To Love a Scoundrel (24 page)

"Don't worry about me. I told you, Brent didn't mean to shoot me. He's just a rotten shot."

"I wasn't talking about the shooting, girl." Allan raised his bushy eyebrows and wagged his index finger.
"Be careful.''

Jewel caught his gaze just in time to see him wink. Then, with a great flourish, he turned, letting the cape billow out behind him and strode toward the doorway, his manner imperious. Laughing, Jewel waved good-bye, then made her way among the poker tables and started up the staircase leading to the officers' quarters.

Once she'd disappeared, Allan became more cautious, less flamboyant. It wouldn't do to collide with Harry in such an outrageous costume. As Allan looked around the ship, searching for a place to hide the cape and top hat, three men started up the gangplank toward him. His concentration centered on finding a handy hiding place, he casually stepped aside.

A hand shot across his body, grabbed his arm, and dragged him to the gangplank. "Not so fast, Professor Harrington."

Allan's chin jerked upward, and he squinted into the man's features. "Pardon me?"

"I can pardon you all the way to hell and back, but it ain't gonna do you one bit a good. You're under arrest, pardner."

"Now, just a moment," Allan objected, trying to wriggle out of the sheriff's grasp.

His captor's grip tightened. Before Allan could move, the sheriff wrenched his arm up behind his back and fastened his wrists together with manacles.

Satisfied his prisoner's hands were immobilized, the lawman said, "You'll get all the moments you need in my cozy little jail. Now get a move on."

"But I' m not Professor Harrington," Allan insisted. "I simply borrowed his clothing for the afternoon."

"Right." The sheriff reached inside the cape and pulled out a bottle of worm syrup. "This here bottle of cougar piss is just in case you take a little sick? Is that it?"

The detective stood his ground. "I can explain that. If you'll just look at my identification, I can prove beyond question that I am not who you think I am."

The sheriff slammed his fist between Allan's shoulder blades, pushing him down the gangplank. "Tell it to Chief Knockaskucket, or whoever the hell he is, when you get to your cell. For the time being, just shut your damn mouth and move."

* * *

Three decks up, unaware of her employer's plight, Jewel approached the shipowner's suite. This time she used the brass angel to announce her presence. When she heard Brent's muffled "Come in," she turned the knob and stepped inside the room. He was bent over the billiard table, placing the final ball inside the wooden triangle.

"Just in case," he explained as he straightened up and met her halfway across the room. "You never know when you and I might have to settle the score with a game of billiards."

Her smile awkward, as shy as it was amused, Jewel said, "I have a lot to explain, I know that. This time I promise to tell you to the truth."

Brent stared into her eyes as he took her hand, searching for the real woman, seeking an expression of complete candor. But she was closed, guarded. With something less than enthusiasm, he pulled her over to his desk. "Telling the truth should be a refreshing change of pace for you. Why don't you have a seat and give it a try?"

She pulled back. "I don't want to sit down. I want to try to explain. I realize how difficult it must be for you to believe anything I have to say, and I don't blame you one bit. I'm asking you to please listen to me this one last time. I am prepared to tell the truth. All of it."

Brent rested his hips on the edge of his desk and folded his arms across his chest. He reached into his shirt pocket for a toothpick, but shook his head and sighed instead. "All right. I'll listen to your version of the truth for one last time."

Jewel took a deep breath and began pacing in small circles. "You've seen me in different costumes—the dance hall girl, the Harvey Girl, and now this. The outfits were disguises. Professional makeup."

"Professional?" Brent jackknifed off the desk. "Just what kind of profession are you talking about?''

Jewel inclined her head and raised one offended brow. "What profession are you thinking of, Mr. Connors."

"Well, I don't know," he hedged, leaning back against the desk. "Just the word 'professional.' What do you mean?"

"I'm a detective," she said with a regal smile. "If you'll relax a minute, I'll show you my identification."

"A detective?" Brent lurched forward. "You mean you're the law?"

Jewel shrugged. "In a manner of speaking, I suppose I am. Quite often my work is government-related, but just as often I'm hired by a private party. I work for the Pinkerton Detective Agency based in Chicago, and I answer to Allan Pinkerton himself. Allow me to supply you with proof." She pulled a chair toward her and propped her left foot on it.

Rendered speechless, Brent stood up and watched as she hiked her skirts to mid-calf and fumbled with the hem of her petticoat. Of all that he'd considered she might be, the word "detective" had never once crossed his mind. Was this really, finally
,
the truth? As she searched for her credentials, she exposed all of her slim ankle and a good portion of her shapely leg. Strapped to that beautiful leg, Brent noticed, was a stiletto—probably the same one she'd used on him. Startled as well as aroused by the sight, he cleared his throat and said, "The least you could do is have a little modesty and ask me to look away."

"Why should I bother?'' she said, using the knife to slit open the hem of her petticoat. "You'd just peek anyway."

"Would not."

Jewel gave him a sideways grin, then pulled some documents from the secret pocket in her coarse muslin petticoat. "I hope you appreciate the trouble I'm going through for you. I abhor sewing, and now I'm going to have to stitch this hem together again." She lowered her foot to the floor and handed the documents to Brent. "Here, read these papers carefully. I believe you'll find everything in order."

But he didn't have to read a word to recognize the honesty in her voice, the naked truth in her eyes. He glanced at the papers, then dropped them on the corner of the desk. "Pinkerton, huh? I never would have expected you to be a secret government agent."

Unused to explaining her position to anyone but the crooks she apprehended, Jewel felt the color rising along the sides of her neck. "I've done a little secret government work, but my specialty is private cases—jobs like tracking down Jesse James. You do remember what happened to me on that job, don't you?"

