Her Wicked Captain: The River Rogues, Book 1 (25 page)

Now on the lower deck, Kit suddenly emerged from the shadows, blocking Quintus’s path. His hand rested on his waist just above his holstered Colt. Wainwright’s grip on her elbow squeezed reassuringly. She glanced at the old man and saw no surprise or alarm, only the taut wariness that came from knowing Moreaux for so many decades.

“You’ll allow me by, Mr. Wainwright.” Quintus’s voice was calm and light. “I must collect my belongings. I believe your uncle has just won our final game together.”

Dell’s heart flipped as Balfour appeared behind Kit. She screamed over the sound of the gunman’s pistol as it went off, and Kit tumbled forward. Quintus darted for freedom, leaping from the promenade into the darkened engine room. Dell tugged her gun free from her bag as Balfour aimed at her. Another burst of fire from behind her sent Balfour flying backward with a bloom of blood on his chest. Dell whipped around. Rory was half-hidden in the shadows, his gun still trained on Balfour’s lifeless body.

“Laughton!” she yelled in warning. Her signal came too late, however. As Rory turned, Quintus’s man fell upon him with his fists.

“Christopher!” Bartholomew knelt to check his nephew’s injuries.

Kit pushed himself upright and waved off his help. “He missed the vitals.”

Zeb, Trap and the rest of the officers filed down the stairs, blocking the pathway behind Rory and Laughton as they grappled. The gunman landed a hard punch against Rory’s jaw, and the captain dropped his gun with an oath. Laughton reached for his own weapon as Dell freed her pistol, aimed and fired. The bullet struck his shoulder and he staggered backward, eyes rounding in horrified surprise as he stared down the muzzle of her Allen and Thurber.

She stalked closer. Laughton grabbed his arm and backed away before breaking into a run for escape.

Rory retrieved his weapon and hurried to meet her. He put his arm around her and drew her against him. “Dell,” he murmured against the top of her head.

She pressed her cheek against his solid chest and breathed in his scent, her heart full to be in his arms again. She had so many questions for him, including who released him. Trap, maybe? But that could wait. Remembering they weren’t safe yet, she pulled back. “Rory, Quintus and Laughton are still on board and armed.”

He nodded, withdrew with a stony expression and headed for the shadows of engine room.

Bartholomew pulled Kit to his feet and left him leaning on the rail. Then he gestured to his men to follow Rory, while the fighter headed starboard. Dell joined them, and feeling her heart dash against her ribs, she held her pistol close.

Before they rounded the corner, raised voices echoed off the metal. Rory faced Quintus across the room, both with guns drawn, aiming at each other. The chair Rory had been tied to lay on its side, the cut ropes strewn underneath.

Quintus’s face split with a hideous grin. “You do me proud, son. However did you manage to escape your bonds?”

He grunted. “I’m not your son, and you never bothered learning anything about your own ships. You left me two feet away from the telegraph.”

The brass dial, which earlier had read “STOP” now indicated “FULL.” Any officer sitting at the helm would be curious who’d sent the message from the engine room below while the mighty
Queen Helen
sat in port and would’ve been able to cut him free while everyone was preoccupied at the tables.

Quintus pursed his lips in appreciation. “Apparently, Laughton’s not nearly as good with his fists as he’s led me to believe.”

“You’re damn right about that.” Bartholomew, catching up with them, brushed her elbow as he pointed his cane at the opposite door at Quintus’s back where his prizefighter entered, holding a bloody, beaten Laughton upright. “Now we got both your men. You’re in this alone. You best drop your gun and get off the boat while you can still walk.”

Quintus cocked his hammer, his eyes scanning the circle of people around him. “I have nothing left to live for, but I guarantee I’m taking one of you with me.”

“You’ll die before you do,” Rory intoned in a voice laced with fury, his hand steady.

“I raised you, I trained you.” His salt and pepper brows relaxed over his black eyes as he stared at Rory with deceptive gentleness. “I know you better than anyone. To hurt you or that bastard Wainwright, I’ll put a bullet in her. That’s the only card I have left to play, and it’ll force your move. Are you ready to see if you’re fast enough to stop me? Either way, you’ll kill me, and I’ll make a man of you yet.” He chuckled.

Not a man…a murderer. Quintus’s dream of turning Rory into a younger version of himself was unfolding before their eyes. Dell’s throat tightened. The gun in her hand was useless. Everyone’s weapons were useless. No one could move if Quintus’s reputation for speed and accuracy was correct.

