To Love a Scoundrel

by Sharon Ihle

  Harry's expression remained hurt, even after she made her promise. Keeping his tone light, he suggested, "Perhaps you'd be more comfortable calling me something other than Faathah. The way you say it, the word sounds almost vulgar."

  "Sorry, Faathah," she said, forcing a soft easy lilt to her voice. "I'll do better from now on. I'm just a little overtired today."

  "Hmm," he murmured again, regarding her for a long moment before he resumed pacing. "I wish to speak to you about something else before we go on with our plans."

  "What?"

  Coming to a halt in front of her, Harry stared down into her eyes. "This Connors fellow and you—just how involved are you two?"

  "Just a minute," she blurted out, struggling to get to her feet.

  Nonplussed, Harry took both of her shoulders in his hands and pushed her back against the blue velvet cushions, reassuring her as he insisted, "Try to remain calm and keep a respectful tongue in your mouth, young lady. I'm only interested in what's best for you."

  "But you couldn't possibly know what's best for me, and I resent the fact that—''

  "Jewel, please," he interrupted, his voice calm but uncompromising. "I cannot think about bringing you into this business until we come to some sort of understanding. Either you will behave as a daughter should and acquiesce to your father's reasonable demands, or I shall have to forget the whole thing."

  "But—" This time, Jewel cut herself off. She looked into his eyes, found the stubborn verdant depths so like her own, and knew she and Harry had reached an impasse that only she could bridge. Unwilling to jeopardize her plans at this stage, she took a deep breath and quietly said, "What do you want to know?''

  "Nothing terribly personal or improper, if that's what distresses you," he said, his smile more appreciative than triumphant. "First I have to know this: Do you love him, daughter?"

  Jewel snapped her head up, and her mouth dropped open. "No," she finally said, surprised at her own hesitation and at the difficulty she had vocalizing the denial.

  "Good, then. Love can be a most annoying obstacle to overcome." His relief visible, Harry explained his objections. "I took the liberty of examining the Connors family at length during our visit at their plantation, and I discovered they are not nearly as well off as they might appear."

  "If that's what this is all about, don't bother with the rest. I know Brent won the Delta Dawn and that his family is practically penniless. So what?" she said, amused.

  "So plenty, dear girl." Harry pulled up a three-legged footstool and straddled it. "I've been doing a lot of thinking about you and your future, and I have a lot of exciting plans for us after we finish this necklace business in New Orleans. How would you like to tour Europe with your father?"

  Jewel's hand fluttered to her throat. "Oh, I don't know what to say. I appreciate your including me in your vacation plans, but—"

  "Not a vacation, Jewel. A tour." He patted her knee, then explained further, "I can introduce you to some of the most powerful and influential men in the world: barons, earls, kings, even."

  "But, I don't care about such things, Har—Faathah. My head isn't turned by fancy titles or wealth."

  "Listen to me, girl," Harry cut in. "Believe me, it's best if your head isn't turned by titles and such, but think of the possibilities for your future. Why, with your looks and my experience, we'll take Europe by storm."

  Disturbed by his apparent interest in her life, no longer sure how she felt about it, she asked, "Are you saying you expect me to rob someone like the king of England? Are you running a little low on funds or what? I don't understand."

  "Goodness, no, my darling girl," Harry said through a rare burst of laughter. "I have enough capital for us to live on comfortably for the rest of our lives. It just seems to me that you might as well fall in love with a member of the nobility. I thought you might even be pleased with the idea."

  Unable to look at him any longer, to see the childlike enthusiasm with which he discussed her future, Jewel stared down into her lap and began to pick at the satin braid on her jacket. "Thanks, but I really can't agree to such a plan. Not now."

  "That's quite all right, and understandable, too. I simply want you to think about it for a while. In the meantime, I believe you'll be better off if you follow a few simple rules."

  Jewel glanced up at him and raised her eyebrows.

  Harry explained his stipulations. "I must ask that you go out of your way to avoid Brent Connors. He is obviously smitten with you, but I don't believe he pays you the proper respect."

