“All right, you win,” he said.
“Really?” A smile broke across her face. “You’re going to teach me?”
He nodded.
“Oh how wonderful! You won’t regret it—I swear you won’t. Why, as soon as I start winning, you’ll get a percentage of my money.
Of course we’ll need to come up with some agreement on how much—”
Dyer stopped her with a shake of his head. “I don’t want or need your money, Miss Mace.”
She gasped. “
You’ll do it for free?
Oh, I knew somewhere inside you there was a true gentleman—”
His shaking head stopped her once again. “I didn’t say there would be no payment, just that I don’t want money.”
Her smile dropped, and a wary expression took its place. “What exactly do you want, Mr. Straights?”
He walked to her and lifted a curl from her shoulder, allowing it to wind around his finger. Her eyes grew bigger. He stepped
close enough to see the pulse beating wildly in her throat before he leaned down to brush his lips against her temple.
“I’ll teach you to play,” he whispered, “if you’ll spend a night in my bed.” He ended his demand with a kiss on her ear before
he stood back, feeling rather smug.
There was no way little Miss Prim and Proper would agree to such a scandalous demand, but from this point on, any time she
bothered him about lessons, he could remind her that a deal was on the table. It was perfect.
He waited for her response, bracing himself for another right hook. Instead, she stood stunned with shock, staring at him
as though she couldn’t believe what he’d just proposed.
Then she regained her composure with a lift of her chin and said, “Agreed.”
Dyer froze. “
You agree?
” What the hell?
“Yes.” She nodded, glancing away from him. “Under one condition.”
Dyer stepped back from her to lean against the rail. Something told him he’d better brace himself for this. “And what might
that be?”
“I only pay you if I win the tournament in St. Louis. If I don’t win, then you weren’t much of a teacher, were you?”
He should refuse. It would give him the perfect out, but there was something about the cocky little tilt to her head and her
implied challenge that forced his mouth to overtake his brain. “Agreed.”
“Good, we’ll start in the morning.”
And with that, she left him standing on the deck, wondering at exactly what point he’d lost control over this situation.
Dyer’s eyes flew open in the darkness of his cabin. It took a moment before he realized the scream that awakened him had come
from his own throat. Sitting up on the side of his bunk, he felt around in the darkness for his trousers. He had to get out
of the stifling heat and away from his empty bed and its nightmares.
He could still smell the acrid smoke and hear their cries for help. Ironic he’d never heard those cries until the dreams began,
and now they wouldn’t stop. Maybe if he
had
heard them when they’d actually occurred, he could’ve done something.
He pulled on his pants, barely fastening them around his hips before he stumbled out of his cabin to suck in the night air
outside on the deck. The air moved very little in the warm summer night, but it was cooler than his bunk, and the reflection
of the moonlight on the water helped to calm his jagged nerves.
It was peaceful out here, and the sounds of the night animals and flickering lights of fireflies appealed more to him than
the terror of his cabin. For four years now he had fought that terror. Four years he had searched for the bastard responsible,
and he felt no closer to him now than he had when he’d begun.
He walked barefooted to sit in the wooden chair he kept outside his room specifically for this purpose. The
slats felt cool on the heated skin of his back as he leaned his head against the side of his cabin to wait for dawn.
There would be no more sleep to night, but maybe when the sun chased away the shadows, he would be able to catch a few hours
before the rising heat would run him out of his bed once again. Then he would go into Baton Rouge to ask anyone he had missed
earlier if they knew where he could find the murdering son of a bitch.
Lottie stayed hidden in the shadows until Dyer tipped back his head and closed his eyes. She never would’ve guessed in a million
years anyone else would come onto the deck at this hour of the night. Thankfully, she had grabbed her shawl to cover her chemise
just in case. Though based on the look on Dyer’s face when he’d stumbled from his cabin, he wouldn’t have seen her even if
she were naked as a jaybird. She watched for a few minutes, pleased to see his face finally relax.
She had come to escape the heat.
He appeared to be escaping something else entirely.
