Her Wicked Captain: The River Rogues, Book 1 (8 page)

A shadow passed the open doorway. Dell stood and touched Jeremiah’s shoulder, whispering, “I’ll visit you again soon after we’ve made port in Memphis.”

Another steam whistle whirred in the distance as they said goodbye.

They were getting closer to the city. Her heart beat faster in anticipation as she closed the door behind her and strolled across the promenade.

She was getting closer to the only man she’d ever considered her father.

Chapter Ten

Although Moreaux held the purse strings of the crew, Rory held their loyalty. Through the years, he’d taken comfort knowing they protected his interests, and he had theirs, no matter the situation. With very few exceptions, the men followed Rory’s chain of command and took their orders directly from him first.

His pilots and mates anticipated his needs before he voiced them. Trap was no different. Uncannily, the big Irishman homed in on Dell that day, sidling up to the pretty minx like a red-headed leech, and Rory couldn’t be more thankful for the intervention.

His midnight encounter with Dell convinced Rory of two things. He needed female companionship. And the sooner, the better.

Following Dell and Trap along the deck of
The Enchantress
after they docked behind the bigger
Queen Helen
, he couldn’t keep his mind on the present. Memories of last night’s embrace assailed his senses. The softness of her skin, the feel of her small body nestled against his, and the taste of her mouth.

Now watching the way she tilted her head as she grinned up at Trap while he shared some story about her childhood, all Rory could think about was how close his lips had been to that lovely throat. Kissing her, touching her, had shot blood straight to his groin. And he hadn’t been the only one affected. He’d seen a flicker of heat in the depths of her dark eyes, felt the hunger in her touch. A few minutes more in his arms and she would’ve—

Feminine laughter from somewhere on the big ship caught his ear, returning him to the present. Moreaux’s inner circle, cutthroats and reprobates, milled about the decks of the mighty
Queen Helen
with a couple of the ladies.

He sensed trouble as he stepped off the packet’s gangway onto the wharf. The usual roustabouts and local boys were absent. Not that his crew needed any assistance. His only cargo from the trip was Dell and her light bag, but the Memphis wharf rats wouldn’t know that. Normally, they would be everywhere underfoot, begging to work. Their absence meant there was more work elsewhere, or they’d already earned a day’s pay moving a large cargo.

On any given day, boarding the mammoth ship Rory called home made his stomach churn, dreading the time he would spend in his boss’s company, but today his wariness tripled. With a nod to Trap, he left his mate in charge of Dell and the men on the wharf and hastened to have a private word with Zeb, his pilot on the
Queen Helen
.

He caught up with his pudgy friend in the dining room, where his bald head bowed over a half-devoured chicken carcass. Seeing Rory approaching his table, a wide grin spread over his face. “Thank Heaven! Another day longer and I would’ve been forced to comb the Arkansas interior looking for you!”

“You wouldn’t have made it. Too untamed for your tastes.” Rory waved a hand, declining the chicken leg Zeb offered up. His mouth watered at the sight of the delicious food after they’d existed on so little the past week, but he couldn’t waste time eating. “Is Moreaux looking for me?”

Zeb rolled his eyes. “What do you think? We stayed a day too long in Memphis. He needs a second.”

Rory swore, his mood turning black. “Who now?”

“Kit Wainwright. At dawn tomorrow.”

“
The
Kit Wainwright? Bartholemew Wainwright’s nephew?”

“One and the same. The young man was three sheets to the wind last night, losing hands left and right. He called Moreaux a cheat.” Zeb wiped his greasy lips with a napkin, and chuckled. “Funny thing is, I think the Monster was playin’ an honest game. I’m sure Kit’s uncle’s told him stories, though. Who can resist spreading slander about one’s nemesis? It’ll be a tragic loss. The man had such promise.” He reached across the table for a gravy boat and drowned a pile of mashed potatoes in the luscious brown liquid.

Rory shoved the chair to the table, rattling the silverware and his boss’s fine china. He was beyond caring. Was it too much to hope that the young Wainwright might put a bullet between Moreaux’s eyes first?

His boss and the elder Wainwright had been sworn enemies for years, both refusing to face each other over a card table after the last time Quintus cheated the man, but neither would request the duel. Too much pride and vanity on the line. Instead, Moreaux would rather end the life of his enemy’s nephew, a likable young man Rory’s own age and a crack-shot if the rumors were true.

Yet no man stood a chance against Moreaux’s deadly quick draw.

“Where’s the boss? I have something that might change his mind.”

“You found Eleanor?” Zeb dropped his fork, splattering mashed potatoes across the crystal water goblets.

