The River Devil

by Diane Whiteside

  “Dan Allen’s saloon is where the top-notch sporting men go. Or there’s Clapper Bill’s, for something rowdier,” Ripley answered.

  “Dan Allen’s house, it is. Would you care to join me?”

  Lennox at a gambling resort? He had a reputation among New York sporting men for enjoying poker, although he wasn’t reckoned as one of the best. She might be the better player, especially since she never willingly imbibed at the card table. And large sums of money changed hands at gambling houses….

  “No, I’m eating with friends. But I wish you luck.”

  “Pity,” Lennox returned, with a strong edge of disappointment. For that much emotion, perhaps he truly was feeling pinched.

  “Good day to you, mister.”

  “Good day to you, sir.” Rosalind could almost see Lennox gritting his teeth. A glass clanked down on the table, a chair scraped along the floor, and booted feet moved away.

  Rosalind thought hard. If Lennox lost every penny he carried at the card table tonight, his schemes would be crippled. He wouldn’t be able to hire another crewman to sabotage the Belle or another sniper. If she were truly lucky, he’d have every dime he owned with him. If she stripped him of every penny, he couldn’t attack Hal or Donovan again.

  Etheridge’s ledger book was the key. If Lennox held it, he could still blackmail Belknap into ruining Donovan. He’d fight to keep it with everything he had. If she held it, then she’d control Belknap, and Lennox wouldn’t be a threat again.

  If she defeated Lennox at poker, she could take it away from him. She’d have to ruin him tonight at Dan Allen’s house, where play was notoriously honest, so Lennox couldn’t win by trickery. She’d need to keep her head and play a good, tight game. With a little luck and her big bankroll, she’d gain that ledger book, and Lennox would have to crawl back to New York.

  Then she could give the book to Donovan and sail to Montana, not return home to New York. While she might be able to stop Lennox from attacking Hal and Donovan again, she couldn’t stop Dunleavy from marrying her off to Lennox. So she’d still have to hide until next spring.

  A simple plan with one major flaw. If Lennox recognized her, he could demand that she accompany him back to New York and marry him. Marriage to that murderous thug. Chills raced across her skin.

  If he recognized her. Unlikely, since only Hal had realized she was actually a woman under those man’s clothes. And the delights he’d shown her in a bedroom had made her woman’s body seem more attractive than ever before.

  She gasped, wrenching her mind away from those memories and back to confronting Lennox. Her stomach hurled itself into a Gordian knot at the danger.

  She forced the panic back with logic. She would be wearing a hat, which would shield her features. He wouldn’t be looking for a woman in such a place, least of all her, since the town lay on the water. Her clothing concealed any hint of bosom or hips, so he wouldn’t consider her a target for lascivious glances, only the typical fast assessments of hands and eyes that gamblers exchanged.

  It could work. And he’d be ruined if she succeeded. Surely inflicting such a defeat on him was worth the chance. And if the worst came to pass, and he carried her back to New York, she could always kill him later, even if it took years.

  Rosalind smiled mirthlessly and returned her Colt to its holster. One way or another, she’d destroy Lennox, no matter what her stomach thought of her chances.

  Desdemona considered her husband Richard sourly, although her expression of warm concern never altered as she listened to her neighbor’s complaints about the weather. What did she care if this spring’s weather was particularly changeable and flooding threatened to take the fool’s spring wheat crop? She’d forgotten how immeasurably dull dinner parties in these provincial towns could be, when she’d agreed to dine ashore with some of Richard’s business acquaintances. After all, she hadn’t traveled further west or north than St. Louis since before the war.

  But Richard had promised her the chance to sleep ashore in the luxury of a private bedroom. With him snoring next door, she’d be free to slip away and meet Nick Lennox.

  Dear, handsome Nicky, of the wicked hands and tongue. She loved the secret of their liaison, the delight of having such a handsome—and young—cavalier, when all the other women of her generation only had their husbands.

