Her Wicked Captain: The River Rogues, Book 1 (19 page)

“What’s going on? What happened in here?”

He opened the door and gestured for her to leave. “Go to our place. Bolt the door. Keep your rifle at your side.”

He wouldn’t look her in the eye. She surveyed him more closely. His shirt had blood droplets down the front. His sleeves were stained as well, and his knuckles on his gun hand were scraped, though the blood was dried. “What happened in here? Have you been fightin’?”

His jaw tightened, and his eyes narrowed. He still refused to look at her. “Go on! It’s not safe here.”

She walked around him and shut the door, closing out the racket of the salon below. She would stay until he talked. Glancing around the room, she spotted Asa’s books strewn across the floor. A new volume of Charles Dickens lay face down. Another gift from Quintus? The room was a total wreck. She recognized some of the equipment the boy was using to make the gambler’s holdout device. Her gaze swung to the dresser where the mirror had been shattered. Not a fight.

Rage.

“Are you all right, Rory?” His name stuck in her throat when she looked at him again.

His brawny body quaked almost imperceptibly, but he crossed his arms over his chest in an effort to contain his jitters. His eyes stared at the floor, his jaw tightening convulsively.

His lack of control chilled her to the bone. She put her hands on his sides, standing just under his chin.
Ignore me now.

His face had lost all its color as if he were a man who had no hope left in the world.

One by one the pieces drifted together in her inner sight as she worked the puzzle: Asa working for Quintus, maybe a fight, Quintus’s gifts broken, the mirror…the bedroom…the bedroom?…why her sickly mama left and didn’t bring Rory. Perhaps Mama didn’t think Rory was worth saving or she thought it was too late for him…or perhaps Rory was her sacrifice, a way to pacify her husband while she escaped with her own child. Maybe she’d hoped the blow of her leaving Quintus would be softened by the boy.

Dell’s lungs closed as the truth overwhelmed her in one crushing blow.
Oh, God, no!
“Did Quintus intend to…rape Asa?”

Rory’s eyelids fell over his eyes, shielding him, but it was too late. The truth spoke, shouted to her, in his body language.

She chewed on her lip, banking her revulsion and anger. She should’ve seen it long ago, right in front of her!

What did that bastard do to you, Rory? Another time, another place. Save the question for later. Don’t cry now!

She pressed close against him, placing her hands on his upper arms. “What do you want me to do? Tell me and I’ll do it.” Regret tightened within—she should’ve agreed to his scheme with the Wainwrights. How could she not?

He swallowed audibly. His hard eyes focused on her. “It’s too late. I’ve ruined everything. I forced Laughton off the ship when I found him guarding Asa’s door.” He gave a shake of his head. “I sent Asa back, told him to wait for me. God, I ruined everything for the boy, the crew, Jeremiah—”

“You protected Asa. You did the right thing.”

He shook his head. “Moreaux will be here soon. My plan’s shot to hell. I have to kill him.” He drew back.

“No!” Dell took his hand still holding the gun in both of hers. “Don’t. You’ll hang if he doesn’t kill you first. I don’t want you to die.”

His fingers lifted off the gun to touch hers tentatively. “I’m damaged, but I won’t let him hurt Asa as well.”

“He’s done it to others, hasn’t he?”

Rory closed his eyes and nodded. “One. He’s taken in two boys since he’s had me. The last one died of consumption. He was lucky.”

Dell ached inside. She took the gun from his loose grip. “Let’s find another way.”

He searched her face. “You’re better off with me gone.” The corner of his mouth lifted with self-spite. “I know what you’re thinking. I ain’t any better than Moreaux for working for him all these years, but I never let him touch anyone!”

Don’t cry, she warned herself again. She dropped the gun on a pile of clothes. Her heart beat rapidly in her throat, but she wouldn’t allow the tears to come. Her fingers closed around his hand. Numbly, she led him to sit by her on the bed where he buried his head in his hands.

“Tell me what you can.” She put a hand on his knee.

“Funny thing about teaching a boy to use a gun, it makes him no longer helpless.” With his hands in his hair, he spoke brokenly, “Moreaux quit…hurtin’ me when I pulled my pistol out from under my pillow one night. After a few years went by, I thought he was done with the abuse. Then he brought home Thomas. He was ten. Quintus gave him gifts and his own room. Then I saw the difference in Thomas’s spirit, and I knew the monster’d got to him too. I helped him get away. He lives in Chicago now. I check on him sometimes.”

