pass.”

She reached to give his arm a playful swat. “See, I told you that you would laugh.”

“I’m sorry,” he said, and he truly appeared as if he might be. “I hope you don’t mind, but I have arranged for you to stay at my home. Scandalous, I know, but believe me, we will have plenty of supervision.”

Millie gave him a sideways look.

“I command a staff of considerable size.” He shifted toward her, warming to his topic. “And my parents are frequent visitors, even though they have a perfectly good place of their own not three blocks east. They will probably insist you stay with them.”

“Would something be wrong with that?” she asked with a lift of her brow.

“Nothing except that in my mother’s younger days she was quite the accomplished opera singer. Emphasis on
younger
days. Time has not been kind to Mother’s vocal chords.” When she giggled, he continued. “However, theirs is a marriage made in heaven, for time has also not been kind to my father’s hearing. Or perhaps it has. In any event, he’s practically deaf as a post, which means he cannot hear half of Mother’s singing.”

Now Millie was laughing out loud. “You’re exaggerating.”

“Am I?” He affected a wounded look. “Then you will be interested to know that in order to get in the requisite amount of practice that perfecting her craft requires, my mother has a penchant for singing everything rather
than speaking it. At least behind closed doors. You should be fine in public with the two of them, but should you choose to stay in their home—”

“I think I will be fine with the original plan. It sounds as if you have quite an interesting family.”

He shrugged. “I have quite an involved family. As much as I hate to admit it, I do love them, though. But then I’m rarely home.”

“A pity,” she said softly as the carriage turned off the wide avenue of Canal Street onto a leafy thoroughfare lined with lovely houses all fenced with variations of the same black iron.

As they rolled past wide lawns fronting mansions of red brick, white masonry, and lovely stone facades, Millie began to feel as if she were still on Adams Street. After another turn the street names switched to French, and the homes were more distinct and closer together.

“The Quarter is just up there,” Kyle said with a nod. That’s where your relative lives. On Royal Street. And this is my street, the
Rue de Prytanée
or as the Americans call it, Prytania Street.”

“Named for the hearth that each ancient Greek village dedicated to Hestia?”

A chuckle real and true this time. “Not that I put stock in these things, but yes, the ancients did honor Hestia, their goddess of the hearth in that way.” He sobered. “Interesting in light of the fact you say you are feeling as if you are coming home.”

“I am not of a mind to believe in coincidences,” she said as the carriage slowed before a two-level home painted the color of buttercream and bordered with black iron railings on porches spanning both floors. Floor-to-ceiling windows spilled light out onto the manicured lawn and revealed lush drapes and what appeared to be chandeliers in every room.

Not at all what she expected of an aviator who flew about in a homemade contraption and quoted German and French.

“My humble abode,” he said as the carriage rolled to a halt before a fountain of the same black iron. Splashing water vied for the sounds of someone singing off in the distance.

Kyle cringed. “Apparently we have visitors.”

The front door burst open to reveal a liveried servant of extended years.
On his heels was a lovely auburn-haired woman of middle age whose beautiful gown of vivid purple was accented with jewels to match.

Millie looked down at her serviceable traveling dress and sighed. Apparently she was about to meet...

“Mother.” Kyle descended from the carriage and then reached to help Millie down. “Please won’t you say hello to my friend Miss Cope? And without singing.”

“Welcome, dear girl,” Mrs. Russell said as she enveloped Millie in a perfumed hug. Abruptly she released her grip to point a finger at Kyle. “You did not tell me she was pretty. Why did you not think to mention it?”

“Inside, please,” he said as he ushered his mother toward the door, leaving Millie to follow a step behind.

“But you are,” Kyle’s mother insisted as she glanced back at Millie. “You are absolutely lovely. When my son telephoned to tell me he was bringing home a colleague, I assumed you would be some stuffy college professor or something of the sort.”