Were they both properly dressed, were it a more appropriate time of day and if he liked her just a little more, she would
have gone to see if he was all right. But none of those things was the case, which helped to alleviate the small amount of
guilt she felt for doing nothing except stare at him through the darkness.
Of course, there was also the guilt she felt for staring at a half-naked man without his knowledge, despite the fact it truly
wasn’t her fault. He was simply the most magnificent man she had ever seen, and sometimes even a proper lady could be curious.
There didn’t appear to be an ounce of fat on him anywhere, and evidently the
broad shoulders that filled his suit jacket weren’t from a tailor’s padding.
She tried to keep her eyes from drifting down to his belly where his trousers weren’t fastened completely, but they seemed
to have a mind of their own, and at the moment, they didn’t mind looking. A thin line of hair ran from his navel to disappear
beneath his waistband, and her face heated when she realized her thoughts had traveled lower still.
She was going to give the man her virginity in exchange for the lessons she needed to save her father. If anyone had told
her a week ago she’d do such a thing, she would have laughed at the audacity. But to night there was no laughter, only surprise.
Surprise that he’d demanded her body as payment and more surprise that she’d agreed.
What had she been thinking? She’d been thinking she had nothing else to offer, and her father’s life was more important than
her maidenhead.
Maybe when all was said and done, he’d be a gentleman and not take his payment. Maybe he’d be chivalrous and congratulate
her on her win with a chaste kiss on her hand.
And maybe she was the queen of France,
she thought as she returned to her bunk.
The next morning, she heard from Sally that Dyer had left the boat just after dawn. After what Lottie had seen in the middle
of the night, she couldn’t help worrying.
Though having Newt catch her watching for Dyer’s return was a little embarrassing. “Gone all morning again?” he asked.
She started to deny searching the dock for Dyer but knew it would be a wasted effort. “Do you know where he goes?”
“Anywhere. Everywhere,” Newt answered cryptically. “But you needn’t worry about Dyer. He’s a big boy.”
“I wasn’t worried, just curious.”
Newt grinned one of those
knowing
grins and offered Lottie his arm for a stroll down the deck. “How is it going with him now? Any closer to your lessons?”
Lottie smiled. “Actually, he’s finally agreed to teach me. We start this morning.”
“Hmmm.”
Lottie was beginning to hate it when Newt ‘hmmm’ed. It usually meant he was about to say something she didn’t particularly
want to hear.
“I’ve known Dyer a while now, and I can’t imagine him doing that for free, especially considering how much he fought it.”
He left his statement hanging with an unasked question she really didn’t want to answer.
“Well,” she hesitated. “I’m going to pay him when I win the tournament in St. Louis.”
“Ahh,” he said. “So if you don’t win, you don’t pay?”
“Exactly.”
Newt stopped walking and turned to look at her. “Be careful, Lottie. There are some things in life more important than money.”
“Most things in life are more important than money. Unfortunately, you usually need money to secure those things.”
Newt chuckled. “I guess I never thought of it that way.” He glanced over Lottie’s shoulder toward the gangplank. “Here comes
Dyer now. I think it’s time for your
lessons—just be sure the only lessons he gives you have to do with poker.”
“What do you mean?”
Newt raised his brow, and suddenly she understood.
“You don’t think he would . . .” She couldn’t make herself say it, but Newt’s expression left no doubt. Her face heated at
the implication.
He lifted her hand to brush a kiss across the back. “Be careful.” He walked away.
She took a deep breath and pasted on a smile she hoped was friendly without being too forward. Even though she had coerced
Dyer into giving her the lessons, now that he had agreed, she was nervous to actually begin.
She turned around with a smile. He returned it with a scowl.
Civil might be out of the question; perhaps she should settle for non combative. “Are you ready for my poker lessons?”
“Are you still intent on that nonsense?”
Raising her eyebrow, she said, “What do you think?”
He sighed. “I think I should have someone shoot me now and get it over with.”
“Really, Mr. Straights, such melodrama over a few simple card lessons.”