  Jewel's shoulders slumped, and she spoke in a voice that was very nearly a whine as she complained, "But, Faathah, he's harmless enough, and I do like him a lot. Why can't I keep seeing him until this trip is over?"

  "Because, daughter dear, even though you say you don't love him, I recognize a few not so subtle signs in you suggesting otherwise."

  Jewel's pout was genuine as she tried to think of a way to convince him that she could ward off this evil thing called love. But she was out of arguments, beyond examining her feelings, or unable to predict where those nebulous emotions might lead her. With a resigned sigh she said, "If that's the way it has to be, then, all right. But I really don't see how we can pull off this job in New Orleans if I'm not allowed to see him."

  "Well, of course you must see him and even talk to him, but never allow Mr. Connors to get you alone. Is that understood?''

  Hoping to end the discussion, Jewel gave him a short nod.

  "Good. I think you'll be much happier this way." Harry stood up and resumed pacing as he continued planning the assignment. "Now then, back to business. Since the Dawn will stop in New Orleans for only one night, we won't have much time to put our plans into action." He rubbed his index finger across his chin as he studied her appearance. "Is this truly your only decent dress?''

  "I'm afraid so."

  "No problem," he said, resuming his thoughtful march in front of the settee. "We dock in Natchez for a few hours tomorrow. That would be an excellent place to get you a few outfits and perhaps even the costume I'll need to gain this Cajun woman's trust."

  "Costumes?" she said, bright-eyed again. "You're going to be in costume?''

  "Oh, my yes, Jewel dear." He spread his arms dramatically. "Your father is known as a consummate master of disguise."

  Jewel chuckled to herself as she recalled the varying descriptions splitting the seams of the Pinkerton files on one Harry Benton. Grinning, she said, "I think I remember hearing something about your penchant for masquerade."

  "Believe it, dear girl," he said with a sly chuckle. "Believe that, and the fact that after the Bentons have made an appearance in the Crescent City, it will never be the same again."

  Chapter 19

  New Orleans, Louisiana

  Two days later

  "I don't like it," Brent grumbled. "There isn't one damn thing I like about this idiotic plan."

  "The only thing wrong with this plan," Jewel snapped back as they started across the massive width of Canal Street, "is the fact that you decided to show up and ruin it!"

  Forced to rely on his longer stride to keep up with her, Brent waved a hand as he continued his objections. "Is that the thanks I get for coming along to ensure your safety? Do you honestly think you should berate a poor fellow who's only trying to protect you from harm?"

  Waiting until they reached the corner to comment, Jewel turned on him, unmindful of the other pedestrians. "I never asked you to come along as my bodyguard, you know. I can take care of myself, Brent. How many times do I have to tell you that?"

  He sputtered for a minute, then pointed to her costume. "That may be true in Chicago, but you're in New Orleans now. Do you have any idea what might happen to you if you parade around this town alone dressed like that?"

  She glanced down at the outfit she and Harry agreed would be most likely to catch Skinner's attention. The skirt was a plain brown sheath with a stylish, if undersized, bustle, but the black silk jacket was not so s
imple. Though high in the back, the entire front of the bodice was cut away in the shape of a large heart, exposing more of Jewel's breasts than would have been considered decent in any town. Her hair, pulled back at the sides and fastened at the crown with a saucy little hat, hung in loose coils and swung free across her back and shoulders.

  She was, they had decided, half whore and half lady, wholly capable of bringing Skinner to his knees with the shrug of one soft white shoulder. She and Harry apparently had figured on everything but Brent's objections to their methods. Now here he was, threatening to throw away what might be their only chance of recovering his family's jewels over a little display of flesh.

  Touched by his concern, yet equally worried about his determination, Jewel lowered her voice and tried to assure him. "I'll be all right—really I will. You must turn back. You know we can't let Skinner see you with me. That would ruin everything." She gently laid her hand on his forearm and implored, "Please, Brent, go back to the dock and wait for Harry and me on the Dawn. This shouldn't take too long."

  This time he listened and carefully thought over her suggestions. But in spite of his good intentions, Brent was unable to see anything but the woman he loved bared for all the world to see. He narrowed his thoughts to the overt exhibit of her generous breasts, the picture of availability she presented, and finally to the reactions of every man who happened to pass close enough for a view of her charms.

