To Love a Scoundrel (31 page)

"Thanks. That will be all."

Maxwell nodded, then strode toward the seemingly endless curved stairway.

"Brent?" Jewel tugged at his sleeve, her eyes wide with alarm. "Did I hear right? Did that man say something about your father?
"

"He most certainly did. Come on. I can't wait for you to meet him."

"But—but—" she sputtered as he led her toward a pair of burled walnut doors. "Your him?" she gave a slight jerk of her head, hoping he understood how appalled she was at the idea of his mother's two men meeting in such a manner.
father
?" she said again in a strangled whisper, aware that Harry was only a few feet behind them. "How could you have brought

Brent gave her a look that clearly informed her he thought she'd lost her mind, then pushed the twelve-foot-high doors open and showed her inside the library. "I thought bringing
him
here was the point," he said under his breath as Harry joined them. Brent glanced through the glass doors at the back of the library and saw his father. The elder Connors sat at the edge of the veranda staring out at the ruins of his acreage. Turning back to his guests, Brent said, "Dad has had a little trouble getting over his war injuries, mental as well as physical. I'll just go let him know he has company."

"Of course," Harry said before Jewel could open her mouth. "Take your time."

"I appreciate your understanding." Brent smiled at Harry, then chucked Jewel under the chin before he started for the glass doors.

When Brent was out of earshot, Harry turned to his daughter. "Look around you, my dear," he said in a barely audible but definitely unscrupulous tone. "Perhaps this would be a good place to start your lessons."

And finish yours? she thought, wondering if Harry realized he was a guest in the home of a previous victim. She looked around the library and slowly shook her head. "I don't think so, Faathah. I prefer to learn our business among complete strangers, if you don't mind."

"Humph. Then it's as I thought," Harry sniffed, raising his chin.

"What's as you thought?"

"This Connors fellow has been trifling with your affections. Just what has he promised you, and exactly what does he expect in return?"

Jewel's mouth dropped open and she turned on him, hands on her hips. "Now just a damn minute, Daddy. I've managed without you, without any facsimile of a father, for my entire life. I do not need your misguided opinions or rules on the care and feeding of men at this stage, nor—"

"Now see here, young lady. I realize that you did not have the benefit of a father's counsel during your formative years, but that was not by my fault."

"Oh,
please,"
she said with a grimace. "Don't insult my intelligence by suggesting that you'd have come back to my mother and me if you'd known."

"I have no way of knowing what I would have done back then,'' Harry admitted. "I intend to make up for those years, however, and I simply will not allow you to speak to me in such an insolent manner. Nor," he added, his tone more authoritative, "will I allow you to be taken advantage of by some riverboat gambler with things other than your respectability on his mind. I hope I've made myself clear."

"I can't believe this," she sputtered. "I'm twenty-five years old. What makes you think you can waltz into my life and tell me what to do and whom to see?''

"I'm warning you, young lady. Age has nothing to do with the way you're behaving. It's all too apparent that your mother spoiled you into thinking you could always have your own way. Too bad she didn't give your backside a good thrashing more often. If you were a bit younger, I'd spank you myself."

Jewel's mouth dropped open again, and she gasped. "How dare you talk to me like that."

Harry met her green-eyed gaze with one of his own. "You of all people should know better than to issue a challenge to a Benton. Until I'm able to discern an alternative method for bringing an adult child to heel, I'd appreciate it if you would find a way to behave yourself."

"Excuse me," Brent cut in as he strolled back into the library. "I hate to interrupt this touching exchange between you two, but my father is feeling a little weak this afternoon. I would so like for you both to meet him before he retires. Can I trust you together in the same room?"

Jewel's eyelashes fluttered of their own volition as she turned her back on Harry and faced Brent. "Please forgive Faathah's poor manners. He and I are new at this father-daughter business. I suppose these little squabbles are bound to occur now and then."

"I'd be beholden to you both," Brent said with a curt nod in Harry 's direction, "if you would please find a way to save them for the future. Perhaps when we return to the ship you can resume your discussion."

