by Lois Greiman
Her grip tightened on his arm. "What do you mean by that?"
"I'm sorry, madam, much as I enjoy the company of a beautiful companion, the Belle claims my heart. I must go."
"But..."
"Perhaps I'll see you at breakfast."
She stood numbly staring after him, but in a moment, she realized she was alone and unhindered. She raced to the room Raven and she had shared for less than ten minutes. It stood empty, showing no evidence that he had ever been there.
Only she and Phelps breakfasted at the captain's table that morning. Though she knew he watched her, she easily ignored him as she waited, breath held for some news of Raven's well-being or whereabouts.
None came. But two of the toughs from the night before finally appeared. One man's skull was bandaged, and the other sported an eye the color of rotting crab apples.
Their wounds served to remind Charm of several things. Raven was a very capable man. He could care for himself. And he didn't want to see her. Therefore, she should be grateful for her time alone.
By suppertime, however, she felt as if a large man had been beating her with a broom, not terribly hard, but very steadily. Her muscles ached from tension, and her head throbbed with a rhythmic pain in her temples. Yet she hadn't allowed herself to search for him. She hadn't cried. And she hadn't promised the captain every penny she might someday inherit if he would just allow her a few minutes in Raven's arms. All in all, that was the best she could say for the day.
She sat now, keeping her gaze on her plate and flatly refusing to ask the captain about Raven's well-being again. Mr. Phelps sat down to her left, but she only raised her gaze when Clancy appeared, pulling a chair out to accommodate his lithe frame. She was holding her breath again.
"And where is our bold Mr. Scott, tonight?" asked Phelps expansively.
"Joseph?" Clancy chuckled. "I suspect he's tendin' them busted ribs.
"You know, Captain, I think I was meant to be a sailor," Clancy rambled. "Cuz this life on the water suits me fine. Just rollin' along, games of chance anytime you please. Good food.... Damn, you look pretty tonight, Miss Charm. Yellow suits—"
She rose abruptly.
"Where're y' goin', Miss Charm?" he asked, but there was no point in answering as she sped away.
There were more than fifty staterooms on the Yankee Belle. Charm began her search on the top deck. The first door was locked. The second opened to an unoccupied room. The third door resisted but finally opened, granting her a bird's-eye view of a man and woman passionately occupied upon the bed. The woman screamed, the man swore, and in less than two minutes Charm found herself confined to her room with Ralph stationed in the hallway and the captain reprimanding her.
"Mrs. Scott, although I admire your spirit, I fear I must insist that you... act like a lady." He raised one grey brow.
"Where is he?"
Fields watched her before drawing a deep sigh. "Did I misunderstand, or did you tell me you wished for an annulment?"
"Tell me where he is or I'll search every room from top to bottom."
The captain all but rolled his eyes. "Much as I hate to deliver this news, I fear your husband doesn't wish you to know his whereabouts."
"Then if you'll excuse me," she said, smiling primly. "I have things to do." She took a step forward.
"Ralph," said the captain.
Ralph, too, stepped forward, though he looked leery.
"I can't have you terrorizing my passengers, Mrs. Scott."
"Then tell me where he is."
"I can tell you he's well."
"Well?" she asked breathlessly.
Fields smiled. "Well enough. And now I must go."
She was shoved gently but firmly inside and the door closed behind her.
The second day was worse than the first.
She knew she should be content. In fact, she knew she should be overjoyed that Raven could no longer bother her. But instead she paced, not sleeping, barely eating, wanting only to see him, to read the carefully guarded mannerisms that were his alone. To know he was safe and whole. She knew she was a fool. She knew he didn't love her. And yet... she loved him. Despite it all there was nothing on earth she could do to change that.
Although Charm was allowed to leave her cabin, she was followed by the dogged Ralph and not permitted to tear doors from their hinges in her search for Raven.
Days passed in slow, weary succession. Nights dragged along as if pulled through eternity by the languid tide of the Big Muddy, and still Charm saw no sign of her husband. Much of her time she spent with Angel, gaining solace from his appreciative presence and feeding him tidbits she'd taken from her own plate. But during the sleepness nights, she would often pull forth the intricate miniature of Caroline Grady to pore over every detail.
