To Love a Scoundrel (39 page)

"Oh, I remember," she said, her expression wicked. "And if you're thinking you need that blanket for this wooden floor, you might be interested to know your sisters have piled enough petticoats around me to carpet the saloon deck of the
Dawn.
I'd be most agreeable to losing a few of them."

"Is that a fact?" Brent said, his voice deep and throaty as he began to unbutton her dress, stroking her satiny skin as his gentle fingers worked their way down her back.

Jewel gasped at the depth of emotions his touch elicited from her. Brent's caresses were as soothing as they were exciting. They comforted the injured child in her even as they heated the needy woman. Moaning with pleasure, her voice catching with expectation, she murmured, "Here's another fact, Mr. Connors, one I hope you haven't forgotten: I always pay off my bets."

"Oh, I remember," he breathed as he slid the pink dress down over her shoulders. "I just hope you remember that our bet was for all night long."

Through a husky laugh, she whispered, "Remembered very well. This is one bluff I can't wait to call."

Chapter 18

The following morning as the Connors family carriage bounced past the heavily vined woods on the outskirts of Greenville, Jewel fought to suppress yet another unladylike yawn. She turned her head away from Brent and Harry, who were seated across from her, and rubbed at her eyes. Her usually supple eyelids felt heavy and scratchy, as if they were lined with wool and burdened by curtain weights. Then she yawned again.

Harry, alert and ever the astute watcher of people, regarded his daughter. She looked drawn and worn, yet curiously flushed and girlish. Beside him, Brent drew in a ragged breath, then lapsed into a kind of exhausted stupor. No one spoke.

His suspicions growing along with his irritation, Harry thought back to Martha Flannery, to the kind of mother she might have been. Mousy and plain, quiet and shy, the woman had probably been too timid to instruct her child on the ways of men and life. Obviously, he thought to himself, she had never even taken the time to sit Jewel down and teach her how a fine lady should conduct herself.

Again he glanced at his weary daughter. Then Harry shook his head. This wouldn't do at all. Not for one more day. Jewel was a woman in possession of far too much intelligence and style to be wasted in such a manner. Taking another quick look at his traveling companions, Harry noticed a brief exchange of glances between the two, caught the hint of a blush on her cheeks, the contented grin of his host, and decided it was time—way
past
time—for him to have a little talk with his daughter.

His mouth set, his mustache puckered with disapproval, he abruptly slapped his hand against Brent's shoulder and said, "A perfectly lovely morning, wouldn't you say, old chap?"

Startled but too groggy to react, Brent lurched forward and nearly fell into Jewel's lap. He saved himself by grabbing her knees through the fabric of her traveling suit and pushing himself back into the carriage seat.

With a lethargic groan, Jewel smoothed her skirts and opened one eye to its fullest. Training her bleary gaze on Harry, she said, "Why are you so full of vinegar today?"

"Why shouldn't I be?" he countered, drawing in a lungful of fresh morning air. "Look around you, dear girl. Look at the marvelous lush countryside and the quaint albeit somewhat war-torn city ahead."

Propping her chin up with one hand, she cast an indifferent glance toward the rows of buildings as they passed by them, then shrugged. "Adorable little town. A bit rough around the edges, but simply adorable."

"Quite so."

Suddenly alert, Brent recognized the knowing timbre in Harry's voice, could actually feel the disapproval of a man bent on protecting his precious daughter. Forcing a light tone, he explained the city's disheveled state. "Greenville was leveled during the war, but it was rebuilt and enlarged not four years later. The ruins and reconstruction you're looking at now are the result of a couple of bad fires, one in 1874 and another just last year."

"How terribly unfortunate," Harry commented, although he. couldn't have cared less. "And you've lived in this quaint little village all your life?"

Brent nodded, sighing as he began to relax again.

But Harry was leading him down a carefully constructed path. He went on, speaking casually, his query deadly serious. "Then I must assume you've had quite a string of young ladies following along after you. How is it one of them hasn't drawn you into her web—or is there someone you haven't mentioned?"

Jewel's heavy eyelids were suddenly feather-light. She straightened her spine and cocked her head so she wouldn't miss one word of Brent's reply.

Fully awake now, he was staring at Harry, his brow wrinkled, his expression curious and slightly piqued. Through another sigh, he said, "I suppose I've had my share of interested ladies, but I have never considered forming a lasting attachment.''

Until I met your beguiling daughter, that is, he added to himself.

Before Jewel, Brent recollected, he'd had his share of close calls and had somehow managed to dodge the matrimonial bullet. A careful study of women and their tricks had served him well, taught him how to spot a woman who was more interested in the respectable state of marriage than she was in him. Who'd have guessed that Brent Connors would be felled by one so completely forthright? Forthright, stubborn, and still a little too cold, he thought as his loving gaze drifted over her features.

Jewel was staring out toward the woods, her spring green eyes dreamy and languid, her full lips parted, still swollen and bruised from their incredible night of lovemaking. There had been no chill in her during their long night and early morning together. He'd found and ignited every source of heat in her luscious body, as she had done for him. Would the love he felt for her be enough to thaw the barriers to her heart as well? Did he have the means, the insight, to do whatever was necessary to make her truly his? Or would it be impossible for her to break from the past and build a future with him? Again Brent thought back to the day he'd asked for a tough woman. Once more he understood that he'd gotten more than he bargained for. Laughing to himself, he wondered if it was too late to temper that order just a bit.

