To Love a Scoundrel (10 page)

From behind a lacquered Oriental screen came a giggle followed by a husky feminine voice. "Jack? Is that you?''

Harry stopped to think a minute, then grinned and said, "I think so."

"I'm bathing so I'll smell like springtime and roses for you—and by the way, please stop calling me 'Duchess.' Someone might hear you and we'll both be in trouble."

"Whatever you say, Carlotta my love. I'll be waiting for you—in bed."

Harry quickly checked the leftover dinner tray he'd insisted on keeping in the room, and breathed a sigh when he saw his mashed potatoes still occupied a corner of the plate. Making certain his guest was still in the tub, he cocked his head and listened. Tiny waterfalls spilled intermittently, signaling all was clear. Working fast, Harry helped himself to the house key Carlotta kept in her evening bag, and then pressed it into the center of the potatoes. After checking to make sure the impression was clear, he wiped the key clean and replaced it in its nest of black velvet.

Whistling to himself, he shoved the plate under his bed, stripped, and climbed beneath the sheets. Casually skimming the handbill he'd picked up at the saloon downstairs, he reread the information as he waited for his companion: "Sebastian Steamship Line proudly presents the debut of the
Delta Dawn,
the biggest, most luxurious floating palace ever to grace the waters of the mighty Mississippi River. Accommodations range from the finest of luxury suites to perfectly comfortable staterooms for one. Maiden voyage to begin from St. Louis on June 18, 1876." Below was a list of gambling devices, entertainments, and specialty menus.

Harry let the paper fall from his hand and took a deep relaxing breath. Maybe a few weeks aboard a ship was just what he needed, he told himself. A tonic of sorts for his unusually low spirits. Had he finally tired of the game—lost the special thrill of the hunt? What had happened to that delicious burst of adrenaline he always felt as he plotted a way to separate the haughty bitches of the world from part of their unearned fortunes?

Harry shrugged. Maybe he'd finally managed to repay Elizabeth, queen bitch of them all. Betty, as she insisted he call her, the only woman he'd ever loved. Betty, the hard-hearted beauty who'd used him, then tossed him aside like tattered underwear. Perhaps he was finally ready to forget the hurt, the pain. Then again, he thought as he listened to Carlotta's off-key rendition of "When Irish Eyes Are Smiling"—maybe not.

Harry picked up the handbill again. Perhaps he should book passage—for one. He could use a break. A little vacation might just put the light back in his eyes and the spring in his heels. Even if he felt ready to work before the trip was over, what better place to find a new love than aboard a floating luxury palace?

"Oh, Jack?" Carlotta called out in a seductive voice. "What do you think of this?"

After glancing her way, Harry smiled and folded the handbill. "My, my," he said, whistling appreciatively. "What a naughty little girl you are."

Carlotta floated across the room wrapped only in a thin scarf of red gossamer and a cloud of rose-scented lotion. Her body still damp from the hot bath, she stood before him and pouted. "If you'd accept my offer and follow along on our trip to Southhampton, you'd see a lot more of this naughty little girl over the summer. We could be naughty together. Say yes, Jack—I'm begging you."

Harry raised slender ebony eyebrows above his startling smoky green eyes. "Now, you know that I cannot leave Harrison Enterprises unattended for that long. You'll just have to make do without me."

"But, Jack," she cried as she climbed in bed beside him, "surely you can find someone on your staff to care for the business. I need you."

"Darling, Jack Harrison
is
the business. Enough of this talk. You're going to make me feel that I'm unworthy of you, that I'm not as successful as your husband."

"Oh, Jack, never say anything like that. Edward may make more money, but you're much more of a man than he could ever be." Carlotta rubbed an appreciative fingertip over Harry's perfectly groomed mustache and sighed. "I just love your skinny little mustache, Jack. It's
so
European."

"Really?" Harry slowly ran his tongue along his upper lip. "Is there anything else you love about me?"

