“As have I,” Hal contributed. “I’ve been selling off stock in poorly managed railroads and concentrating on the well-run firms. Who’d have thought that all that gossip about which railroad a riverman least wanted to face would be so handy?”
The men chuckled together at the situation’s irony.
“Has the Cherokee Belle started upriver from Kansas City yet?” William asked.
“This morning,” Hal answered. “She wintered on the lower Mississippi in the cotton trade. Sampson also tried her as an excursion boat, with a trip to Mardi Gras in New Orleans and several wedding charters.”
“She’s a very elegant packet. I’d think she’d be very successful,” the Old Man approved.
“Extremely profitable. In fact, we were able to keep the full crew on for the entire winter, rather than laying them off for four months.”
“Excellent. Between your Missouri River boats and your new Chicago fleet, you’ll soon rival the Vanderbilts. Speaking of which, how was Commodore Vanderbilt when you had breakfast with him, son?” his father asked.
Son. The acceptance implied in that simple word warmed his heart.
“Very polite.”
William whistled softly. “Amazing.”
Hal shrugged. “Rosalind’s grandmother was very good friends with the Commodore’s mother, who stood godmother to Rosalind’s mother.”
“Ah, the one person that arrogant man has ever respected,” the Old Man said with a sigh of understanding. He sipped his tea, obviously considering the implications. Deep lines had formed in his face, and weight had melted off him after his wife’s death. But the color had slowly returned to his countenance, and he now occasionally played with his grandchildren. He’d even smiled when he learned of Viola’s pregnancy. “I presume he’s joining us tonight. Even he wouldn’t miss a chance to dine with the President and General Sherman.”
“Yes, the Commodore will be at the Pericles Club for our initiation.”
“As will Belknap,” William added. “He is a member, after all. Apparently your discussion with him about Etheridge’s ledger book, sir, had quite an effect.”
The Old Man lifted an eyebrow. “Really?”
“He took great pains to assure me that he holds me in the highest regard and trusts Donovan & Sons will continue to provide excellent service to the U.S. Army for many years to come,” William quoted, his California drawl changing to a nearly exact mimicry of Belknap’s unctuous tones. “Despite the fact that I’ll be the first Irish papist to enter the hallowed halls of the Pericles Club, something he didn’t bother to mention.”
Hal and his father broke out into simultaneous laughter, which William quickly joined. The two women glanced up and smiled approvingly. A warm glow suffused Hal at the display of family unity.
The Old Man calmed down first, wiping tears of mirth from his eyes. “Dear heavens, how I did enjoy compelling those stuffy old fools to admit you, William. They simply could not counter my argument that a Lindsay’s son-in-law had the right to join, as stated in the club’s original charter.”
“I am very grateful to you, sir.” William reached out and gripped his father-in-law’s hand. The Old Man turned his to return the salute, and they stayed locked like that for a minute.
The Old Man had definitely become a different fellow. He was no longer a man who wouldn’t speak to a disobedient daughter or her Irish husband. He was now someone who had forced society to accept that Irishman as a true son of his house. Hal would never have thought so much change was possible.
The two released their grips and took up their coffee cups, as if jointly backing away from too much emotion. “What are you giving Rosalind for her twenty-fifth birthday, Hal?” William asked softly.
“Diamonds.” Hal kept his answer equally secretive. “She’s done so well as a trader that I wanted to give something spectacular. I plan to give them to her tonight, not tomorrow, so she can wear them at the banquet.”
“Magnificent present. She should be very pleased,” the Old Man commented.
A shiver passed down Hal’s spine. Would Rosalind be pleased? Was it truly the best gift he could give her?
“Why, your mother…” The Old Man’s voice trailed off. By unspoken agreement, neither he, Hal, nor Viola spoke of her in private. Publicly, they’d utter pious platitudes that hid the vicious betrayals she’d visited on them all.
“I gave Viola an amethyst and diamond necklace last Christmas.” William’s melodious voice filled the awkward silence, but Hal wasn’t listening.