Dell wet her lips to speak. “That was horrible, Rory, but it wasn’t your fault. You saved him.”

“Moreaux beat the hell out of me for that stunt.” He lifted his head and smiled at her. His expression put a knife through her heart. She put her hand in his, and he cupped it between both of his calloused ones. She could feel his pulse against her palm and the tremor in his body as he held her like a lifeline. “Same thing happened with Durham. He was nine. His sickness intervened before anything happened, but that made him worthless in Moreaux’s eyes. He dropped him off in an institution to die and promptly picked up Asa.”

Dell brought his battered hand to her mouth and kissed his raw knuckles. “You’ve protected them the best you could. If you’d left, there would’ve been more boys.”

He shook his head, scowling. “Killing him would’ve been better. I was just too damn selfish. Proud. I didn’t want to kill anyone. Even him. ’Cause that’s all he ever wanted me to do. To become like him.” He scrubbed a hand down his face.

Dell shook her head. “You had a good plan. Still do. Wainwright could take him for all he’s got.”

His thumb stroked her hand absently. “I’m dead to Moreaux. He won’t trust me now.”

“So leave. Take Asa somewhere safe. I’ll stay. I can finish what you’ve started.”

His eyes brightened, then he gave a negative shake of his head. “I couldn’t leave you here with him. Too dangerous for you. I never should have brought you into this.”

“I’m not helpless.” She gave her voice more confidence than she felt. Vivienne had it figured so wrong. “I’ll convince him I’m done with you.”

“That shouldn’t be hard.” He was teasing, but the searching look he gave her made her stomach squeeze.

She forced a smile, the tears now beating the backs of her eyes though she fought them. “Harder than you’d think.”

His chin had a bluish mark nearly lost in the shadow of his stubble where Laughton had evidently hit him. She put a gentle hand on his cheek and leaned to kiss his mouth. He turned to her, pulling her into his arms. Her heart twanged with the bittersweetness of his embrace as she angled her head to give him access, certain nothing in her life had ever felt more right than this man. They kissed hard, deeply, pouring all their emotions into the moment. She put love in her kiss that she couldn’t say, threading her fingers in his hair and giving herself fully to him.

He’d been through hell. Had given years of his life to preventing anyone else from experiencing the same. She loved him. Loved him.

He drew back and brought a handful of her hair to his lips where he rubbed against the wavy strands. “You’re not through with me?” he asked quietly.

“No. Not by a long shot.” She smiled and traced his forehead.

He closed his eyes, leaning into her touch but still emotionally distant. She longed to kiss him until she was breathless, to lean back in his arms, and open for him. Wanted to make him a part of her with the joining of their bodies and souls. Then, and only then, he might feel whole and well again after the painful memories she’d drudged up for him. Like the boy he’d mentioned, his spirit had also been desecrated.

He dropped his forehead on her shoulder after a length. “I wish I could stay in your arms all night.” He sighed raggedly. “But you know we’ve got to get out of here.”

“Yes.” She hated to agree, but at least he’d reconciled himself with his leaving too. “Where will you go?”

His head shifted on her shoulder, thinking. “There’s a man on Walnut Street who has rooms to let. Name’s Pomeroy. He owes me for a loss that I never told Moreaux about. You’ll be safe to visit me there the day after tomorrow if Moreaux doesn’t have you followed. I’ll work out the particulars of the card match with Bartholomew. Dell, the bastard’s gonna be furious to find the boy gone.”

“He’ll be looking for someone to punish. I’ll offer him the opportunity with Wainwright and the game of a lifetime. I can do this, Rory.”

He reached for her face and brought her back for another kiss. Then he stood, returned his gun to his belt and opened the door. He peered cautiously outside, probably making certain no one was around to see them leaving together.

Parting ways on the deck, Rory grabbed her hand and reeled her back for another kiss. “I’d rather take a hundred bullets than leave you here, angel,” he said against the top of her head as he held her tight.

She pressed her face against his heart, and felt the first tear breach her defenses. “It’s only for now.” She lifted her mouth to his for one last kiss, then whispered, “For luck.”