  His determination renewed, Brent issued an ultimatum. "I will not leave you alone. I'll stay out of Skinner's sight, but I am going to follow you to the Purple Turtle, and I will continue to follow you after you get him to agree to help you. You hear?"

  Jewel rolled her eyes, sighing when she realized arguing any further would be pointless. Shaking her head, she said. "I hear you, Mr. Connors. If you insist on jeopardizing this job, please be sure you stay out of sight. Understand?"

  "Understood," he agreed, enormously relieved.

  "Fine, then. I'm going now. I don't want to see you or hear from you until we're back on the ship." She began walking away, waiting for his reply, but there was none, Jewel turned back. "Brent?" she said, too late to notice he was nowhere in sight.

  Smiling to herself, feeling more cherished than smothered, Jewel wheeled around and continued on her way to the Vieux Carre. Although she fought to keep her attention on the part she was about to play and not on the charming houses along her path, again and again she found herself admiring them. Each home, no matter the size, seemed to have a little inner court alive with the vivid hues of abundant shrubs and flowers. Rows of balconies beckoned to her with the heavy scent of the numerous varieties of flora peeking through the intricate iron lace railings. Almost too soon, she arrived at Bourbon Street. Now only a block from her destination, she forced her attention to the gathering throngs.

  The sounds of music and gaiety filled her ears as Jewel made her way past the shops and stores that seemed crammed on top of one another. She began to encounter men who had never heard the word "gentleman," much less expected it to be applied to them. Ready for them, she was able to ignore the expected whistles and grunts of those few, and most of the pedestrians were late afternoon shoppers who were either uninterested in or unimpressed by her charms. Several feet ahead she spotted a large turtle fashioned from cast iron and painted a bright, garish purple. Squaring her shoulders, Jewel picked her way through the sparse crowd and peeked through the swinging doors of the saloon.

  A large upright piano graced the wall to her right, its bench unoccupied. The center of the room was filled with card tables and games of chance, but only a handful of men lounged there. On the back wall, the expected portrait of a nude woman spanned several feet of decaying plaster.

  Beneath it, its counter top scarred and pitted by discarded cigarettes and careless knives, the bar stretched the entire length of the wall.

  Sitting on one of the dozen or so stools facing the nude was Harry. Beside him a woman with hair the color of an overripe orange stood with her back to the bar, her elbows draped on the counter.

  Taking care to avoid any eye contact with the woman, Jewel shifted her gaze and settled on the man who best fit the description Brent had given her of Skinner. After drawing a deep breath, as much to save her lungs from the clouds of acrid smoke hanging in the stale saloon air as to expand her bosom, she pushed her way through the doors and stepped inside the darkened room.

  Slowly making her way to the table nestled in the farthest corner, she caught the attention of a man with slicked-back hair and reptilian eyes. "Mr. Skinner? Is there a Mr. Skinner in this bar?" she called out, innocently glancing around the room.

  "Over here," he rasped, his ruined voice bubbling over in his throat like cheap champagne. "Who wants him?''

  Jewel turned toward the sound, aware that Harry's eyes were on her, and gave the stranger a coquettish pout. "Are you Mr. Skinner?"

  "Maybe. What's it to you?"

  As she approached him, a booming voice from behind her said, "If he ain't the fella you're looking for, honey lips, I am."

  Never breaking stride, Jewel shut her ears and mind to the chorus of guffaws and ribald laughter that followed and pulled up just short of the gambler's chair.

  Speaking softly, with just the hint of a giggle in her voice, Jewel leaned forward slightly and said, "Oh, I do hope you are Mr. Skinner. I'm desperate for your help, and I'd be ever so grateful if you could spare me a few minutes."

  The reptilian eyes shone with the barest suggestion they might be human as he gestured her toward a chair. "Sit a spell, woman. What kind a trouble you in, and who sent you here?"

  Shuddering at the thought of even touching a piece of furniture in the establishment, Jewel demurred. "I would so like to join you, but I don't have time. You see," she said, fluttering her eyelashes, "it's my sister, Mr. Skinner. She said you might remember her and help her out."