“Nope. I’m not going to stop you, and neither is anyone else here if I have anything to say about it.” Rory shook his head. “I haven’t left you alive for me to kill, though I’ve dreamed of it every hour of my life. But no, Thomas wants the honor, and he’s come a long way for it.”

“Thomas?” Quintus followed the path of Rory’s gaze, glancing over his shoulder at the young man in the doorway, the tall stranger Dell had seen earlier in the salon with Trap.

Quintus swung his weapon toward the man, but his opponent’s trigger finger was quicker. Dell and the rest of the crowd ducked for cover, but the bullet struck the bastard in the head. The gun fell from his hand as he dropped to the floor.

The smoke lingered in the room, shielding her view of the shooter, while the echo reverberated off the giant pipes and pistons. When the veil lifted, Dell saw the moisture in the young man’s eyes and the vein standing out on his forehead. She went to Rory, put her arms around him, and seeing the same shocked expression in his face as she’d seen in Thomas’s, she pulled his head to hers for a kiss.

His mouth was warm, his lips hesitant at first, but as she continued to kiss him, she felt his hands close on her waist. He kissed her back with mounting, awakened ebullience. It was finally over.

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Rory heard the hotel room door open and close at his back as he stood naked in the steaming tub of water. His body rippled with anticipation at the sound of Dell’s return and her soft intake of breath. He eased into the water, which coupled with the heat her silence produced, helped chase away the chill of his first bath—the one he’d taken alone to rid himself of the blood and dirt from his fight.

Now clean and anxious for her touch, he lifted a sudsy sponge in the air. “I’m glad you’re back. I have a spot I can’t reach…”

“I’m sure you do.” He heard her petticoat swish against her boots as she came up behind him. She must’ve ignored the sponge, because he felt her fingers sink into his damp hair. She gingerly tilted his head back, examining the mark on his head with concerned eyes. He wasn’t bleeding anymore and the swelling of his eye had gone down, but the rather large knot must’ve likened him to a unicorn.

The adorable smile on her lips disappeared when she looked into his face.

“I take it from your expression I’m still not presentable for the Pomeroys and Asa.”

While he’d bathed, she’d gone to relay the news to their friends that Moreaux was no longer a threat and Asa could return to his home on the
Queen Helen
. He’d wanted to clean up and get her away from the violence of the evening, so he brought her to the hotel room he’d been staying in for the past week.

He’d also needed the time alone with her—their last night.

Damnation, if he could just force himself to let her go and not die trying. Or beg her to stay. With all her wonderful ideas of teaching and helping others, she deserved a better life than that of a gambler.

“No.” Dell brushed her lips against his and caressed his stubbled jaw with her thumb. “You look fine. Lumpy and bruised…but fine. Asa’s ready to see you, but I told him it would be late, very late, tomorrow afternoon.”

All day together. His organ rose beneath the foamy bath. He’d created a true wanton in Dell—a lover after his own heart. Her eyes went dark as her gaze roamed over his wet skin like she wanted to lick him—which he wouldn’t mind in the least.

He sat up and reached for her. His fingers curled into the glossy dark waves of hair at her nape, and she met his mouth with her own. He traced the line of her lips with his tongue, and she opened for him. He took from her, wanting more and more. He felt her hands sliding down his neck, and her fingers explored the slippery curves of his chest. He wanted her, needed her, but there was so much that had to be said.

“Wait. I need to tell you somethin’.” He spoke against her soft lips. He flattened his hands against hers, keeping her still, then leaned back. “I need to say this now before… I’m healthier than I look.”

“I know.” Her playful grin twisted his heart. “We’ll soon see how much stamina you have.”

He traced a finger along her chin, wanting to do just that. Then he remembered his responsibilities. “I—I have a surprise for you tomorrow. I’m afraid we’ll need to go back to the
Queen
in the morning. I made some…some arrangements while I was gone—”

She kissed his forehead. “I know about Jeremiah. I actually talked to him at Miss Elizabeth’s.”

He barked out a laugh. “You amaze the hell out of me. I tried so hard to keep him hidden. How did you…” He exhaled and sank lower in the tub. His cheeks cooled with guilt, despite the heat of the bathwater. The things he’d done to her, how she must’ve worried. It made him sick to his stomach to imagine what he’d put her through. “You know I never put him at risk. I wouldn’t! And the lady I took gambling…I never—”

“Rory”—she pressed her finger to his lips—“I know. I hated being left out of your plans, but I understand why you did it. Quintus had men following me. You made him think we were finished and led him to believe you weren’t involved with the Wainwrights and me.”

Equally amused and chagrinned, he felt tears sting his eyes and quickly lifted his gaze to the ceiling to extinguish them. “Angel, you have no idea how I’ve worried you would hate me for the things I’ve done.”