Were his mother’s tastes an accurate prediction of what Rosalind would like? His mother had cared only about her beauty and her climb to the top. Even her children had been simply a means to improving her life, rather than beings to be loved and protected. She’d even turned her back when her husband had beaten her son.
It was impossible to imagine Rosalind doing the same thing. She’d fight like a tigress to protect her child, as she’d fought to bring the Cherokee Belle safely through the Devil’s Rake. She wanted children, and he could give them to her. But did he have the courage to do so? Generations of Lindsays had beaten their sons, supposedly to improve them. The thought of seeing his own child broken and bleeding hit him like a blow to the stomach. Could he break that pattern?
The answer came suddenly. He wouldn’t be alone. Rosalind would help him fight his inheritance so that their children would be safe. Hal’s eyes narrowed as he watched her. Could he take the chance? More importantly, could he continue to deny the woman he loved more than life?
He drummed his fingers on the big armchair as he considered his choices.
That evening, Rosalind desperately held on to the bedpost of her mahogany Chippendale bed as Nellie O’Hara, dear Bridget’s younger sister, tightened her corset. Even after almost a year, her body still preferred to remember its shape in men’s clothing and obstinately objected to adopting fashionable feminine curves.
Mary pulled hard on the laces without a word. Like her late sister, she was a marvelous maidservant. But unlike Bridget, she preferred to remain silent whenever possible.
Rosalind leaned her forehead against the tall post at the foot of the bed and closed her eyes. She was fully dressed, except for her gloves and the crowning glory of her Paris gown. Her hair was pinned up with glossy curls added, her chemise and petticoats’ silk swirled around her legs, and her mother’s diamonds shone in her hair.
She had to look her best at tonight’s banquet, her first as Mrs. Henry Lindsay at the Schuyler town house in Manhattan. Mrs. Grant would be there, and Mrs. Sherman as well. All the doyennes of Knickerbocker society had enthusiastically accepted Rosalind’s invitation. Mercifully, Viola would also be present.
All of this was to celebrate the initiation of Hal and Donovan into the Pericles Club, New York’s most ancient and prestigious private men’s club. It was traditional that the new members’ wives fêted the other members’ wives, while the men formally initiated their new fellows. And since President Grant and General Sherman would preside over the ceremonies, their wives would attend the ladies’ banquet, making this one of the most important social events of the year.
Her laces abruptly relaxed. “What on earth are you doing, Nellie?” Rosalind looked over her shoulder.
Her husband cocked an eyebrow at her as Cicero leaped on to the settee, under a Reynolds portrait of a velvet and feather-clad belle. “I’m not Nellie—and you can’t breathe when you’re laced that tightly. I prefer you to be gentler, with soft curves to fill my hand.”
He was dressed in all the glory of his full-dress naval uniform—pristine white shirt, crisp blue wool trousers, polished boots. He lacked only his uniform coat, with its gold braid, but his magnificent body, with all those delicious muscles, showed very clearly through his shirt and trousers.
Rosalind sighed in appreciation and lust, stronger now after a year of marriage. Her breasts firmed, rubbing uncomfortably, and excitingly, against the cage of her corset.
Then
she turned her face to the bed and closed her eyes. She had to be downstairs in a few minutes. Captain Lindsay was undoubtedly pacing the entrance hall, waiting for Hal. William and Viola had probably already joined him. The guests would start arriving any time now, building to the First Lady’s entrance.
“Hal,” she protested reluctantly, “it’s time to finish dressing. You need to leave with the Captain and William before the ladies arrive.”
His eyes twinkled. “Truly?”
He slipped his arms around her and kissed her cheek.
“Hal, please…” Her words sounded remarkably like a plea for more. She strengthened her voice. “You mustn’t disturb my clothes.”
That sounded more convincing, if unexciting.
He kissed her neck in that marvelous place he’d mapped so well. Rosalind gasped as fire danced down to her toes. Her hips wriggled.
“That’s my lady.” He licked her neck, and then set his teeth gently against the spot.