  "Your sister, you say?"

  Jewel nodded. "Lillibeth Benton—remember? I'm her sister, Marabelle."

  Skinner lowered his pockmarked face as he rolled, then lit, his twenty-fifth cigarette of the day. He finally shook his head and stared up at her, his eyes flat and cold again. "Sorry, gal. Name don't mean a thing to me."

  "Oh," she said, giggling, "you've just got to remember Lillibeth. 'Course, she was just a baby a couple years back and has filled out some since then. She told me she spent some real special time with you. You must remember her. She's lots prettier than me with that gorgeous silky yellow hair of hers just a-streaming down her back. Oh, and surely you remember her big blue eyes and soft round... well, you know what I mean. Lillibeth is heaps prettier than me."

  "That right?" The legs of Skinner's chair groaned as he scraped them backwards across the wooden floor. He pushed himself upright, then drove his index finger into his left nostril. Regarding Jewel as he probed for the source of his irritation, he finally withdrew his finger and wiped it on his grease-stained trousers before he said, "I still can't say I remember this Lillibeth gal, but if she insists she knows me, maybe I'd best look her up. You say she's in trouble?"

  "Just a little." Jewel shrugged, impulsively backing away.

  "What'd she do?" he rasped, his smile showing as much snarl as grin.

  Still backing away, she said, "Not much. It's like this, you see. She, ah, just wanted to show this fella over on Canal Street a little fun, you know. It's getting real hard for a gal to make a living these days."

  Those eyes showing more radiance than they appeared to be capable of, he advanced on her. "What'd she go and do—rob him while he had his pants down?"

  "Well, Mr. Skinner, like I said"—she giggled nervously—"it's getting real hard to earn a living in these parts, and Lillibeth and I are just a couple of innocent gals."

  "Don't get all in a twitter," he said as he took a long drag of his cigarette, then crushed it out beneath his bootheel. "Sounds real interesting," he rasped through a sudden fit of coughing. "Real interesting, indeed. Where is she?"

&nbs
p; Backing away in earnest now, certain that at any moment he would touch her, Jewel gestured for him to follow. "Lillibeth's over on Canal Street, like I said, but if this fella has his way, he's gonna drag her off to the sheriff, so we don't have much time. Come on."

  "I'm a coming, gal. Just make no mistake about what I expect in return." Skinner caught up to Jewel and gripped her arm. Jerking her toward the doors, he stated his terms. "Once I persuade this poor fella to let her go, I expect you gals to come down here to the Purple Turtle and work for me a spell. Month or so ought to do it."

  "A month?" she gasped.

  Skinner stopped just short of pushing his way through the doors. "If that don't suit you, then you go convince the poor fool that you and your sister are pearly white and pure as fresh-picked cotton."

  "A month will be fine," she agreed. Resisting the urge to grin or to peek back inside and see how Harry was doing with the Cajun woman, she followed Skinner through the doors and out into the late afternoon sunlight.

  Inside the bar, Harry's gaze flickered over the top of Monique's head to the swinging barroom doors. Jewel and the vile gambler were out of sight. Confident his eloquence had kept the redhead too attentive to realize that her boss had left the bar in the company of another woman, Harry smiled.

  "And you know what else, my dear?'' he said, baiting the trap. "If you'll let me paint a small sample portrait of you right now, I shall make a gift of it, free of charge."

  "Yeah?" She giggled, completely captivated by the dashing stranger. "But won't I have to strip down to my gooseflesh to do that?"

  Harry laughed, adjusting the large plum-colored beret he'd donned for the assignment. "Please rest assured, my dear, that you will be painted in the most modest of costumes. I have several drapes suitable for a portrait such as this.'' He gestured to the nude above the bar and went on. "I also have a completely private dressing room, which will guarantee your privacy."

  "Umm, I don't know," Monique said, hesitating. "I'd sure like to have my picture hanging up there instead of that homely no-name we got there now, but I don't know if my man will agree to it." As if to answer the question herself, she glanced around the room. "Maybe if I ask him. Oh, looks like he's gone."