He shook his head and walked away from her. There was no way she would let him renege on their agreement. She’d opened her
mouth to give him a piece of her mind, when he yelled back over his shoulder, “Come, Miss Mace! Don’t dawdle, I haven’t all
day.”
“Well, I never,” she muttered, hurrying to catch up with him. No mean feat considering the length of that man’s legs.
They hurried down the deck, past the lounge and restaurant, and up the stairs to the passenger cabins.
“Where—where are we going?” she asked, gasping for air as she struggled to keep up.
“To my cabin.” He still had not turned to speak to her directly.
His cabin?
“Why?”
He stopped and turned so abruptly she collided with his chest. He grabbed her arms to steady her and smiled wickedly, his
voice dropping to a dangerously low rumble. “For your lessons, of course.”
Surely he wasn’t thinking . . . She blinked twice and swallowed. “Wh—what lessons?”
“Why, Miss Mace.” Slowly, he traced his finger down the side of her face, then drew it lightly across her lips. “Don’t tell
me you’ve already forgotten.” He leaned toward her until his mouth was just a few inches from her own. “Poker,” he whispered,
then turned quickly away from her and headed down the deck.
It took a few seconds before she was able to get her legs moving again, and by the time she caught up with him, he was opening
the door to his cabin.
“Wouldn’t it be more proper if we did this in the lounge?” she said to his jacket, thinking she’d had quite a few conversations
with this man’s back.
He entered his cabin, pitching his hat on the bed before he finally turned to face her. “I believe it is in the best interest
of both our reputations if our little lessons are done in private.”
She stood just outside his door, unsure of what to do next. She wanted the lessons, but . . . “I don’t see how going into
a gentleman’s cabin alone could possibly be good for my reputation.”
“That’s why it’s important that no one see you, but if you’re going to stand out on the deck. . . .” He shrugged.
She looked quickly about and, seeing no one, hurried into his cabin and closed the door. She’d never been in a gentleman’s
chamber other than her father’s, and the very thought of it had her nervous as a cat. She glanced around his room, surprised
to see it was tidy but devoid of any personal items such as pictures or books. There was a faint smell of tobacco and bay
rum lingering in the air and, much to her amazement, a lack of perfume.
She darted her attention away from his bed, her face heating at the memory of the disheveled lady she had seen in the blankets
the first morning she’d met him. Dyer, on the other hand, seemed perfectly comfortable with the situation. He removed his
jacket, added it to the hat on his bed and pulled a deck of cards out of a drawer in his bureau.
“Shall we?” He motioned to a small table under his window, where he sat down without pulling out her chair and began shuffling
the deck.
“Tell me what you know about cards,” he said.
She pursed her mouth, sat down in the chair opposite him and pointed to his hand. “
Those
are cards.”
Surprisingly, his lips twitched with a quick smile. “That’s a start, I reckon.”
He laid one of each of the four patterns of cards on the table. She had seen them before as she’d served drinks to the men,
and once, after the gamblers had gone, she’d studied one of the decks left on a table. But as a lady, she was raised to never
play with cards, and she didn’t know what they were called or which was more valuable.
He pointed to a card with three little red hearts. “Those are hearts. The number of hearts on the card tells
you the value of the card. This one, for instance, is referred to as the ‘three of hearts’ and is more valuable than a two
of hearts, but less than a four.”
So far this was quite simple. No wonder men enjoyed it so much.
“This suit is called the diamonds.” He pointed to a card with five diamonds on its face. “What would be its value?”
“Five?”
He nodded and laid two more cards on the table. “This is a club and this is a spade. Each suit has a ‘two’ through ‘ten’ card
as well as a queen, king, jack and ace.” He laid those four cards on the table as he talked.
She pointed to the ace of the suit he called clubs. “Is this the one card?”
He shook his head. “The ace is the most powerful card in a suit.”
“Then why does is have only one clover on it? Shouldn’t it have twenty or thirty?”
“Because it doesn’t,” he answered with a frown.
“Well that’s just plain silly. If the number of clovers tells what the card is worth, then the most powerful card in the suit
should have more than one clover.”