“No. Better than that.” He had to prepare his boss for the shock of seeing Eleanor’s daughter again. Or rather, to make the meeting go smoother for Dell. Rory shared a brief summary of his trip with Zeb. “Perhaps he’ll reconsider his challenge to Wainwright to save face with her daughter.”

Or perhaps the bastard would prefer ruminating on how he would exploit her talents. Either way, meeting the grown-up Philadelphia had to be more exciting to the Monster than another meaningless killing.

Zeb picked up his fork and pointed it at Rory while speaking in a grave tone. “You best go into town for the night. I won’t tell a soul I saw you. Moreaux’s staying at Broughton until we ship out tomorrow, but I wouldn’t go there. If he knows you’re back, it’ll be you who’ll duel. Not him.”

Rory closed his eyes, overcome by weariness. “I’m sure he hasn’t forgotten, but I won’t dodge him. I know what needs to be done.” The seed of an idea took root in his mind. He sighed and opened his eyes again. With an authoritative tone, he said, “See that Philadelphia gets settled in a stateroom. Send Molly to her. And don’t break the news about the duel and leaving port just yet. She might bolt.”

He had no fear of guns or dying. Although he had no quarrel with Kit, he would face the deserving opponent if he must. What he did regret in spades was promising a pair of flashing dark eyes that he’d protect her.

He couldn’t protect anyone if he died on Bloody Island.

Nothing looked the same, and yet everything felt familiar.

While it was still a floating white palace, the
Queen Helen
wasn’t quite the mythical Mount Olympus she’d pictured in hazy memories, a hedonistic playground for immortals like Bacchus and Aphrodite, yet a few of the showboat’s real occupants seemed nearly as beautiful by her estimation.

After an awkward reunion with Trap and later with Zeb, a pilot who’d grown a little older and rounder since she’d last seen him, she’d been escorted to her room for the night, a stateroom on one of the ship’s upper decks. Trap’s wife, Molly, a stunning thirty-year-old woman with flowing chestnut hair, attended her, making sure her chamber had everything she required.

Dell also had forgotten the opulence of the steamboat’s rooms. Her new bedroom’s walls were covered in decorative scalloped brocade, and a chandelier dangled from the ceiling in the middle of the room where a posh bed stood. Even the floor, covered from wall to wall with a plush beige rug, looked more comfortable for sleeping on than her old bed. She’d been denied girlish fantasies living with her aunt and uncle, forced to work rather than make herself comfortable. Now she longed to enjoy the bed’s sumptuous covers and pillows and sigh with pleasure, perhaps reliving Rory’s kisses and the wild, falling sensation they’d given her.

“All right then, dove.” Molly sighed. “You got your mirror in the cabinet there and some perfume and powder. The crew will bring you a bath whenever you want. If there’s anything else you need, let me know.” Dell swallowed her disappointment when the woman sank into the room’s lone upholstered chair and continued to stare instead of leaving her.

Dell sat lightly on the edge of her bed facing her. She wouldn’t open her luggage until the woman was gone—not wanting anyone to see her shameful lack of possessions. Trap’s wife wore a low-cut blue dress fitted so tightly to her body that her breasts swelled like two fresh-baked pastries. Her hair glistened on one of her shoulders, and Dell could barely contain her envy.

“I’m sure I’ll be fine.” Aware she was also staring, Dell dropped her gaze and fiddled with her traveling dress. The cuff of her long sleeve had snagged on a splinter of the gangway’s rail. Meeting her stepfather in such a pitiful state seemed unthinkable. “Would you happen to have any sewing materials on board? Maybe a needle and thread?”

The woman’s eyebrows flew up. “Sewing? Me? Lord, no. I have a seamstress in every port for such things. Send your frocks to the city with one of the men. That’s what the rest of us do.”

Unfortunately, Dell wasn’t exactly sure what she’d wear while her good dress was being repaired. She’d brought her work clothes, the frumpy gray bags she suddenly dreaded removing from her luggage. “That’s all right. I’ll make do. It’s just for tonight.”

She’d learned from Zeb that some of the crew stayed in cabins on the boat, while some chose quarters in port. Quintus was currently in his city home, while Rory stayed on the
Queen Helen
.

Molly’s knees shuffled under her skirt and she leaned forward as if she’d just realized something. “You’re wearing that tonight? Godallmighty no.” She popped up and came to Dell, sinking to the bed beside her. “The boss is throwing a party for Mayor Hickman of Memphis. Trap says you’re one of us now, so the boss’ll want you to dress for his patrons. Let me get a look at your waist.” Her pale hands spread across Dell’s waistline, taking a measurement.