Was this really her mother? Had this woman with the soulful eyes and solemn expression held her as a child? Loved her? Cherished her as only a mother can? Charm tried to remember, and sometimes she thought she almost could, for there, at the dark fringe of her memory was a woman with gentle hands and emerald eyes. Her mother? Charm didn't know, and now, on the fifth day since Raven's fight, she wasn't certain it mattered. For love was a precious, fleeting thing, and once gone could not be regained, but only mourned.
She was sitting at the supper table, staring at her place setting and ignoring her companions when Fields's voice broke in. "Mr. Scott! So you've decided to join us."
Charm's breath ended sharply as her gaze lifted with guileless speed. He was there, whole and live and real, causing the ache in her body and soul to become an indescribable cramp. There was a healing laceration on his left cheek and a yellowish bruise adorned his brow, and yet, despite it all, he was, she thought, the most beautiful thing on earth.
Their gazes fused, and though his face showed no expression, the intensity of his eyes spoke of something just beyond her immediate comprehension. But in a moment the light shifted from his gaze and he withdrew seemingly into himself as he was seated.
"I've come to a decision." His voice was very quiet.
Although Charm struggled to appear calm, her lungs ached with her suspended breathing and her nails pressed painful depressions into her hands.
"I've decided to grant your wish," Raven continued.
Her lips felt stiff but managed to move. "My wish?"
"Yes." He nodded once, his expression perfectly implacable.
"Well, Mr. Scott," said Phelps, his words slightly slurred. "Good of you to join us after your daring battle. And Mrs. Scott, more enticing than ever," he crooned.
Charm failed to hear him, so focused was she on the dark features of her husband. "My wish?" she asked again, her chest painfully tight.
"An annulment," Raven said flatly.
Chapter 29
Charm had eaten none of her prairie chicken pie. The watermelon, sliced to look like a rose, sat untouched upon her plate. Her wine glass, on the other hand, had been drained several times. Probably a sort of celebration for her victory, Raven deduced, fingering his own glass.
His ribs burned like hell and his face still stung, but it was her presence that caused the most persistent ache. Over the past five days he'd convinced himself he could live without her. But as Clancy had stated sometime earlier, he'd always had a colorful imagination.
She sat between Bodine and Fields now and was dressed conservatively in a fine russet gown. Her tiny matching hat sat at a careless angle and complemented the glistening auburn highlights in her dark, upswept hair. But it made no difference what she wore, for every man there wanted her. Even the captain, Raven was sure, despite his goddamn fatherly demeanor. But he was far preferable to Phelps, the pompous, wealthy ass, who didn't bother to hide his lust.
"Do you play poker, madam?" asked the pompous ass now.
"Poker?" Charm lowered her eyes. Her cheeks were flushed with a bright hue that matched her solemn, upturned mouth. She swirled the contents of her glass before raising her eyes. "No, Mr. Phelps. I don't play." She
stared at him point-blank, concealing nothing with her expression, and in that moment Raven knew she was truly intoxicated. "I distract."
Phelps laughed, the sound rusty and deprecating. Raven considered hitting him, but thus far, throwing punches during this journey had done little to ease his frustration.
"I'm sure you do, madam. Do you mind if I call you Charm?"
She took another sip of her wine. "You may call me Miss Grady," she said in a flat tone. In one breathtaking sweep of her eyes, she riveted Raven with her gaze. "Chantilly Grady, for that will soon be my name, won't it, Mr. Scott?"
Raven said nothing. Damn him for being a weak-kneed, besotted fool.
"Isn't it, Mr. Scott?" she repeated.
"Perhaps you should see her to her room, Captain," Raven said quietly.
"I don't want the captain to see me to my room." She smiled, very sweetly, so much so that few there would recognize the deception she was able to carry off.
"I'd be honored to escort you to your quarters, madam," said Phelps, leaning back in his chair.
Raven let his gaze skim slowly toward that man. "I don't think so," he said evenly.
