Her Wicked Captain: The River Rogues, Book 1 (4 page)

The mercantile’s door opened with the glint of sunlight on the glass. Dell Samuels stepped out and her eyes met his. Perhaps he just imagined it, but he might’ve seen a flash of worry in her expression as she stood in the open doorway. Worry for what? She had no idea the plans he’d begun to lay for her.

They stood trapped with tangled gazes for several seconds, and then Rory gave her a deep bow. She scowled in return.

Yes. Better and better.

Chapter Six

Rory snatched a glass from Trap’s hand as the burly Irishman lifted it to his lips, sloshing its contents to the freshly swept boards of the barn. He leaned in to speak in his ear over the sound of the fiddles. “Just because it’s here, doesn’t mean you’re to drink it all. What would your wife say? The dance has only just begun and you’re on your—what? Third drink?”

“Fourth, but who’s countin’?” His eyes glittered, as they always did when he’d had a few. That along with his spiky copper hair reminded Rory of a giant-sized leprechaun.

“Me. Your captain. I need you sharp. You’re my eyes and ears.”

“I’ve danced with three women already. It’s a small settlement with no gambling and nothin’ to keep me entertained. There aren’t many ladies here to begin with and even less wot knows more than a reel.”

“So bring them the liquor. I never said you had to dance.” Rory watched as a farmer and his wife thundered across the floor, swinging close enough to where he and Trap stood that he could feel the wind off the lady’s whirling petticoats.

He scanned the crowd. Dozens of people had packed into the barn after the rain began. The double doors were left open, and drainage fell off the roof outside. People poured into the building, lured by music, he supposed, and the offer of free refreshment. Unfortunately, the one person he needed to be there hadn’t shown. Nor did he expect her.

Rory took a swig from Trap’s cup, ignoring Trap’s whimper of protest. The whiskey burned down his throat, awakening his senses. He thrust the empty cup back into his friend’s hand. “Keep chatting with the girls. I haven’t checked on Asa in a while. I’ll be back.”

He threaded through the sea of people encircling the dance floor and slipped out the back door. A wooden ladder led up to the loft where his young charge lay.

The boy’s pallet since their arrival in the backwoods town was a thin layer of blankets on straw, but surely a better environment for the twelve-year-old’s illness than a steamboat sitting crooked in the middle of a river. He found Asa now sitting up, watching the dance floor from his vantage point. The boy’s pale face glowed in the light from the lanterns below as Rory sat beside him. With a blanket wrapped around his narrow shoulders, he looked a bit healthier than he had in the earlier part of their trip up the White from the Mississippi.

“You should be resting. Did you take your medicine?”

“Yes, mother.” Asa grinned.

Rory lifted his hand to give him a playful punch, then let it drop. He’d done a good share of prizefighting for Moreaux and often had to check himself, easily overpowering his weaker opponents. A good clap on the shoulder even might send the frail boy flying off his roost. He settled for a fake jab instead, avoiding touching the boy altogether as Asa preferred it so. Having been taken from the orphanage by Moreaux as a toddler, Asa had never known the arms of a parent. Just like himself. Now the boy spent more time in death’s embrace, fighting chronic malaria when it returned.

“Is the lady here? Quintus’s daughter?”

Rory’s stomach turned, hearing his boss’s name spoken with such trust and familiarity. He bit the inside of his cheek to keep from objecting. Every day the struggle grew harder and he felt more impotent. All his crew—hell, the whole world should know the depths of Moreaux’s depravity. But Rory couldn’t say a damned thing or else they would know of the tarnish on Rory’s soul, as well.

He straightened the wrinkles from the sleeves of his black suit, and felt the angry burn of the whiskey in his gut. “She’s not Moreaux’s daughter. She was his wife’s daughter, and no, unfortunately, she’s not.”

“I don’t know why you don’t just throw a burlap sack over her head and kidnap her like a real pirate. Quintus used to know pirates who kidnapped people for real.”

Quintus
is
a pirate.
“I think Dr. Sappington’s cure has made you batty—real men don’t kidnap ladies.” He was loath to admit it, but the idea had crept into his mind the past few hours. When faced with the possibility of returning to Moreaux empty-handed, abduction seemed the lesser sin.

Ennui brought out the greatest cruelty in his boss—especially toward the weak like Asa.

Rory only needed the woman’s influence for a few short weeks—long enough to coax Moreaux into a high-stakes game with Wainwright. It was just a small imposition on her time when compared to the help it would bring.

If her presence on the Moreaux steamboats were to cause anyone grief, it would be Rory. Didn’t he have enough trouble keeping the men in line, the boys safe and the Monster from killing more gamblers? A woman—a tempting one at that—in close quarters with a man lacking morals like himself might test his resilience.