Carlotta laughed from deep in her throat and ran her fingers through the graying hairs at his temples. "I absolutely adore the little rhymes you're always making up. Tell me another, Jack darling."

"I don't know if I can think of one tonight. Why don't you give it a try? You might have some... hidden talents you're unaware of."

Then, using his diminutive pinkies which would have been considered stunted by anyone's standards, Harry lifted the sheet and beckoned Carlotta to slide under it.

"Oh, Jack," she crooned, lifting an eyebrow. "You're such a naughty one."

"My dear," he said with an indecent grin. "I'm much more than naughty. I'm downright dangerous."

With a lusty chuckle, Carlotta snuggled up beside him and began to recite the rhyme she'd settled on. "Jack be nimble, but not too quick. Jack has a great big—"

The rest of her poem was lost as Harry pulled her across his chest and crushed her mouth to his.

* * *

Back in Chicago one week later Jewel stuck her head inside Allan's office. "Hi, boss. Do I need to throw a white flag out, or am I welcome back here yet?''

"Good Lord, girl," he grumbled good-naturedly. "Get on in here. Of course you're welcome."

"I wasn't sure after that fiasco in Kansas," she said as she glided into the office and took her usual chair across from Allan's desk. "I apologize again for letting the James gang get away."

"Forget it. You didn't do any worse than the rest of us have from time to time—including me. How's the arm?"

Jewel shrugged. "All right, I guess. The doctor took the cast off this morning. The arm feels kind of strange, as if it doesn't really belong to me, but I'm fit for duty, if that's what you mean."

"No, you're not," he countered, spearing her with an ice blue stare. "I've had my share of broken bones, and I happen to know removing the cast is just one step toward complete recovery. You've got a long way to go before you'll be able to defend yourself properly."

"But, Allan, I can't just—"

"No arguments, Jewel. I know what I'm talking about, and I cannot allow you to jeopardize your life or the life of any operative who may be working with you."

"I know." She sighed, absently rubbing her wounded arm through the peach organdy sleeve of her blouse. "But I feel so ready, so impatient to get back to work. Isn't there something I can do besides sit around the office and read reports?"

"I think so," Allan said with a smug grin. "I may have stumbled across a little something you should be able to handle without too much trouble." He tossed a handbill across his desk and invited her to pick it up. "You can read up on the steamship later. For now just let me tell you what's come to my attention while you were having fun in Philadelphia."

Jewel glanced at the paper announcing the maiden voyage of the
Delta Dawn,
then stuck it in her reticule. She had something to settle with her employer, something that couldn't wait. "I want you to know that I appreciate the paid vacation and that I did have a lot of fun at the exhibition. But before you tell me about the new assignment, I'd like to clear the air about another little problem."

"Of course, Jewel. What is it?"

She glanced down at her hands, curled them in her lap, then looked him straight in the eye. "I'd like you to do me a favor, please. I'd appreciate it if in the future you won't try to set me up with any more of your operatives."

Allan looked away from her and began picking at an imaginary hangnail. "You don't spend enough time taking care of your personal life. A woman your age should at least have a semi-permanent beau."

"Even if she doesn't want one, Allan?"

His gaze still riveted on his fingers, he shrugged. "I thought Richard might be a good match for you."

Jewel rapped her knuckles on the desk. "Did you really Allan? Come on now—the truth."

He let out his breath and finally looked back up at her. "No, I don't suppose I really thought he was right for you, but he's as close as you'll probably find. I'm not sure there is a proper match for a strong-minded woman like you."

"Now, that's where you're wrong." She laughed, surprised she'd verbalized the thought. "There most definitely is a match for me. He and I have already butted heads a couple of times."

Raising his bushy eyebrows in astonishment, Allan leaned forward and pushed the papers aside. "Why is this the first I've heard of him? Who is he? Where did you meet him?"