Harry's irritation grew as he saw the private amusement in his seatmate's expression. He pressed forward, still seeking answers. "Am I to assume, Mr. Connors, that you have designs on my daughter?"

"Sir?" Brent choked.

"Harry, for heaven's sake," Jewel blurted out.

Raising his chin defensively, Harry said, "I don't see the harm in such a question. It is a father's right to have some idea what a man's intentions are toward his daughter. Surely you concur with that, Mr. Connors."

"I'm afraid we'll have to discuss this later," Brent said, grateful to have a reason to cut him off. "We're nearly at dockside, and I have many chores to see to."

"Oh, of course," Harry agreed as the carriage lurched up the final incline to the levee. "Perhaps over a brandy at the bar this evening."

"Perhaps," Brent agreed as the carriage rolled to a stop and he climbed out. Reaching up, he slid his hands along Jewel's ribs and helped her out of the rig. Then, keeping one eye on Harry as he disembarked from the other side, Brent leaned over and kissed her soundly.

When Harry rounded the carriage and approached the pair, Jewel was giggling and Brent's silly grin was back in place. Loudly clearing his throat, Harry said, "Jewel dear, I need to have a word with you in private. Please join me in my suite."

"In a moment, Faathah," she said, reluctantly tearing her gaze from Brent. "Mr. Connors has a very interesting problem that you and I might be able to help him solve. I have a few more questions to ask him, but I'll join you before too long."

Grumbling to himself, Harry said, "Very well, dear, but do hurry along. My suite is—"

"I know which room is yours, remember?" she said.

Harry pressed his fingertips to his mouth for a moment, then recalled tying her to his bedpost. "Oh, my, but of course you do. My dear girl, I am so sorry. Had I but realized you were much more than a thief, I would have, er, have—."

"Of course you would have." She laughed, dismissing him. "I'll see you in a few minutes."

"Quite so," he said, starting up the gangplank. "But please don't dawdle."

Waiting until Harry was out of earshot, Brent raised a worried eyebrow. "You may be in for some trouble, little lady. I don't believe your father is near as fond of me as he once was."

Jewel watched as Harry disappeared, then shrugged. "I can handle him. As for the sudden loss of affection," she added coyly, "I suppose I'll just have to be fond enough of you for the both of us."

"Is that a fact, ma'am?" he said, enormously pleased. "And just how fond might that be, now that we're standing in the glare of morning light—if you don't mind my asking, that is?"

Jewel frowned. "I do mind your asking, but if you must know, just plain fond is all you're going to get out of me."

Even though she'd said it half in jest, experience told Brent she was ready to erect her icy shield. Soon she would close herself off from his love. Sighing, he took her hand and began walking toward the ship. "Let's go. It won't do to keep your daddy waiting."

As they neared the gangplank, his gaze shifted between the two most beautiful things he'd ever seen—the
Dawn
and Jewel. The steamship glistened in the morning sun, owning up to a magnificence she'd never known in her previous life as a troop transport ship. Still amazed by the fact the
Dawn
belonged to him, he turned, intending to inform Jewel of his awe. She, too, was staring up at the steamboat, her eyes wide with wonder, and at that moment, Brent was suddenly struck by an unwavering certainty: Without hesitation, he would gladly trade the ownership of the one for the love of the other.

Aware of Brent's intense gaze, Jewel glanced over at him. What she saw in his eyes frightened and thrilled her, caused her heart to lurch forward even as she took a backward step. She brought her nervous gaze back to the
Delta Dawn
and made a great show of studying the gleaming decks, noting the white gingerbread woodwork and following the skyward path of majestic twin stacks and the endless circles of the red and white paddle wheel.

And still she felt his eyes on her, more intense and heated than ever. Refusing to acknowledge him, to hear the words that would accompany such a look, she casually said, "You must be very proud to own such a magnificent boat, Brent. I don't think I've ever seen a more splendid display of craftsmanship."

The frost warnings were in effect. Bowing to them, he expelled a heavy sigh and returned his gaze to the ship. "I thank you for your observations, but to fully appreciate her grandeur, you should have seen her the day I won her."

"Won?" she said, wrinkling her nose.

"In a poker game about four years ago," he supplied. "She was the
Delta Star
then and a bigger mess than you can imagine. The Confederates commissioned her for their use during the war until she ran aground. That's where she stayed until I won her. I spent all my time and every bit of my money restoring her."

Astounded, she looked back at the
Dawn
and let out a long, low whistle. "I thought , well, I just assumed your family was quite wealthy." Again she whistled, adding, "This is all very impressive, Mr. Connors. Almost as impressive as your stamina."

Jewel clapped her hand across her mouth, then blushed, instantly regretting the impulsive reference to their very long and satisfying night together. She looked away from him and stared across the river, her eyelashes fluttering furiously of their own volition, her throat dry and growing tighter by the second.

Equally ruffled, more by the surprising honesty of her observation than by the words themselves, Brent gave her a practiced shrug as he tugged at the collar on his shirt. His dimples small caves, he was finally able to say, "Again I thank you, but I believe that must have something to do with the company I keep."

"Perhaps," she mumbled under her breath. Still unable to look at him or to believe this new shy person was actually a part of her personality, she abruptly changed the subject. Glancing across the river, noticing the tiers of lush cottonwood and willow trees spilling down the bank to the waterline, she asked, "What's over there? Louisiana?"