To Love a Scoundrel

by Sharon Ihle

  That hand squeezed her heart again, constricting the vessels, inflaming her chest. She raised her fingertips to his mustache and began stroking the silken hairs. "I'm sorry, Brent, but my answer is no. My freedom is all I can depend on. It's my very sanity. I'll never give it up."

  Brent's thick eyebrows inched toward each other as he considered her words, the one in particular—no. Had he asked Jewel to marry him? he wondered, alarmed. When? Had he spent thirty-one years dodging the question only to ask it by accident, with only a foggy notion of what he'd said? His expression flickering between disbelief and speculation, he began to wonder if he'd proposed automatically because Jewel really was the one, the only woman for him?

  She was watching him, her new best friend, guilt coaxing a tear from the corner of her eye. Unable to bear the sight of his torment any longer, she said, "I'm sorry, Brent. The last thing I want to do is hurt you. It might be easier if you consider how much worse it could have been if I'd let you go on thinking we might have some kind of future together."

  Her words brought him back to earth. "That's all right," he said, backing away from her. Feeling a curious blend of relief and disappointment, he laughed it all off. "I never seriously planned to marry, anyway. I've always been the independent sort myself. We're probably both better off on our own."

  Unconvinced of his sincerity, feeling lower than the river in October, Jewel followed him to the railing. Reaching for his shoulders, she began to massage them through his shirt, kneading the hard ridge of muscle all the way to the back of his neck. "Brent," she murmured, "I wish I could show you how much I do care."

  Spinning on his heel, he faced her and took her in his arms. "Maybe you can." He glanced beyond her to the house. Only one light flickered in the distance, the soft glow of the lamp in the library. Looking back down at her, seeing the warmth in her usually cool green eyes, he grinned. "If I just had a blanket with me, I'd make you finish paying off your debt from the billiard game. If you remember, we were rudely interrupted."

  "Oh, I remember," she said, her expression wicked. "And if you're thinking you need that blanket for this wooden floor, you might be interested to know your sisters have piled enough petticoats around me to carpet the saloon deck of the Dawn. I'd be most agreeable to losing a few of them."

  "Is that a fact?" Brent said, his voice deep and throaty as he began to unbutton her dress, stroking her satiny skin as his gentle fingers worked their way down her back.

  Jewel gasped at the depth of emotions his touch elicited from her. Brent's caresses were as soothing as they were exciting. They comforted the injured child in her even as they heated the needy woman. Moaning with pleasure, her voice catching with expectation, she murmured, "Here's another fact, Mr. Connors, one I hope you haven't forgotten: I always pay off my bets."

  "Oh, I remember," he breathed as he slid the pink dress down over her shoulders. "I just hope you remember that our bet was for all night long."

  Through a husky laugh, she whispered, "Remembered very well. This is one bluff I can't wait to call."

  Chapter 18

  The following morning as the Connors family carriage bounced past the heavily vined woods on the outskirts of Greenville, Jewel fought to suppress yet another unladylike yawn. She turned her head away from Brent and Harry, who were seated across from her, and rubbed at her eyes. Her usually supple eyelids felt heavy and scratchy, as if they were lined with wool and burdened by curtain weights. Then she yawned again.

  Harry, alert and ever the astute watcher of people, regarded his daughter. She looked drawn and worn, yet curiously flushed and girlish. Beside him, Brent drew in a ragged breath, then lapsed into a kind of exhausted stupor. No one spoke.

  His suspicions growing along with his irritation, Harry thought back to Martha Flannery, to the kind of mother she might have been. Mousy and plain, quiet and shy, the woman had probably been too timid to instruct her child on the ways of men and life. Obviously, he thought to himself, she had never even taken the time to sit Jewel down and teach her how a fine lady should conduct herself.

  Again he glanced at his weary daughter. Then Harry shook his head. This wouldn't do at all. Not for one more day. Jewel was a woman in possession of far too much intelligence and style to be wasted in such a manner. Taking another quick look at his traveling companions, Harry noticed a brief exchange of glances between the two, caught the hint of a blush on her cheeks, the contented grin of his host, and decided it was time—way past time—for him to have a little talk with his daughter.