"Oh, that." Brent slapped his forehead and pushed away from the desk. "So that's how you knew who he was—and why you were so damn mad when I saved you."

"Saved
me?" she echoed, rolling her eyes. "Too bad you couldn't have saved me from the wrath of Allan Pinkerton as well."

Brent closed the gap between them and slipped an arm across her shoulder. "I'm almost as sorry about that as I am about hurting you. I hope my assistance, however misguided and unnecessary, didn't put your job in jeopardy."

Intensely aware of his fingers as they massaged the back of her neck, she shrugged. "That's all right. Mr. Pinkerton is... Well, he treats me more like a daughter than an employee."

"Another of your many fathers?"

Jewel laughed, but it came out strangled. "Something like that. Mac in Topeka and the man you just met below are both colleagues of mine. I was working with Mac, but the operative you just saw was a surprise to me. He had no idea you were aboard this ship or that you'd already met my 'father' a time or two."

Brent's fingers slid around to the side of her neck, pulling her closer. As he spoke, he began to stroke the length of her throat with his thumb. "I can't blame any man for wanting to watch over you, even if he has to dress up as your mother to do it. You're in a dangerous profession, Jewel, one I'm surprised your real father allows you to pursue."

As she listened, Jewel's fingers had instinctively trailed along his arm, stopping here and there to caress the man beneath the shirt. At his final words, she dug her nails into his forearm. "I do as I please, not as anyone allows."

Brent took one step back and furrowed his brow. "I was only asking about your real father.''

"I don't have a father," she said, vowing to make that the final lie between them. "Please don't ask about him again."

Knowing only that he'd touched a very raw, very private spot, unable even to guess at the unhealed wounds accounting for the tender place, Brent moved forward again and pulled her into his arms. "Sorry. I don't mean to pry, only to understand. "

Too close to him, their bodies touching where his angles kissed her rounded curves, Jewel tried to push away.

"I said I'm sorry, and you know what else? I really do believe your story." He pulled her closer. "Why are you fighting me?"

Her brain heating along with her body, Jewel managed a feeble "I don't like the way you're watching me. Stop looking at me like that."

"Like what?"

"There, like that. Stop looking at my mouth as if you own it, as if you think there's some special bond between us."

Brent grinned. "Isn't there?"

"No. And there isn't going to be, so stop it right now."

"All right, I'll look elsewhere." Then slowly, with painstaking precision, he glanced up into her eyes, seducing her with his gaze, melting her resolve with his open hunger.

Jewel drew in a harsh breath. "Don't look at my eyes, either."

"Why not?"

"Because you're making me nervous."

"Oh?" His grin was crooked, sensual. "I don't think that is what's going on inside you at all. I think you want me."

"That's ridiculous."

"Is it?" he whispered, gently skimming her mouth with his. "I think not. You want me."

"Do not."

He laughed, reminded of another time, "Oh, yes, you do. You may think I'm the only one burdened by obvious displays of desire, but in many ways you're just as easy to read. I know how much you want me at this moment. You can't hide it any more than I can." He punctuated the sentence by pressing his hips against hers. At her gasp, he added, "You want me so badly right now, you can hardly stand the wait."

"Do not."

"Do." He grinned, his eyes warm, his expression open and inviting. "I can see it in your eyes and in your mouth. There," he whispered, rubbing a finger across her bottom lip. "See how you tremble with just the thought, how you shiver from my touch. You want me, Jewel. Admit it."

Not trusting herself to speak, she closed her eyes and bit her lip.

Still his rich melodic voice caressed her. "You want me so badly right now, your mouth is watering. Say it."

Jewel groaned and shook her head, but as her lips parted, she heard herself say, "Yes, I do. I want you, Brent."

"Then you shall have me," he whispered just before he claimed her hungry mouth with his.

And then she was engulfed, by her own flames, by the heat of his touch. Her responses lightning quick, her patience nonexistent, Jewel reached for the collar of his shirt and began tearing at the buttons.

"No," he gasped, pulling away from her. "Not like that. Not this time."

"But, Brent," she said. "I thought this is what you wanted."

"Put your arms around my neck," he demanded, seeking the impossible—complete control of himself. "I intend to make love to you, Jewel. I want to satisfy you as you've never been satisfied before."

Shuddering, her mind and body reeling with his words, she obeyed.

Brent scooped her into his arms and murmured endearments against her hair as he made his way toward the bedroom. When he reached the door, he nudged it open with the toe of his boot, then kicked it shut after he stepped inside.

He carried her to his immense bed and hesitated before setting her on her feet. "This
is
what you want, isn't it? No games, no debts, no lies? Just you and I taking what we want from each other, giving all we can?"

Jewel drew in a ragged breath. "Yes. Oh, yes, Brent. Just you and I taking and giving, Brent. Now."

"We're going to take our time," he murmured as he loosened his grip just enough for her to slide down the length of his body. When her feet hit the carpet, she reached up to his shirt again, and this time Brent circled her wrists with his big hands. "Have a little patience, sweetheart. Let me get to know you Jewel, to learn everything I can about you."

"I think you already know me pretty well. I don't know what you're talking about."

"Then relax and let me show you." He lowered her arms to her sides and kissed her briefly, then began removing her clothing. "I want to know you
you,
not Madam Zaharra or any of the other women you've pretended to be. I want
,
and I don't intend to stop making love to you until I'm sure I've found you."

Jewel gasped, gulping in the air through an aching throat. No man had ever spoken to her like that, demanded so much of her, or offered so much of himself.
Run,
her mind shrieked. Run now while you still have some control. But her trembling legs stood their shaky ground. That was when Jewel discovered that her mind controlled nothing but futile thoughts. Her body belonged to Brent and his sensitive hands, Brent and his thrilling mouth.