Phelps raised his brows before draining his glass. "If I understand the situation correctly, it ain't your decision, Scott."
"Clancy," Raven said softly.
With an obvious start, Bodine chimed in. "I'll take you back, Miss Charm."
"Well..." She smiled again, and Raven watched, trying to loosen the tightness of his muscles. "I'm ever so flattered. All you gentlemen willing to put yourself out just for little ol' me."
She should have brought her fan, Raven thought, for it would be the perfect time to flutter it in front of her mesmerizing, conniving little face. Damn him for loving her despite it all. And damn her for not caring. True, she'd tried to come to him during the fight, but he knew better than to think it was out of concern for his well-being. Clancy had told him how she'd battled Ralph. Little Cougar Mouse, Bodine had called her.
Despite Raven's ravenous need to see her, he had refused her company for he was not quite ready to allow her to gloat. Neither had he been ready to see her face and again twist the facts to convince himself there was some concern there for him. He'd been a fool to think he was ready now.
"Perhaps we should gamble for the honor of her company," suggested Phelps.
Clancy's brows rose happily, but one glower from Raven and he cleared his throat. "Bad idea," he said with a shake of his head.
"On the contrary," argued Captain Fields, his steady gaze finally leaving Charm's face, "it sounds like a fine way to decide this little dispute. Shall we give it a five-hundred dollar cap?"
"Why limit the pot?" asked Phelps. "I think you do the lady an injustice." His salacious gaze moved to Charm again. "Surely she's worth more than five hundred."
"No one will be impoverished on the Belle," said Fields. "Five hundred is my limit. Is everyone agreed?"
Goddamn Fields right along with Phelps. Raven rose stiffly, wanting to pummel them all. "I'm afraid I'll have to decline."
"Really?" Phelps asked. "Too bad. But if the stakes are too high I'll just see her to her room myself."
Goddamn right the stakes were too high, and if Phelps touched her, he'd tear the sweating little lecher limb from limb. "You've convinced me," Raven said evenly.
*
The card table was round and accommodated the four players easily. Charm sat beside Captain Fields, who had lost his stake sometime before. Clancy, too, was out of the game, leaving only Phelps and Raven.
The two sat now, eyeing each other and sitting very still. Charm watched them. The insanity of the situation was not lost on her, even though she was drunk. She knew she was drunk. In fact, she was thrilled by the fact, for it would dull the pain of her loss. But why hadn't it yet?
An annulment. A few simple words spoken. A few simple lies and Raven would be gone from her life. He'd collect his reward, if indeed she was this Chantilly Grady he took her to be. He'd take his money and run, happy to be rid of her and the trouble she caused. After all, everything he had done had been to obtain the reward and nothing else.
"Shall we bet it all, Mr. Scott?" asked Phelps. He spread his pudgy fingers over his winnings and nodded to the hand they'd just thrown in. "And call it quits? After all, our funds look to be relatively even and the lady must be growing weary of the wait. Such a pretty thing should not be delayed so long." He sent her a tilted leer. "Isn't that right, my lovely?"
She'd been collecting weapons again and had quite an array now. A butter knife and a sharp stone in her pocket, a hat pin in her chapeau, and her favorite, a silver serving fork, which was stuck into her garter. It was a most unsatisfactory place to keep it, she mused now, wishing she could reach it. Still, the soothing memory of it allowed her to smile into Phelps' chubby face.
Damn him for being a horse's egotistical ass. Damn Fields for putting her in this position. And damn Raven, for not loving her.
"You flatter me, Mr. Phelps," she said, finding, to her surprise, that she didn't fear him, only detested him. But it did nothing to brighten the depression that pressed her down, so she lifted her smile a half notch and lowered her eyes.
"No flattery at all," Phelps chuckled. "What do you say, Scott, do you dare bet it all?"
Charm could feel Raven's gaze on her. She met it with chill breathlessness, hoping her expression showed no more emotion than his.
"Yes." His tone was flat and ultimately steady. "Let's call it all quits."