Chapter Twenty-Two

As daylight poked through the cracks in the cabin curtains, Dell turned her face into her pillow. She’d cried through the night, and now her throat burned as if she’d drunk pure moonshine. She couldn’t have slept if she tried. One of Moreaux’s men came for her, demanding Rory’s whereabouts. Convincing him she’d been abandoned had been easy. One look at her shattered appearance told the story.

Moreaux wouldn’t be dissuaded as easily, she bet, so she’d lain awake the rest of the night dreading what was to come. It gave her time to think and remember.

Most times, her mother had smiled to see Rory coming around, thankful for him taking a precocious six-year-old off her hands for some childfree hours of peace and quiet. But during those last few days of sickness and bed-rest, Mama had gone sour on the boy, yelling at him for no reason, sending him away even when he only wanted their company for dinner or a friendly game of ecarte.

All the signs had been there. Dell had just been too young to know what was happening.

She shuddered to think he was being abused right under their noses. Looking back now, she was certain her mother had discovered the truth and had tried to keep Rory from telling her. All those times Rory had come around asking to go exploring the docks, offering bribes of penny candy for her time, and yet Mama had said no. Her mother had been content to live with Quintus, enjoying the prestige and wealth that came with being his wife, until the sexual assaults began. That must have been the final straw, not her illness. She was jealous, afraid of being replaced by
children
…

Instead of aiding Rory, she’d simply left him.

To think her mama had said Dell would be a more “respectable” person by staying away from steamboats and gambling. Maybe her mama had no idea what it meant to be decent and respectable! If it meant running away and turning her back on others at home, she would rather not travel down that path.

It sickened her knowing her mama had done such to Rory.

Dell had her gifts, those talents her mama had once been proud to share. Although Dell had sworn to leave her tricks behind her when she’d left Posey Hollow, her sight was the only useful thing her mama had given her.

She vowed she would do whatever she could to resolve the damage her mother had caused.

After dressing, she headed out to find Moreaux. Hatred curdled in her stomach so that by the time she spotted the bastard casually sipping chicory in the dining room, she fought the urge to take up a knife from one of the tables and bury it in his black heart. The men who usually shadowed him were absent—probably out scouring St. Louis for Rory and Asa. She prayed the pair were somewhere safe.

She breathed deeply, rhythmically, calming her anger as she strode through the dining room.
Win him over. Don’t spoil things now.

His cold eyes ran over her as she approached him, and his expression became a grimace by the time he studied her tear-stained face. “They told me you were still here. How come you didn’t run off with Campbell and the boy?”

“I wasn’t invited. He chose Asa over me.” She tossed her head, forcing herself to look him in the eye. Sickness rose in her throat, imagining all the abuse the man had inflicted on his helpless wards. She pushed her thoughts to the farthest corner of her mind. “I looked for him last night after I left the salon, but he was already gone, I guess.”
Please God let no one contradict that.

Quintus snorted. “You two were bedmates and he didn’t tell you anything about his plans to leave?” He lifted his eyebrows. “Couldn’t you divine it, charlatan?”

“Oh, I knew he was tired of me, but I was through with him too.” She had to make Quintus trust her. She settled into the chair across from him, and steeled herself against the fearful tremors that threatened to betray her fear and revulsion for the man.

What reason did she have for being done with Rory? Vivienne. Her blood steamed just thinking about the woman having her claws in him. Most likely the gambler knew Rory and Viv were lovers. With a handful of words Dell could plant the seeds of speculation that would have her stepfather directing his anger toward his mistress. She’d used lies and mind-tricks all her life, but never to cause another person harm. She had no regard for Vivienne, but it wouldn’t be fair to cause a rift between the moll and the man who supported her brothel.

No. She’d choose greed over anger, a motivation Quintus would appreciate.

”Madame LeBlanc was right. She said men would pay a lot to sleep with me. Christopher Wainwright even made me an offer, but I refused him.”

Something in his expression shifted. He dabbed at his mustache with a napkin, still watching her through steely eyes. “I suppose now you’re going to lament about your lost virtue, how you were saving yourself for a husband or some such nonsense. Do I look like a damned chit? Go cry about it to one of the girls.” He tossed his napkin into his plate.