She slid her hand over his heart. “Quintus was wrong when he said he knew you better than anyone. I know you, Rory. Even before I discovered Jeremiah and realized you’d arranged to free him, I knew you wouldn’t have stopped—ever—until you’d finished what you’d started.”

The last part of his plan was what he really dreaded. He’d managed everything else, but letting Dell leave now that his plans were complete proved a more difficult task than all the rest.

Dell leaned forward, took his face between her hands and kissed him. “I know you’ve devoted years to creating this moment, Rory. You’re probably experiencing shock or are maybe even grieving a little—after all, the man did raise you. But you’ve done a noble, wonderful thing. Several good things, actually.” She kissed his mouth between her words, making his insides jangle. “Thomas has some sense of peace now that he’s gotten his justice, and no more boys will be hurt by that monster. You’ve also given Jeremiah his freedom.”

He winced before he could stop himself. To his everlasting shame, sending Ottenheim to Memphis to bring back Dell’s friend was the one part of his machinations he regretted.

Jeremiah was going to ask Dell to marry him—he’d said as much to the German—and then take her east to freedom where she could go to that damn school in Peoria. It was the life she’d claimed to desire for herself, and well, it was more respectable than anything he could offer.

“I’m hurting you.” She bit her lip and took her hands away.

“No. You’re not.” He forced a smile and beckoned her closer for another taste of her lips. “You’re not hurting me a bit.”

Soon she would belong to another. Knowing that, he shouldn’t be holding her, loving her. An honorable man wouldn’t.

But he’d never considered himself an honorable man.

Jeremiah stared silently at the water for a long moment. Dell averted her gaze from his, glancing at the row of empty deck chairs similar to the ones at the helm where she and Rory had shared their first kiss. Her cheeks warmed at the memory, but mostly from the shame she felt for conjuring thoughts of the man she loved after just turning down another man’s offer of marriage.

She spoke gently, “It’s not that I object to you, Jeremiah. I don’t, and I’m sorry I can’t accept. I really am. But I know you wouldn’t like having me as a wife.”

He chuckled, gripping his dapper hat in his lap. “I think you’re being overly hard on yourself, Dell. You’re a prize.”

She shook her head. “Listen, I’m a poor cook, but I enjoy huntin’. Everything I tried to grow in my garden shriveled and died. I drink hard liquor and don’t go to church often. I curse. I love to gamble. Cheat. Travel—”

“All right.” He continued to laugh and raised an emphatic hand. “I see your point. Perhaps you’d make a better friend for me than a wife. Either way, both my mama and I are eternally grateful for your friendship and the captain’s.”

Dell glanced up and sighed with relief. The burden of her rejection eased upon seeing the honest warmth of his expression. Jeremiah was headed east to settle in Illinois and in a few weeks his mama would be joining him after Rory had finished the emancipation process in the Mississippi court. Yet another wonderful deed Rory had done without her knowledge.

He could’ve told her the night before, but he hadn’t. Neither of them had done much talking. They’d made love—lazy, sleepy, blissful love—all morning, filled with long kisses and even longer stares. She should’ve known he was trying to let go—should’ve known he wanted it to be their last time together.

Her stomach ached with regret that she hadn’t said something about the way she felt. Then after bringing her back to the
Queen
, he’d left the ship again without saying when he’d be back. Or if he would. And tomorrow the ship was leaving.

He’d never once said he’d loved her, and perhaps he didn’t. Or maybe he did care for her, but he loved his freedom more.

“You’re thinking about him, aren’t you?”

“Pardon?”

Jeremiah cleared his throat and braced his elbows against his knees, studying her. “I’ve watched you disappear into your thoughts off and on all evening. You’re thinking about Captain Campbell.”

“You’re mistaken.” She pasted on a smile.

He shook his head. “When Frederick and I boarded the
Queen Helen
today the captain was up there at the helm”—he pointed skyward—“staring daggers at me before he stalked away. Not the welcome I expected after everything he did for us.”

“Yesterday was hard on us all with Quintus’s death and—”

“Naw. That’s not it.” Jeremiah stood. “When we left Posey Hollow, all you could think about was getting to that school. Tomorrow the
Queen
is headed north, and the captain expects us to take the passage there, along with his friend from Chicago. If going to that school in Peoria ain’t what you want to do anymore, you better let someone know what it is that you really want.”

Facing the sunrise, Rory sat on the riverbank, watching the
Queen Helen
’s giant red wheel churning the water as it passed him, the decks vacant at dawn as usual. He ignored the emptiness of his chest and dragged his gaze away from the retreating boat to open the bottle in his hands. Using his folding dirk, he gouged at the cork in the neck until it came free, then he brought the fragrant wine to his lips.