Fields dealt the hand, and though Charm told herself there was nothing more at stake than a walk to her cabin, the tension burned her mind. If Raven won, she would be afforded a few moments of his company. A little while during which she could breathe before the roiling undertow of loneliness smothered her.
They received their cards.
"We bet it all then?" asked Phelps.
Raven shrugged, looking unconcerned. "If you like."
Phelps's face appeared jovial as he asked for one card, but beneath the ruddy color, Charm could see the tension.
And Raven? She turned her gaze to him and found his eyes, dead level and sharp as a wolf's on her face. They smote her like a blow. She drew in her breath, fear and excitement sparking at his expression of possessiveness.
He held the winning hand. He knew it and she knew it, and now, with the look of a predator, he eyed his prey. But she was no more than that to him. A challenge at best. A meal ticket at worst. She raised her chin, pride and pain mingling as she met his gaze with passionate anger.
"How many, Mr. Scott?" asked Fields, and suddenly, like a light going out, Raven doused the emotion in his eyes and shrugged. From his hand he pulled forth a couple of cards.
"Two," he said evenly.
The room was still, and if anyone present breathed, it was only Raven.
"A pair of nines," said Phelps tersely.
Raven's eyes met hers again, but flatly now, without feeling. "Guess it's not my game," he said. Turning his hand up, he showed a worthless collection of random numbers.
Charm felt the blood drain from her face. He'd lost... intentionally.
"Well..." Phelps's smile was sloppy. "I'd call this a fine evening. A fine evening indeed." He pulled the pile of chips toward him but stood before stowing them away. "Perhaps you'd be so kind as to see to my winnings, Captain. I have a lady to escort to her cabin."
He'd lost. Charm felt suddenly numb, as if every nerve had been severed, as if the sun had fled her universe, leaving her in darkness.
"Come along, my lovely." Phelps extended an elbow.
Like one in a trance, Charm took three steps forward to lift Raven's discarded cards. Two queens. She felt sick to her stomach but lost control of her expression for only a moment. Wordlessly, she replaced the cards, and then lifting her chin, turned to leave the room.
Phelps was beside her in a moment, taking her arm in his clammy fingers. She didn't resist, for there was no point. Raven hated her. Hated her so much, tha
t he would give away thousands of dollars to avoid her presence for less time than it took him to consume a meal.
Her shoes rapped against the floor. She noticed their hollow sound, but failed to comprehend what Phelps said, despite his constant string of chatter.
"Shouldn't we go in before we're spotted?"
They were at her door, she noticed suddenly. "What?"
He leaned closer. "An evening of stimulating sport, topped off by the titillation of you." He chuckled and pressing nearer, kissed her neck.
"What are you doing?" Some of the numbness faded as she turned about to bump up against the door.
He grinned, or more correctly, he leered. "Just getting started, my lovely. Shall we go in?"
"No." Charm said the word blandly, though panic was beginning to rise. She knew the moment his anger was ignited. It showed in the narrowing of his eyes, the tightness of his smile.
"A little late to cry off now, madam, after all I've gone through to win this night for us."
"For us?" she breathed, still reeling, it seemed, in the turmoil of her own emotion.
He chuckled again and stepped closer. "It's not that I don't appreciate the chase, but the game is over. And I've won the prize. You can drop the act."
She lifted her chin slightly, trying to concentrate. "And what act would that be, Mr. Phelps?"
He let his head drop back slightly, as though he found her words very amusing, but in an instant, he held her right arm in a meaty fist. "That act, my little dove," he ground out, squeezing hard. "Acting like you don't want me, when I know damned well that you do."
"Let me go!" Full-blown panic came late but was blinding in its intensity. The knife was in her pocket, but she couldn't reach it.
"Let you go?" he asked, then laughed, reaching around her to push open the door. "After I'm through, my pretty little tease."
He pushed her forward. She fell against the bed, ready to scream, but suddenly she was jerked around and his mouth was on hers. He was pressing her back against the mattress as he knelt between her legs. Bile rose in her throat like a tide of loathing. She pushed against him with all her might. Despite the drink and her own terror, she was still strong. Phelps fell backward, momentarily thrown off balance and striking his head on the edge of a trunk.