Rosalind shot up onto her toes as her core clenched. Her nipples were definitely trying to break through the corset now. His hands cupped her breasts and rubbed them through the corset’s fine silk. Rosalind quivered.
He played with her, circling and tugging on her nipples until she thought she’d go mad. She leaned her forehead against the cool mahogany and tried to think of something else. Anything else. The price of coal. The startling amount of champagne ordered for tonight’s banquet. Hal’s firm derrière…
He lifted her breasts out of their silk and steel prison. “Beautiful. Priceless. A man would die to hold such treasures.” He pulled them gently, each nipple entrapped between his fingers.
“Hal, I love you but…” Rosalind moaned. Her hips pulsed. Dew beaded between her legs.
He rubbed himself against her hip. His cock pulsed through her petticoats’ silk like the Cherokee Belle’s paddlewheel vibrating her decks.
Rosalind moaned again, and dew slipped down her thighs. She lifted her leg and tried to wrap it over his. He growled something and moved closer, sliding his leg between hers. His rough wool trousers rubbed her heated feminine folds through the fragile barrier of her petticoat. It wasn’t enough.
“Hal, please finish me,” Rosalind begged, uncaring whether her maid was within earshot.
He chuckled hoarsely and tossed up her petticoats.
Rosalind arched and spread her legs shamelessly as he entered her slowly, so slowly. His cock was a brand, stamping her from the inside out as his, only his. Fiery hot and slick, she could feel every elegant detail, from the fat beauty of his cockhead to the endearing ruffle his foreskin made when he was fully erect to…
Every detail? Something about that was significant. But she couldn’t manage to think clearly, not with him so deep and thick inside her.
A wave of love washed through her, so deep and strong it felt like the Missouri at full flood.
Rosalind arched her back and ground herself down onto his magnificent cock. “I love you, you big sailor.”
Hal laughed hoarsely. His hips surged forward, driving him deeper inside her. Her core pulsed eagerly.
He threw his head back and moaned, then began to propel himself in and out of her, steady and strong, like the pitman driving the Belle’s wheel around and around.
She gripped the bedpost and swayed against it as he took her urgently, harshly, desperately. Sparkles mounted through her veins and into her bones. She clenched around him with every stroke as her body grew hotter and hotter. Her skin was tight, almost too tight to hold the sensations and the heat building inside her.
And she sobbed his name, over and over, the only words that mattered in the world.
He howled. His seed erupted out of his cock and filled her. He jetted again and again, flooding every hidden crevice and fold with his heat and love. The deep pulses were too much for her to resist.
Rosalind screamed in pleasure and satisfaction as she flew apart. Ecstasy blazed through every bone and sinew, up her spine and into her toes. She shuddered with a pleasure too great to be borne as rapture’s great waves stormed her.
Afterward, she tried dazedly to recover her footing. Cream was flowing down her legs under her silk petticoats. She’d have to wash there before she went downstairs.
She really was remarkably wet, far more so than she’d ever been after a single ecstatic joining with Hal. Deep inside, she was also full of something moving around in her, as if it had its own currents to follow. Something different from what her own dew provided.
She spun around and stared at her husband. “I’m dripping!”
Hal glanced up and his mouth quirked. “I imagine so,” he answered mildly. He was standing by the washbasin, wiping down his cock with a fine linen hand towel. His very wet cock.
“Happy birthday, Rosalind,” he added as he began to button up his trousers.
Her jaw dropped open. “You tried to make me pregnant.” The implications were dazzling and totally unexpected. She managed to stammer a bit of logic. “But I thought you didn’t want children.”
“I realized I want to see you happy, more than I fear continuing the old pattern of heavy-handed paternity. I know we can raise happy children together, because you won’t turn your back if I try to beat them.”
She snorted. “You wouldn’t do that.” She limped over to him, stiffening her knees against the tremors still rocking them after his lovemaking.
He met her halfway and kissed her hands. “Perhaps. But you give me courage to try.” His great chest rose and fell. His hands trembled.