  His mouth set, his mustache puckered with disapproval, he abruptly slapped his hand against Brent's shoulder and said, "A perfectly lovely morning, wouldn't you say, old chap?"

  Startled but too groggy to react, Brent lurched forward and nearly fell into Jewel's lap. He saved himself by grabbing her knees through the fabric of her traveling suit and pushing himself back into the carriage seat.

  With a lethargic groan, Jewel smoothed her skirts and opened one eye to its fullest. Training her bleary gaze on Harry, she said, "Why are you so full of vinegar today?"

  "Why shouldn't I be?" he countered, drawing in a lungful of fresh morning air. "Look around you, dear girl. Look at the marvelous lush countryside and the quaint albeit somewhat war-torn city ahead."

  Propping her chin up with one hand, she cast an indifferent glance toward the rows of buildings as they passed by them, then shrugged. "Adorable little town. A bit rough around the edges, but simply adorable."

  "Quite so."

  Suddenly alert, Brent recognized the knowing timbre in Harry's voice, could actually feel the disapproval of a man bent on protecting his precious daughter. Forcing a light tone, he explained the city's disheveled state. "Greenville was leveled during the war, but it was rebuilt and enlarged not four years later. The ruins and reconstruction you're looking at now are the result of a couple of bad fires, one in 1874 and another just last year."

  "How terribly unfortunate," Harry commented, although he. couldn't have cared less. "And you've lived in this quaint little village all your life?"

  Brent nodded, sighing as he began to relax again.

  But Harry was leading him down a carefully constructed path. He went on, speaking casually, his query deadly serious. "Then I must assume you've had quite a string of young ladies following along after you. How is it one of them hasn't drawn you into her web—or is there someone you haven't mentioned?"

  Jewel's heavy eyelids were suddenly feather-light. She straightened her spine and cocked her head so she wouldn't miss one word of Brent's reply.

  Fully awake now, he was staring at Harry, his brow wrinkled, his expression curious and slightly piqued. Through another sigh, he said, "I suppose I've had my share of interested ladies, but I have never considered forming a lasting attachment.''

  Until I met your beguiling daughter, that is, he added to himself.

  Before Jewel, Brent recollected, he'd had his share of close calls and had somehow managed to dodge the matrimonial bullet. A careful study of women and their tricks had served him well, taught him how to spot a woman who was more interested in the respectable state of marriage than she was in him. Who'd have guessed that Brent Connors would be felled by one so completely forthright? Forthright, stubborn, and still a little too cold, he thought as his loving gaze drifted over her features.

  Jewel was staring out toward the woods, her spring green eyes dreamy and languid, her full lips parted, still swollen and bruised from their incredible night of lovemaking. There had been no chill in her during their long night and early morning together. He'd found and ignited every source of heat in her luscious body, as she had done for him. Would the love he felt for her be enough to thaw the barriers to her heart as well? Did he have the means, the insight, to do whatever was necessary to make her truly his? Or would it be impossible for her to break from the past and build a future with him? Again Brent thought back to the day he'd asked for a tough woman. Once more he understood that he'd gotten more than he barga
ined for. Laughing to himself, he wondered if it was too late to temper that order just a bit.

  Harry's irritation grew as he saw the private amusement in his seatmate's expression. He pressed forward, still seeking answers. "Am I to assume, Mr. Connors, that you have designs on my daughter?"

  "Sir?" Brent choked.

  "Harry, for heaven's sake," Jewel blurted out.

  Raising his chin defensively, Harry said, "I don't see the harm in such a question. It is a father's right to have some idea what a man's intentions are toward his daughter. Surely you concur with that, Mr. Connors."

  "I'm afraid we'll have to discuss this later," Brent said, grateful to have a reason to cut him off. "We're nearly at dockside, and I have many chores to see to."

  "Oh, of course," Harry agreed as the carriage lurched up the final incline to the levee. "Perhaps over a brandy at the bar this evening."