Chagrined, Harry nodded. "Of course, Mr. Connors, and I am indeed sorry if we have caused you any distress."

"No apology is necessary. Shall we?" He made a sweeping gesture with his arm, then bent his elbow and offered it to Jewel.

Stifling the urge to stick out her tongue at the man she now called Faathah, Jewel consoled herself with a withering sideways glance, then slid her hand into the crook of Brent's arm. "I'd be charmed, sir."

As they made their way across the room, Harry lagged behind, blocking thoughts of his daughter and their lost years from his mind as he kept a lookout for the subtle and not so subtle indications of wealth, along with any obvious signs of spurious attempts to merely indicate great wealth. The floor-to-ceiling shelves were filled with beautifully bound books. The furnishings—desk, chairs, sofas, and occasional tables—were all from Louis XV, carved from walnut, and ornamented with gilded bronze. Authentic, Harry observed, or the best damned imitations he'd ever seen. But just as he was about to decree the Connors family as truly wealthy, he noticed the tattered and stained rug covering most of the hardwood floor. Glancing up as he passed through the doors leading to the veranda, he also realized that sheer beige curtains hung in stark simplicity where heavy draperies should have billowed.

Suddenly unsure about the wealth of Sumner Hall and its inhabitants, Harry circled around behind the chair Brent directed him to and awaited his introduction.

"Dad," Brent said to the wizened man in the cane wheelchair, "this is Jewel Poindexter and her father, Harrison. My father, Raiford Connors."

"A pleasure to meet you, sir,'' Jewel said as she extended her gloved hand.

Raiford squinted up at her as he raised her hand toward his mouth and thin gray beard. "Y'all ain't from 'round these parts," he commented in a breathless drawl before kissing the back of her hand.

"Ah, no, sir," Jewel said, unable to keep from staring at the outline of his withered, useless limbs beneath the thin blanket draped across his lap. "My father and I are from Chicago."

Taking her cue, Harry extended his hand. "Harrison 'Harry' Poindexter, sir. An honor to meet you."

Again squinting a chocolate brown eye as he studied the unfamiliar face, Raiford said, "Likewise, I'm sure. Y'all kin to the Tennessee Poindexters?"

"Ah, no, sir, I'm afraid not."

"Shame. Real shame," he muttered, shaking his head. "The Tennessee Poindexters are right good folks. Right good. Now, why don't y'all sit a spell? I'm bound to get a powerful crick in my neck if I have to keep staring up at ya much longer."

Jewel and Harry obediently slid into high-backed wicker chairs, and Brent sat next to his father.

Just then a young girl appeared in the doorway. "Afternoon, Mr. Connors. Kin I get y'all somethin' to eat or drink?"

"Thanks, Loanne," Brent said, looking to his guests. "Why don't you bring us some mint juleps and a few snacks?"

"Right away, sir." The girl made a little curtsy, then disappeared into the house.

As if he'd forgotten about his company, Raiford tugged at the huge wheels on his chair and propelled himself over to the railing. Looking out at his beloved plantation, he said absently. "How's the shipping business coming along, boy?"

Brent shot an apologetic glance toward his guests, then said, "As I was telling you before, fair to middling, sir."

"We gonna meet the tax bill on time this year?"

Again Brent looked at Jewel and Harry, then turned his palms up and shrugged. "That and at least enough extra to restore Mama's rose gardens."

Raiford whipped his head around. "That right, boy? Y'all hear that?'' he shouted as he looked back out at the farm. Slapping his atrophied thighs with glee, he laughed and hollered at imaginary soldiers. "By God, you hear that, you bastids? By dern, you Yankee boys thought you could wipe us off n the map, but I guess ya got another think coming."

"Take it easy, Dad," Brent said softly, with no hint of condemnation in his voice. "Maybe you forgot, but we have a lady visitin' us. Won't do for you to go on like that."

Quickly looking over his shoulder, Raiford blanched, then turned his gaze back to the fields. "Pardon my dreadful manners, little gal. I swear, sometimes I think those damn Yankees blowed away my ability to think as well as walk. I do hope y'all can find it in your heart to forgive me."