She reached up and kissed him gently, a pledge and a promise of happy times to come. “Promise me,” she whispered.
“Anything, my love.”
“You’ll do that again.”
“You have my word.”
Author’s Note
The Cherokee Belle, Spartan, Cherokee Star, U.S.S. St. Paul (City-class gunboat), and U.S.S. Anacostia (frigate) are entirely fictional, although based as closely as possible on real riverboats and Civil War-era gunboats. The Devil’s Rake existed as described, although I have changed its location slightly.
All characters, except President Grant, General Sherman, Commodore Vanderbilt, and William Worth Belknap, are also fictional creations. William Belknap, Secretary of War from 1869 to 1876, was impeached by the House of Representatives for accepting bribes, although he had already resigned under threat of impeachment. He was tried in the Senate but found not guilty because some senators felt they lacked jurisdiction, since he was no longer in office. The corruption described in this book is based on the evidence presented during his Senate trial.
Dan Allen’s establishment in Omaha existed, although I have described it and its staff to suit this story’s needs.
Many thanks to the staff of the Steamboat Arabia Museum in Kansas City, Missouri, the Kansas City Public Library, and the Douglas County Historical Society in Omaha, Nebraska for their willingness to share their towns’ histories. Special thanks to Bob, an education specialist at the Discovery Center, Kansas City’s Urban Conservation Campus, for vividly describing the Missouri River’s birds and fish as they were in 1872. And an extra big thank you to MSgt. Ani Stubbs, USAF, for describing the weather in 1872 Omaha.
My deepest thanks go to the passengers and crew of the Delta Queen, an historic paddlewheel steamer currently sailing America’s rivers. Whatever professionalism and pleasure portrayed onboard the Cherokee Belle is but a fraction of the warmth found at the Delta Queen.
All errors are strictly my doing. For a detailed description of my sources, please visit my website:
www.dianewhiteside.com
If you loved this Diane Whiteside book,
don’t miss her other books,
available from Brava!
Devilish temptation is just around the corner…
IRISH DEVIL
He was her only chance for survival…
Born to wealth and privilege, but now widowed and betrayed on the unforgiving Arizona frontier, Viola
Ross must choose between starvation and marriage—to her husband’s killer. Or take a scandalous risk and turn her back on polite society by becoming the mistress of William Donovan. With his reputation for ruthlessness and a piercing stare that can stop any man—or melt any woman—Donovan seems fully capable of defending her with his bullwhip and bowie knives. Not to mention what else he can do with those big, callused hands…
As desire flares between Donovan and Viola, a killer’s lust for Viola turns to deadly vengeance. For his allies are the very men who once destroyed Donovan’s family, and this time, they’ll let no Irish Devil stand in their way…
“What can I do for you, Mrs. Ross?” He kept his voice gentle, his California drawl soft against the muffled noises from outside.
She took a deep breath, drew herself up straight and tall, and launched into speech. “May I become your mistress, Mr. Donovan?”
“What?! What the devil are you talking about?” he choked, too stunned to watch his language. He knew his mouth was hanging open. “Are you making a joke, Mrs. Ross?”
“Hardly, Mr. Donovan.” She met his eyes directly, pulse pounding in her throat. “You may not have heard, but my business partner sold everything to Mr. Lennox.”
He nodded curtly. He must have been right before: she needed money. “I met Mr. and Mrs. Jones on their way out of town. I won’t be doing business with them again,” he added harshly.
“Quite so. But my only choices now are to marry Mr. Lennox or find another man to protect me. I’d rather be yours than an Apache’s.”
“Jesus, Mary, and Joseph,” William muttered as he stood and began to pace. Think, boyo, think. She deserves better than being your woman. Heat lanced from his heart down his spine at the thought of her in his arms every night. Marriage? No, she’d never agree to a Catholic ceremony. “There are other men, men who’d marry you,” he pointed out hoarsely.
“I will not remarry. Besides, Mr. Lennox blocked all offers other than his.”
The River Devil Page 35