“Well”—Dell forced her mouth into a smile—“I’m certain I can do better than that gunslinger or your ne’er-do-well captain. I just wanted your say in the matter. I turned down Wainwright because I’d rather have his uncle—he’s wealthier—but only if you don’t mind me leaving the
Queen
for a few hours each afternoon while we’re in port. I should be able to repay you for Jeremiah afterward.”

His lips pursed in thought.

Without waiting for an answer, Dell rose and turned to leave.

The gambler spoke to her back. “Has Bartholomew made you an offer? I highly doubt it. He’s been married to the grave for years.”

She glanced over her shoulder and gave him another wry smile. “Unlike you, he said I reminded him of my mama. He wants a lover who’ll take him back to happier times, someone who knows him—his thoughts, his secrets. He’ll be mine for the whistling.”

She took another step away, but his voice stopped her again.

“Yes, I’m beginning to see the resemblance myself.” His chair drew away from the table. “Does he know about your gift?”

She turned around, folding her arms over her chest. “No. I didn’t think I was at liberty to tell anyone.”

He stood. “You’re not. And that bastard Campbell had better not tell him either if he knows what’s good for him.” He circled the table and approached her. “I expect the captain will be back. These boats are his life, and he enjoys wealth, same as anyone. Without me, he’s got nothing.”

A few days ago, she would’ve agreed that Rory would be more worried about money than anything else. How wrong she’d been.

Watching her closely, Moreaux asked, “How would you like to double what Wainwright gives you?”

Rory watched the
Queen Helen
from a distance, lurking behind the freight waiting to be loaded on a barge. The decks were quiet, the remaining guests waking late after a night of gambling. He’d taken a huge risk coming this close to the steamboat during daylight hours when anyone might see him. But he couldn’t stay away, either. Worrying for Dell’s safety had overwhelmed him since the moment he’d parted with her.

When he’d left Asa that morning, the boy had been happily consuming Mrs. Pomeroy’s biscuits and chocolate gravy. He hadn’t spoken much of the event that led to their departure from the
Queen
, and Rory wouldn’t hurry him. His silence demonstrated his understanding that whatever Moreaux had planned for him in that cabin, it wasn’t pleasant.

If Asa asked—when he asked—Rory was prepared to tell him his own story of the boss’s abuse. Perhaps he should’ve done that to begin with. He’d kept quiet when Thomas had come aboard, and look where that had gotten him.

Rory would have to live with that guilt for the rest of his life.

Now if anything happened to Dell…

Presently the dining room door opened. His heart gave a hard wallop as Philadelphia walked out, head high, back straight and proud. He caught himself smiling as a weight lifted off him. She was safe.

He tracked her movements until she disappeared inside their stateroom. Motion at the stern end of the boat caught his eye. Balfour, one of Moreaux’s men, had been watching Dell, as well, probably making sure Rory was nowhere in sight. Unease tightened its tentacles around him.

Damn. Did she know she was being watched?

She was smart. She’d be cautious. Still, it wouldn’t be good if they managed to follow her to the Pomeroys’ house.

Leaving her with Quintus made him feel shameful, reminding him of how he felt when Eleanor left him all those years ago, though he knew it couldn’t be helped this time. If Dell was being watched, the gambler didn’t trust her, and for the plan to work, his confidence must be unshakeable.

Perhaps there was something Rory could do to further erase the trace of doubt in Moreaux’s mind. If he could make a show of his complete severance of all connection with her—and Dell do the same—maybe then she would earn the monster’s faith.

Rory had a notion how he could produce the results he required, but Dell wouldn’t understand. In a short time, the woman had become the light in his dark, dirty existence, so now the thought of angering her—hurting her, possibly—seemed unthinkable. That she had even considered his crazy scheme after all he’d put her through astounded him. It only further confirmed what he’d known in his heart since finding her in Posey Hollow—

The lady was one-of-a-kind.

But she could say anything she wanted and he’d never believe they could have any future together. She was meant for grander things, like Eleanor had always said. Maybe he’d been wrong to try to tempt her into becoming a gambler. If she wasn’t sorry she’d ever set eyes on him, she soon would be.