"Don't worry your head about it, Mr. Connors."

Jewel's further thoughts were put on hold as a boisterous male voice shattered the gentle conversation.

"Brent, you ole coon dog. How'd I miss you in town?"

"Good Lord, Beau. See if you can't get a grip on yourself. We got company."

The younger, more gregarious version of Brent, froze in mid-stride, then surveyed the occupants of the wicker chairs. After setting a tray of drinks and snacks on a table, he bowed at the waist. "Glory be, if we don't," he said, his voice lush and rich with southern masculine pride. "Glory be if we don't got us some right pretty company at that.

Barely acknowledging Harry as Brent introduced the two men, Beau lingered over Jewel, keeping her hand sandwiched between both of his as he heard his own name repeated, "...my brother, Beauregard Sumner Connors."

"Meetin' you is a pleasure, ma'am. A real pleasure," he repeated, openly admiring her from head to toe.

Jewel cocked one eyebrow as the younger Connors leaned closer to her. His eyes, nearly the same honey brown as Brent's, lacked the depth, the sensitivity, but seemed filled to overflowing with gaiety and frivolity. His face, round, smooth, and free of whiskers, was boyish and hopelessly adorable. Beauregard Connors was a cuddly bear of a man, Jewel decided, but probably infinitely more dangerous to the ladies of Washington County than the real item.

"Excuse me, Beauregard," she said with a saucy lilt, "but are you feeling all right?"

Beau raised his brow and said, "Pardon me, ma'am?"

"I was wondering if you'd taken ill, sir. Your tongue seems to be lolling out the corner of your mouth."

Just as her little comeuppance began to sink in, a big hand crushed down on the nape of Beau's neck. Then Brent's voice, low and dangerously polite, raised the hair on his spine.

"Perhaps I can interpret for the lady, brother. I believe she's concerned you might drool all over her nice dress. You wouldn't want to do a disgustin' thing like that, now, would you?"

"Uh," Beau stammered with a nervous chuckle as he straightened his spine. "No, 'course not." He turned, his eyes bright and innocent. "Just tryin' to be polite, Brent. You know me, 'bout as polite as a fella kin get."

"Yes, li'l brother, I
do
know you, and you're damn lucky that I do." Then, his grin broad, Brent pulled the younger man into his arms for a brief hug. When he released him, he reached for the tray and offered refreshments to his guests, inquiring as Jewel helped herself to a mint julep, "Why didn't you meet us at the
Dawn,
Beau? I was hoping you'd stay on board while I visited the folks."

Beau grabbed a chair and pulled it up beside Harry as he answered. "I rode on up to the levee, but I got sidetracked some. Stopped off to the McAlexander place for a spell, and I guess the time got away from me."

Brent cocked an inquisitive eyebrow as he sat down next to his father. "That little McAlexander gal still single?''

"Yep." Beau laughed. His dimples were arresting but not as deep or carved in appearance as Brent's. "She's still lots a things, and lots of fun and such."

"Do mind your manners, Beau."

"Oh, yeah," he said through a muffled chuckle as he finally dared another glance at Jewel. "Sorry, ma'am. Anyways," he went on, speaking as if he'd never been interrupted, "time I got to the ship, y'all had gone, so I come on home."

"No harm done." Brent shrugged. "Tex and Reba assured me they could take on supplies and passengers."

Beau's boyish grin was still in place, but his obvious boredom with the business side of the conversation shone in his impish honey-brown eyes as he turned to Harry. "You a passenger on my brother's steamship, Mr. Harrison?"

Harry cleared his throat and took a sip of his julep before he said, "Poindexter. My name is Harrison Poindexter." He looked down Iris nose at the young man. "You you may call me Harry."

"Harry? That's a good easy name. That real, Harry?" Beau said, pointing to the three-carat diamond adorning his gold stickpin.

"Good Lord, Beau," Brent groaned. "Do button your lip and save us from any more of your observations."