She shook her head. “I needn’t leave this room. I’d only be in the way. I’m just staying overnight. I shouldn’t—”

“Of course you’re coming.” She grinned. “Close enough to my size, I should think. I’ll bring you a few dresses that should fit. And I can do your hair.”

Dell’s scalp tingled as Molly’s hands unpinned her coiffure and freed her wavy tresses.

“You’re very lovely. Not at all what I imagined, mind you, from what I’ve always heard about Mrs. Moreaux, but I can see why the captain was so bent on bringing you back.”

Dell flushed. “Please don’t think that Rory and I…” The words “are lovers” stuck in her throat. She rubbed her suddenly clammy hands on her skirt. “He’s very loyal to my mother’s husband, but I’m not—”

Molly chuckled. “Don’t worry. We take care of each other ’round here. Who could blame you for climbing into the captain’s bed? Not me! Likely, Quintus won’t care either.”

“Oh, but we’re not! We haven’t—”

“Madam LeBlanc is the only one who might feel ill toward you. Not that it matters,” Molly continued, ignoring Dell’s protests as she pulled her bag into her lap. “That’s her own damned fault.” She shrugged and casually perused the bag’s paltry contents.

“Madam LeBlanc?”

She withdrew one of Dell’s dresses, wrinkled her nose, and pushed it back inside. “Quintus’s moll. She keeps a brothel in St. Louis, but”—she lowered her voice and leveled her blue eyes at Dell—“we all know the only unloaded gun Quintus carries is between ’is legs, so to speak, so Rory keeps her bed warm.”

Dell played with the top button of her dress, recalling Rory’s claims of expertise in “lots of things.” Perhaps this was another way the captain “cleaned up” after Moreaux. She prickled with distaste for the lurid arrangement, but it didn’t surprise her that Rory had a lover. “Does Quintus know?” She cringed inwardly, hating to think she might have to keep Rory’s affair a secret.

Molly glanced up from her exploration of the bag, giving Dell a soul-searching look. “Probably. Maybe. But hell if I’d be the one to ask him about it. You haven’t known the boss for a long time, have you?”

“No. It’s been thirteen years. I really don’t remember much about him.”

Frowning, Molly continued to push through Dell’s articles. Her silence made Dell squirm inside, considering her stepfather in a new light—as a boss who had a lover he wouldn’t sleep with, not caring if another man took his place. Then Molly sat back with an intake of breath. She withdrew Dell’s mother’s cards from the bag and held them in the air with an excited smile while the shabby red ribbon trailed down her bare arm like a rivulet of blood.

“Well, dove, I can already tell he’s gonna like you.”

The next three hours, Dell waited in her stateroom. The first hour went quickly enough with Molly bringing her several dresses to try on, and she’d stayed to see her dressed and her hair done. Then the woman had left, needing to tend to her own attire for the soiree.

Pulled to one side and bound in Molly’s pearl-tipped pins, Dell’s brown waves cascaded along her bare shoulder. Wearing a shoulderless ruby dress that pooled around her legs, Dell had floated back and forth across the chamber to the sound of Molly’s self-congratulatory praise. Beneath the rich fabric, a corset hugged her curves, pushing her small breasts up for all to see above the scalloped neckline. At first she’d refused the garment. She couldn’t wear something so scandalous, but her new friend insisted, saying her boss preferred that his customers stay distracted by scantily clad women in his gaming salons. Dell understood. A distracted card player was easy-pickings.

Now bored and anxious, she sat on the bed making faces at herself in the mirror. Perhaps they’d forgotten to fetch her. Maybe Quintus was too busy. Or maybe he wasn’t happy with Rory for bringing her back with him. She wasn’t his natural child, after all. Zeb had mentioned the boat was leaving by sunrise the next morning. She wanted to ask if she could borrow enough money to stay in a boarding house in the city. She would only need enough to keep a roof over her head while Jeremiah recovered. In the meantime, she could find work—honest work, not fortunes—and save money, perhaps earning enough to travel north. Or she could simply ask Rory for passage on the
Queen Helen
or another of Moreaux’s ships to Illinois. Surely he wouldn’t deny her that since he’d brought her so far.

The knock came at last. Trap stood outside, his cap held in hand. He looked her over with approval gleaming in his eyes. Dell squashed down her disappointment that he wasn’t Rory.

She followed the Irishman in silence down the stairwells and along the darkened deck. She could hardly breathe beneath the boning and tight laces of Molly’s undergarment. Her head started to pound as their footsteps echoed against the metal steps. Inside the lower levels of the boat, yellow lights flickered inside what must be the salon and the meeting rooms. Voices lifted and a piano tinkled some melody, but the gaiety of the mayor’s party within failed to cheer her current mood.