  He did have a few faults, such as how he’d reminded her of their relationship when he’d insisted she send Hal to find the Schuyler heiress. He’d become quite nasty when she’d hesitated, uncertain whether Hal would obey her as he ought. Why, Nicky had even sworn to tell Richard she’d been a spy.

  Obnoxious brat! He’d be well served when Hal married the chit.

  She accepted more champagne with a coquettish flutter of her eyelashes. Her boring neighbor immediately preened and redoubled his efforts to describe his lost wheat in greater and greater detail. His knee swung wide and brushed hers, an unmistakable invitation despite the layers of cloth between their skin.

  Desdemona was affronted. Submissive, eager glances were one thing but a stranger forcing physical contact on her? She immediately cloaked herself in the full armor of a high society matron. She raised an eyebrow and silently demanded that her neighbor withdraw. Even if he’d been as pretty as Nicky, she wouldn’t have been tempted. The real delight of her life, after all, was in society’s admiration. Everything else was either a path to greater acclaim or the slightest of passing fancies.

  Her neighbor choked on his wine. His leg snapped back to its proper location with an almost audible click. He began to speak of charity work for orphaned children.

  Desdemona nodded approval and thought of more exciting matters. Tonight, she and Nicky would be lovers again. A few moments’ talk of how easily Hal had agreed to find the girl and then they could enjoy themselves. She just had to survive this dreary party and meet Nicky an hour before dawn, while Richard slept unknowingly in the other hotel room.

  She sipped champagne to hide her smirk.

  Hal scraped the last mud off his boots’ soles and entered the Wyoming Hotel, broad-brimmed hat tilted at a deceptively careless angle and Cicero strutting beside him. The lobby was expensively furnished in brown and gold, with polished brass spittoons and heavy chocolate-colored drapes to keep out drafts. The large room was full of westerners and dudes, most of them eyeing the restaurant’s big dinner bell in anticipation.

  He was much more in sympathy with the Arkansas toothpick at his back or the deadly blackthorn walking stick at his side, given his desire to break things, than the fools concerned solely with their stomachs.

  Rosalind was gone. Dear God in heaven, he’d frightened her into running again. He’d spoken the truth, but his tongue had tied itself into knots rather than express his feelings for her. He simply couldn’t be that vulnerable to anyone.

  Perhaps it was for the better. Surely she’d soon find another man, who’d cherish her as she deserved and never lift a hand to their children. His fists clenched at the thought of the unnamed fellow who’d share her bed, then slowly relaxed. She’d be happier away from him. The best thing he could do for her now was to find and destroy Lennox.

  William waved from where he sat with Viola and the others in a corner of the hotel’s lobby. They had a small group of ornate, plush chairs and an expansive sofa, from which they could observe the entire room.

  Hal nodded and made his way to them, careful to step around the clumps of men covertly eyeing Viola. He didn’t envy anyone who tried to take her away from her husband.

  His sister’s eyes swept over him and took in every detail of his expression and clothing, just as she had when they were children. Concern appeared, but was quickly replaced by a hostess’s politeness. She shifted closer to her husband and patted the velvet-covered sofa.

  “Come sit here, next to me,” she invited. “We’ve almost taught the waiter how to provide a proper cup of tea. Or Morgan and Mr. Bellecourt can vouch for the coffee, if you’d prefer that.”

  “Tea, than
k you.” Hal kept his head erect and his face calm as he sat down. Cicero curled up next to him on the floor, with an almost audible yawn.

  She poured, adding cream and sugar as he preferred, and passed it to him silently. The fragrant brew’s heat and sweetness reminded him of the delights of Rosalind’s bed. Ah, the hot, moist clamp of her inner muscles when she was lost in passion….

  “Will Carstairs be joining us?” William asked.

  Hal stiffened, then managed a shrug. “No, he’s left my employ.”

  William’s eyebrows lifted, and Bellecourt started to expostulate.

  “I offered him a different job, one that would have kept him with the Cherokee Belle after this voyage. He refused and felt it best to leave,” Hal continued. He was ruefully proud of his even tone of voice, a complete contrast to the pain stabbing his heart.