Barrels lined the walls of the warehouse from end to end, a veritable fortress of the brew. Dell tilted her head back, admiring the vast operation of Bartholomew’s Dillard’s Peak Brewery. Her Uncle Reuben would’ve surely thought he’d died and gone to heaven from the production rate of the place.

As she and the businessman walked the aisle, workers moved back and forth, carting in new barrels. On the short carriage ride from the Wainwright house into the city, they’d passed wagon after wagon loaded with barrels of Dillard’s Peak Beer, the drivers all nodding to their boss. The business had been one of the few in the city to survive the great fire of forty-nine and the pandemic outbreak of cholera the same year, so the old man seemed thankful, if not slightly convinced his success was God’s way of marking the name Wainwright for divine invincibility and providence in all matters.

Earlier that afternoon in Wainwright’s parlor when she’d paid her first social call on the man, she’d felt his hesitation. He was still wary of anyone connected to Moreaux, for whatever reason the two had fallen out years before. Then she’d mentioned Uncle Reuben’s still and his eyes had lit up. He’d been quick to invite her on a tour of the brewery. Now she fell into step behind him, pausing when he did, listening as he shared.

With his hands on his hips, he turned to face her, closing his eyes and inhaling. He smiled and regarded her. “What do you make of my place so far, Philadelphia?”

“I never imagined so much beer could be made and consumed.” Dell followed his actions, enjoying the aroma of the place. It reminded her of the yeast bread she’d cooked at her aunt’s on special occasions. Her mouth watered. “It smells much nicer than our putrid corn mash.”

He chuckled. “I imagine so.”

Although she enjoyed the businessman’s company and the many shared experiences of frontier life they had to talk about—such as the intricacies of distilling—she wanted to keep him focused on the reason she’d paid him the visit: planning the card game. “Perhaps we should go somewhere more private to talk.”

Once inside the messy room that was the heart of Wainwright’s empire, Dell took a chair opposite the man. She sighed, relieved to be rid of the constant feeling of being watched. So much rested on her shoulders now, so much she could lose if Moreaux didn’t buy their act.

“I hope Kit and Rory met without any trouble.” She chewed on a fingernail. With only two more nights in port, they had to work fast. She would need to practice several games, teaching him how to note Moreaux’s signs.

Each hour she spent apart from Rory felt like an eternity.

“Don’t worry about my nephew. Kit’s sharp. He might act like a dandy, but he’s a bear when it matters. He’s been after me to face Quintus again for a while. Another German friend of his, a newspaperman, lost a lot of money to Quintus last year. When the idiot accused him of cheating, Quintus put a new hole in his face. Kit’s been adamant about doing something ever since. What do you think about Rory Campbell? Can he be trusted? He’s worked for the man all his life.”

A day ago she would’ve had doubts as well, but now her mind tumbled over images of the destruction of the cabin, the gun in Rory’s grip, and the hatred in his eyes. “Yes. He feels no loyalty for Quintus.”

“I won’t be made a fool of by Moreaux again. If I face him, I want it to be the last time. I have to be absolutely certain…can you gain Moreaux’s trust?”

Dell glanced at the frosted window, wondering if Quintus’s lackey hovered somewhere near. She’d felt him following her since she’d left the
Queen
. He didn’t trust her yet, but she prayed he soon would. “A decent performance or two would help. I need to appear like I’m your mistress. The ride back to your home should provide a public venue for our spectacle.”

He nodded solemnly, but she felt no indignity for his unenthusiastic response. Both of them belonged to another.

Reddening, he tugged at his shirt’s buttoned collar, and changed the subject. “Kit tells me you’re going to be a teacher.”

That dream—ever-present in her thoughts until a few days ago—now seemed foreign. “Y-yes. When I have enough money, I aim to go to the Cumberland School for Young Women.”

He nodded. “I know the place. A reputable institution. And you’re to be commended for your choice of vocations. Helping unlearned pupils is no easy task.” His gaze ran over her, as if inspecting livestock. “You’re a good deal hardier than these simpering city women. I should know—my wife was one. If she’d been stronger…well, if there’s one thing I’ve learned in my life, it’s you gotta have a good woman by your side. I’ve been trying to convince my nephew of that for years, but you might change his ways sooner. If Kit wants to press his suit for you, I won’t impede him.”