  "Perhaps," Brent agreed as the carriage rolled to a stop and he climbed out. Reaching up, he slid his hands along Jewel's ribs and helped her out of the rig. Then, keeping one eye on Harry as he disembarked from the other side, Brent leaned over and kissed her soundly.

  When Harry rounded the carriage and approached the pair, Jewel was giggling and Brent's silly grin was back in place. Loudly clearing his throat, Harry said, "Jewel dear, I need to have a word with you in private. Please join me in my suite."

  "In a moment, Faathah," she said, reluctantly tearing her gaze from Brent. "Mr. Connors has a very interesting problem that you and I might be able to help him solve. I have a few more questions to ask him, but I'll join you before too long."

  Grumbling to himself, Harry said, "Very well, dear, but do hurry along. My suite is—"

  "I know which room is yours, remember?" she said.

  Harry pressed his fingertips to his mouth for a moment, then recalled tying her to his bedpost. "Oh, my, but of course you do. My dear girl, I am so sorry. Had I but realized you were much more than a thief, I would have, er, have—."

  "Of course you would have." She laughed, dismissing him. "I'll see you in a few minutes."

  "Quite so," he said, starting up the gangplank. "But please don't dawdle."

  Waiting until Harry was out of earshot, Brent raised a worried eyebrow. "You may be in for some trouble, little lady. I don't believe your father is near as fond of me as he once was."

  Jewel watched as Harry disappeared, then shrugged. "I can handle him. As for the sudden loss of affection," she added coyly, "I suppose I'll just have to be fond enough of you for the both of us."

  "Is that a fact, ma'am?" he said, enormously pleased. "And just how fond might that be, now that we're standing in the glare of morning light—if you don't mind my asking, that is?"

  Jewel frowned. "I do mind your asking, but if you must know, just plain fond is all you're going to get out of me."

  Even though she'd said it half in jest, experience told Brent she was ready to erect her icy shield. Soon she would close herself off from his love. Sighing, he took her hand and began walking toward the ship. "Let's go. It won't do to keep your daddy waiting."

  As they neared the gangplank, his gaze shifted between the two most beautiful things he'd ever seen—the Dawn and Jewel. The steamship glistened in the morning sun, owning up to a magnificence she'd never known in her previous life as a troop transport ship. Still amazed by the fact the Dawn belonged to him, he turned, intending to inform Jewel of his awe. She, too, was staring up at the steamboat, her eyes wide with wonder, and at that moment, Brent was suddenly struck by an unwavering certainty: Without hesitation, he would gladly trade the ownership of the one for the love of the other.

  Aware of Brent's intense gaze, Jewel glanced over at him. What she saw in his eyes frightened and thrilled her, caused her heart to lurch forward even as she took a backward step. She brought her nervous gaze back to the Delta Dawn and made a great show of studying the gleaming decks, noting the white gingerbread woodwork and following the skyward path of majestic twin stacks and the endless circles of the red and white paddle wheel.

  And still she felt his eyes on her, more intense and heated than ever. Refusing to acknowledge him, to hear the words that would accompany such a look, she casually said, "You must be very proud to own such a magnificent boat, Brent. I don't think I've ever seen a more splendid display of craftsmanship."

  The frost warnings were in effect. Bowing to them, he expelled a heavy sigh and returned his gaze to the ship. "I thank you for your observations, but to fully appreciate her grandeur, you should have seen her the day I won her."

  "Won?" she said, wrinkling her nose.

  "In a poker game about four years ago," he supplied. "She was the Delta Star then and a bigger mess than you can imagine. The Confederates commissioned her for their use during the war until she ran aground. That's where she stayed until I won her. I spent all my time and every bit of my money restoring her."

  Astounded, she looked back at the Dawn and let out a long, low whistle. "I thought , well, I just assumed your family was quite wealthy." Again she whistled, adding, "This is all very impressive, Mr. Connors. Almost as impressive as your stamina."