Again she laughed. "You've heard of him, but who he is doesn't matter. Brent Connors and I are a match made in hell, not heaven. If I ever lay eyes on him again—and that's not too likely—I'm just as liable to blow a hole through him as look at him."

"So that's it," Allan said with an amused grin. "The fellow from Topeka. The one who shot you and—"

"Forget about him, please. I have," she said, aware even her considerable acting talents couldn't hide the lie. She straightened her spine and put on her most professional expression. "Enough of that. Tell me what you found out while I was gone. What's it got to do with the debut of this steamship?''

Allan continued to stare at her, alternately grinning and puckering his mouth in speculation. When a long moment of this drew no response from her, he leaned back in his chair and continued to regard her. Four years of working with Jewel had taught him one constant about her personality: When she closed up, that was it. No amount of prodding from him or anyone else could get her to open up and talk about herself.

Uncertain whether he felt more admiration or sorrow for her tough hide, Allan pointed to the papers on his desk and explained the assignment. "It seems our good friend Harry Benton was probably among the patrons, if not the players, at the poker tournament in Topeka."

"What?"
Jewel popped out of her chair. "But... but how could I have missed him?"

Smiling, Allan opened the file lying on his desk. He ran a finger down the page, then stopped at the name he sought. "It seems that Countess Penelope DeMorney finally came forward and announced that she'd been relieved of several priceless heirlooms while in the company of a man called, H. C. von Maximus."

"Let me guess," Jewel said with a frustrated groan. "It took the lady this long to report the theft because she was seeing Harry on an in flagrante delicto basis."

Allan laughed. "Aptly put, my dear."

Her attention was centered on only one thing—Harry—so Jewel didn't even smile. She ignored Allan's laughter and pushed on. "What makes you so sure the man was Harry? How was he dressed? What kind of description did the countess give the authorities?"

"Sit down, Jewel," Allan said, his tone deadly serious. His gaze fixed and somber, he waited for her to comply before he went on. "When I've finished, I'll give you the full report I received and you can decide for yourself whether the description fits Harry or not. For now I will tell you I'm satisfied that he is probably is our man."

"I'm sorry, Allan. I didn't mean to contradict you or—"

"No apology necessary. Just see if you can be less emotional over the capture of Harry Benton." He cocked a thick bushy eyebrow to make his point, then went on. "You can read the report at your leisure. I'll send it along with you."

Smiling again, Allan leaned back in his chair and linked his fingers across his chest. "How would you like to take another vacation—this time aboard the newest steamship the Mississippi River has to offer?"

"The
Delta Dawn?"
she said, remembering the handbill.

"Precisely. The advertisement I gave you was one of hundreds distributed throughout the Golden Dove Hotel and Topeka in general. This same handbill has been seen throughout New York and parts of Washington as well. If everything advertised is true, the maiden voyage of this boat will attract the elite from near and far."

"And Harry? You got word he was planning to make the voyage?''

''No, it simply struck me as a place he might want to be."

"Oh," she said trying not to sound disappointed. "What makes you think that he or this von Maximus person will be aboard?"

"I can't know for sure," he hedged, "but it's as good a guess as any. I've procured a passenger list, and there are some very,
very
influential people aboard. Vanderbilts and Astors, to name a few. I would imagine those names might draw Harry like a polecat to a henhouse."

Allan handed the passenger list to Jewel. She scanned the names, impressed with the caliber, but feeling more and more discouraged as she neared the end without recognizing any of Harry's known aliases. She sighed and began pulling at the little finger on her left hand, twisting and turning it until she bit her lip in frustration. More and more she felt that she was chasing a ghost, a figment of her imagination who evaporated every time she got close. Would she ever find Harry Benton? Corner and confront him as she'd dreamed of doing?

Vexed, as she always seemed to be when Harry was the topic of conversation, Jewel sailed the passenger list back to Allan's desk. "Isn't there something else for me to do? Some assignment a one-armed detective can handle?"