  Cicero whined softly and rubbed his head against Hal’s leg. Hal patted him absently and looked straight back at William, daring him to question the explanation.

  “I understand,” William said smoothly. “We will miss him.”

  Hal wondered uneasily just how much William did understand.

  “Quel dommage,” Bellecourt murmured. “He could have become a great pilot once he was fully at home on the water.”

  Evans stirred restlessly. “Enough of that. Did you see Lennox?”

  Hal shook his head. “Not a trace of him.”

  “No one else found him either,” William announced quietly.

  Damn. He would have enjoyed smashing that bastard’s head.

  “Will we visit Gillespie tonight?” Viola asked. “I’d like to see the new baby, if we can.”

  William smiled down at her fondly and kissed her hand. “Of course.” She answered him with an intimate look that twisted Hal’s heart. To share that kind of loving confidence with Rosalind…

  He slurped his tea loudly. William stiffened, and Viola chuckled.

  “Doesn’t Gillespie and his wife live a few miles outside town?” Evans asked. “Will you spend the night with him?”

  “That was our plan,” William agreed. “I’d prefer to stay until just after dawn, so Viola won’t be disturbed by road agents on the drive back.”

  “Good idea,” Hal agreed. “The better light will also make it easier to spot snags and driftwood on the river, when we sail to Sioux City.” Where we’ll finally destroy Lennox.

  “It will also give me time to receive answers from those telegrams to Sioux City,” Bellecourt added.

  “Can Abraham stand watch tonight on the Belle?” Evans was clearly considering options.

  Viola chuckled. “I pity anyone who tries to attack a boat that he’s guarding!”

  Her husband laughed. “Amen to that, my dear. Of course, he can stand guard, Morgan, if Hal will have him.”

  “My pleasure.” He’d seen Abraham Chang once before in a fight, when Paul Lennox kidnapped Viola. He, too, pitied anyone who tried to sneak past that Chinese warrior.

  “What of the rest of you? Would you care to join us?” William asked, his eyes lingering on Hal. “Gillespie and his wife are very hospitable and very proud of their first son. I’m sure they’d welcome you.”

  Hal winced. A happy couple with a newborn child? No. He barely noticed Evans’s equally reflexive flinch beside him.

  “Ah, you young people.” Bellecourt harrumphed. “You can coo at babies but I will play poker and share stories with old friends.”

  “That sounds very pleasant too. Morgan?” Viola invited.

  “I’d thought to stay in town, close by the Cherokee Belle. Eat dinner, have a few drinks.” He shrugged carelessly.

  “Masculine pastimes,” Viola ruthlessly summed up his plans.

  Evans bowed in acknowledgement. “Exactly. Perhaps Hal will care to join me.”

  “Glad to.” Far better to spend time with a fellow bachelor than in a house full of what he’d never have.

  “Then we’ll all meet tomorrow morning at the Cherokee Belle, an hour after dawn.” Viola summed up the arrangements briskly.

  William lifted his teacup in salute. “Until tomorrow.”

  The first day without Rosalind. Hal’s mouth tightened, but he managed to join the others’ salute. “Tomorrow.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  Rosalind studied Dan Allen’s gambling house from the shelter of the hotel across the street. Warm rain fell gently from the skies, softening a lawless scene and promising more water for the Missouri River.

  A noisy saloon occupied the first floor with the gambling rooms above, judging by the silhouettes moving at the windows. A very interesting element was the pawnshop in back—located directly below the gambling rooms. Clearly, players suffering from the absence of Lady Luck could procure some additional time at the tables by pawning their belongings. The entire complex was tidy and bustling, albeit with a rough clientele.

  She’d seen Lennox enter the saloon, swaggering like Napoleon as he shoved his way through the doors. Then she’d stopped at the neighboring hotel to clean up, while a local ragamuffin kept watch on the saloon.