  Jewel clapped her hand across her mouth, then blushed, instantly regretting the impulsive reference to their very long and satisfying night together. She looked away from him and stared across the river, her eyelashes fluttering furiously of their own volition, her throat dry and growing tighter by the second.

  Equally ruffled, more by the surprising honesty of her observation than by the words themselves, Brent gave her a practiced shrug as he tugged at the collar on his shirt. His dimples small caves, he was finally able to say, "Again I thank you, but I believe that must have something to do with the company I keep."

  "Perhaps," she mumbled under her breath. Still unable to look at him or to believe this new shy person was actually a part of her personality, she abruptly changed the subject. Glancing across the river, noticing the tiers of lush cottonwood and willow trees spilling down the bank to the waterline, she asked, "What's over there? Louisiana?"

  "Not quite," he answered, as relieved as she at the new topic. "It's Arkansas."

  Clumsy at small talk, she spoke in a higher pitch than normal, her enunciation stiff and boardlike. "I've never been to Arkansas or to Louisiana, for that matter."

  Brent's reply, only slightly less formal than hers, was accompanied by a much needed breath of fresh air. "You're in for a real treat when we dock day after tomorrow. New Orleans is a very exciting and lively town."

  At the mention of the city, Jewel felt her usual calm return. Once again the detective in lady's clothing, she turned and faced him. Reasonably certain she could conduct a conversation without another thought about their passionate evening, she lifted her chin and said, "I really should be going now. Is there anything else you can tell me about this Skinner fellow or the Cajun girl? Are you sure Harry will recognize her without you or Beau to point her out?''

  Frowning, vexed somehow by her ability to repress her emotions, he grumbled, "Are you still set on going through with this?"

  "You know I am. I thought we got our plan all worked out early this morning."

  Still frowning, he nodded. "Yeah, I guess we did at that." No longer capable of being angry at her now that he understood her better, Brent considered the good that might come from her plans. At best, the Benton team would steal back his mother's emeralds, and in the process, Jewel might come to realize how much she needed and cared for her father. Miriam would have her heirlooms, and Jewel would finally have a part of the loving family she'd never known.

  At worst, he had to acknowledge, they could all be caught in their own trap, tried and found guilty by a jury of their peers, then tossed in jail for the rest of their natural lives. Were a few precious stones and a young woman's quest for revenge worth the risk?

  "Hello?" Jewel called to him, waving her hand in front of his face. "You're not listening to me. Brent? What's the Cajun girl's name again?"

  No match for
the determination he saw in her eyes, Brent gave in and said, "Monique. That and Skinner are the only two names you need to know."

  "Right,'' she agreed, turning back toward the gangplank. "Now all I have to do is give this information to Harry. I'll bet it won't take him any longer than that," she said, snapping her fingers as she started up the footbridge, "to come up with a plan."

  "And not much longer than that," he muttered back, snapping his fingers at her retreating figure, "for you to break the man's heart into a thousand pieces."

  Jewel stopped and looked over her shoulder. Cupping her hand over her ear, she called down to him, "What did you say?"

  Brent waved her off. "I've got a thousand things to do. Take a nap when you're through talking with Harry. I'll see you at supper."

  * * *

  Back in his stateroom, Harry circled around the settee where Jewel sat waiting for his reaction. "And that's all there is to it?" he remarked, pleased by the simplicity of their first job together. "This Monique works at the saloon, and she always wears the Sebastian emeralds?"

  Jewel shrugged. "That's what Beau told his brother."

  "Hmm," Harry murmured as he resumed his pacing.

  "Well, if you're determined to go through with this, I suppose they're as safe as any pigeons we could find on our own."

  "Oh, I'm determined, Harry. Don't ever question my determination or my willingness to do what is expected of me."

  Harry stopped in mid-stride and faced her. His expression wounded, he said, "I realize our relationship is as new to you as it is to me, Jewel dear, but do you think you could refrain from calling me Harry? It seems disrespectful."

  Trying to smile, even though her mouth felt pinched and tense, she gave him a slight nod. "Of course, Faathah dear. I'll try not to forget myself in the future."