“Damn, Campbell. Drinking at this hour? And wine? I always figured you were a gin man.”

Rory strangled a swallow and wiped his mouth with his fist before sending a glare over his shoulder for Kit, walking up behind him. The muscadine flavor he’d been waiting to savor failed to satisfy. His friend was right. Whiskey or rum would’ve been his first choice for the day, but Dell had given him the wine and he’d wanted something that reminded him of her…something to enjoy.

The day was too bleak to spend sober. Wine first, then on to something stronger. Moonshine, maybe. He had another gallon of that stashed away…but no, he’d left that on the
Queen
too.

Kit stood beside him. Arm bound in a sling and his bandaged shoulder blade visible beneath his shirt, he looked pale but not too bad. “If you don’t mind, I have Asa in the phaeton to take to the house this morning. He’s offered to make Uncle Bart a dealer’s box. Apparently Uncle Bart has been enjoying his card-playing of late.”

Asa would likely appreciate doing something useful while he waited with Rory for their next ship, but for some reason Kit’s cheerfulness struck a raw nerve. “Shouldn’t you be with your uncle assessing your new property?” Rory groused and tried another drink of the wine.

“Uncle Bart has everything managed. Besides, the packet is currently in Memphis, the
Queen
is now headed north, the
Sultan
is in New Orleans, and the
Athena
, the boat you’re waiting to captain, is headed this way from Natchez. Until the ships’ pilots learn of their change of ownership, that leaves only the brothel here in St. Louis for us to manage.”

Rory snorted. “You mean you and Wainwright are really going to keep the brothel?”

Kit rubbed his chin thoughtfully. “Actually, I’m going to be the one keeping the brothel. Uncle’s with a lawyer at the place as we speak, preparing to sign it over to me.”

Any other time, Rory would’ve laughed his ass off at the thought of the pious old widower in a house of ill repute, but his soul was presently too empty to allow anything to amuse him.

“May I?” Kit reached for the bottle, but he held it away. Hell would freeze over before he shared Dell’s wine.

“What does Viv think about you being her boss?” Rory asked, hoping to distract the insolent man.

“She doesn’t. I’ve sacked her.”

“Sacked Viv?”

“She wanted to get her hands on more than the brothel, but Uncle and I weren’t interested in making any other arrangements, if you take my meaning. So she left. Besides, we’ll manage without her. We’ve got Philadelphia now, so I expect we’ll double our gambling profits if nothing else. Who needs Viv?” He shrugged.

Stunned, Rory climbed to his feet. “What do you mean, you’ve got Philadelphia?”

Kit snatched the bottle from the crook of his arm. “She came to Uncle Bart last night, said she’d like to work for him.”

“No. You lie! She’s on the
Queen
, bound for Peoria.” He pointed at the steamboat making its way upriver.

“It’s the gospel truth.” Kit lifted the bottle to his mouth, but Rory jerked it away, splashing the burgundy wine on Kit’s white shirt. “What, Campbell? She said she didn’t want to go to that school anymore. She’ll be fine. Someone will marry her in no time a’tall. They’re advertising for brides out West. I’m sure she’ll fetch a wealthy husband to take her away and settle down somewhere.”

“She was supposed to marry Jeremiah and become a teacher.”

“Guess she didn’t want to marry him.”

“Christ!” His heart thundered to life as if it had ceased beating until this moment. All at once, he wanted to both throttle Kit and hug him at the same time. “If she’s not on the
Queen
, where is she?”

Kit frowned at Rory’s clenched hand. “The brothel, I imagine.”

“Dell’s at the brothel?”

His affronted expression broke with a smile. “She’s with Uncle Bart, and it’s morning. There aren’t any customers at this hour, but even if there were, I daresay that woman can handle herself.”

Rory agreed with him on that account, but he’d never let the bastard know it.

The regal black Wainwright barouche, with its family crest on the door, stood incongruous with its surroundings in the St. Louis street outside Kit’s new brothel. A brief tour of the building had given Dell further evidence of Rory’s expertise with management. Perhaps it had been Vivienne’s touch, she acquiesced, but whichever, the place was a thriving business with content prostitutes, clean rooms, and lush furnishings. The only thing she saw that Kit could do to improve the place would be to shore up the gaming salon with more tables and dealers.

Bartholomew climbed into the carriage ahead of her, needing room to negotiate his aging joints, and Dell followed with one foot on the step when a second carriage turned their way.