  Now her boots and charcoal gray trousers were once again immaculate, her coat was smoothly pressed, and her diamond stickpin shone like the expensive jewel it was. Her hair shone with Macassar oil, which darkened and disguised its natural color, and the faint scent of sandalwood rose from her cheeks, as if she’d recently shaved. All steps necessary to brand her as worthy of a high-stakes game in the town’s top establishment. Her Colts were tucked neatly at her waist, visual warnings that she wasn’t a pigeon ripe for the plucking. She’d moved a thousand dollars from her bankroll into her coat pocket, ready for use. More waited in the canvas belt, ready to break Lennox.

  What lay underneath the gambler’s immaculate outer shell was another matter. She’d nibbled a little boiled chicken and bread while the hotel staff pressed her coat. Now her heart was hurling itself against her ribs, as if considering how best to return that chicken to the farm.

  It was a worse reaction than the first time she’d visited a gambling resort with her father. Then, she’d still been shaken by her mother’s and brothers’ deaths, and grateful to her father for the diversion of learning to play cards like a professional. She’d taken comfort in her short hair, cropped during the pneumonia that had nearly killed her, her polished men’s clothing, and, most importantly, her father’s presence at her side. He’d given her the diamond stickpin that night.

  She ran her thumb over the diamond, remembering all the times she’d worn it around her father. She could almost feel him winking at her and standing behind her, ready to coach her if necessary. She’d always won when he was in the room.

  But now she was alone. She’d have to fight this battle without Hal or her father beside her. If she failed or was exposed as a woman, she’d be imprisoned in Dunleavy’s isolated country estate until she married Lennox.

  Rosalind shivered. The cabin of a sinking boat during a gale would be a far friendlier place. But enough of that. The only way to eliminate Lennox as a threat was to strip him of money and blackmail material, a campaign only she could win.

  She tapped her broad-brimmed planter’s hat firmly into place. Time to play poker and ruin Lennox.

  Hal set his plate, half full of uneaten beefsteak, down on the floor and turned to his coffee. Cicero rumbled happily then dived into the treat. Hal envied his dog’s simple enjoyment of food. Even good wine had lost its flavor without Rosalind, so he’d returned to coffee, an old friend from his Navy days.

  Evans raised an eyebrow, but said nothing while the waiter cleared their plates. Here in a private room in Omaha’s best restaurant, service was fast and discreet, especially when the waiter was tipped in advance.

  “What do you want for dessert?” Hal thumbed through the menu left behind on the table, contemplating the list of puddings and glacées with very little interest. None of them were a tarte tatin, Bellecourt’s beloved upside-down apple pie that Rosalind had enjoyed with such wholehearted enthusiasm. />
  His friend didn’t answer immediately, and Hal looked up, ready to offer the menu.

  Then Evans spoke quietly, his eyes very steady on Hal’s face. “I heard there’s a house in town where one can enact fantasies. I’d planned to visit it, should time permit.”

  Hal blinked. Fantasies? Morgan must be talking about brothels, where one could play very imaginative, very carnal games with experienced women. Curiosity reared its head, and his cock filled slightly.

  He drummed his fingers on the table as he considered the possibilities. He’d heard of such expensive brothels, which catered to a network of carefully vetted, highly sensual men and women. He’d played games before, of course, but only as brief diversions with a partner he already knew and trusted.

  God in heaven, he could imagine enacting such fantasies with Rosalind. But the little minx would probably insist on playing a hand of poker first, just to decide who would be on top. He bit his lip and tried to shake off that image. Best to get on with his life without her and start seeing other women.

  “Would you care to come along, Lindsay? I’d be proud to stand surety for you,” Evans offered.

  Surety? Were these fantasies so intense that introductions and guarantees were needed? His ever-present imagination leapt into full life, producing the image of Rosalind in a harem slave’s fragile silks. His cock all but roared at the thought.

  But she wouldn’t be there. Hal bit his lip and firmly ordered his cock to consider other possibilities. Perhaps a petite raven-haired beauty with breasts that filled a man’s hand. He forced himself to see every detail of the girl’s curves, including the fit of her rump against his cock while her head barely reached his chest. He tried to imagine how her intimate folds would be shaped, but all he could see was Rosalind. Gray-eyed and high-breasted, long legs wrapped around his waist as she encouraged him to thrust harder.