He should be relieved Dell hadn’t accepted his invitation to the dance, but he wasn’t.

Movement in the doorway caught Rory’s attention. New faces entered the barn. Samuels, his wife, his two children, the gold miner…and Dell.

“Ah, there you see.” Rory climbed to his feet, feeling the grin tugging his lips with more satisfaction than he felt after a good night of cards. “Real men let the ladies come to them.”

Dell hung behind Ephraim, watching as he approached her neighbors for a handshake. She felt no sympathy for him when the other men ignored him. A few greeted him tentatively—wealth had that effect, she supposed. Meanwhile, she caught the scowls of the wives, and surprisingly, even a few men. For what? Attending their stupid dance? For wearing her hair down? She’d tamed it with curls and tied it back, looking as white as she could. Maybe their disdain was because she told fortunes. They sure as hell liked her enough when they needed something found. Or perhaps it was just the fact that she’d walked into the festivities with one of the most-loathed residents of Posey Hollow.

Her family disappeared into the loud, churning fray of the dance, leaving her alone with Ephraim. Her association with the widower was unfortunate, but couldn’t be helped. Tonight she needed to make sure he was good and liquored-up, then she could give him the card-reading of his life after he escorted her home.

“Would you care to dance, Miss Philadelphia?” He’d finished making his greetings. His watery eyes moved over her before drifting over her head to scan the crowd once again.

She supposed she ought to be thankful his attention was diverted to making a good impression on the people who scorned him, but tonight she needed him completely focused on her. Then, once she got him soundly foxed and under her full control, he’d leave town at her warning. All it took was the right fortune. Heck, with enough whiskey, he’d paint himself red, white and blue and run through the assembly naked if she said it would save his ass.

Dance with him? The horrors! “I’d rather have a drink. Wouldn’t you?”

Ephraim smiled in answer, exposing the gaps in his teeth, and excused himself, leaving in search of the night’s refreshments—and the only alcohol to be had in town that night.

Dell stood on tiptoes to see the faces of those standing in a circle around the dance floor. She told herself she wasn’t looking for the sandy hair of the steamboat captain among the new men and boys, but disappointment pulled her mood lower. None of the packet’s crew looked familiar. More than once, she saw a pointed finger lift in her direction as couples leaned heads together to gossip. She held back a flood of anger and hurt. The talk would end soon enough when the gold miner was gone, and she could return to trying to earn enough money to leave.

“Looking for someone I know?”

She startled, spinning around to find the source of the sexy voice that made her stomach dip.

Right behind her in the crush of the crowd, Rory stood so near that the leg of his dress pants brushed her skirt. So close, in fact, she craned her neck to look up at him, standing a good foot taller than she. His mouth quirked in a wry grin, his emerald eyes alight. Her body gave a sudden flutter. Anger at his amusement? Or something more frustrating? Attraction.

“Not at all, Captain. Just getting a good look at your crew. They seem to be enjoying themselves.”

His humor faded as he scanned the crowd, spurred by her words. One redheaded fellow in particular—Trap, maybe—seemed to be drawing a crowd of girls, including Sarah.

Rory tugged at his cravat. “I’m delighted you changed your mind about coming.”

“I didn’t. I’m here with my family and a patron. I’m doing a card-reading later, otherwise I wouldn’t have.”

“Then the good fortune is all mine for sharing the pleasure of your company.” His hand cupped her elbow gently, guiding her a step closer to him to avoid a teenage couple headed to the dance floor. She tingled beneath his touch. “Your patron is a lucky man…or woman. I’d like nothing more than to see you in action.”

Heat fanned up her neck at his words spoken in a low teasing voice. She studied his face, exposed by the neat lay of his hair swept back for the dance. Fine lines spread beneath his eyes, his golden skin and tawny hair—effects of a life spent on open decks. Rory had grown into a striking man and dressed in fine clothing meant to accentuate his looks.

He should be dancing, not talking to the likes of her. He’d singled her out again, but she knew no reason why he should.

Hellfire! Why couldn’t she read him?

“Yesterday, when you saw me outside, I was speaking with your uncle and your aunt—I believe she was Eleanor’s sister?” His fingers tightened slightly on her elbow, and Dell wondered if he even realized he was still holding her. If only she could ignore his touch as easily. “Your aunt said you were betrothed. I suppose I should offer my congratulations.”

Dell shook her head vigorously. “They’re mistaken. I’m not. I would never marry him.”

His grip loosened. “How unfortunate for the gentleman.” Thunder boomed overhead, causing a few youngsters in the room to gasp, but the fiddlers continued on, playing louder. Rory leaned to her ear to continue their conversation. “Dell, I must be frank. This weather…the river will be rising soon, if it hasn’t already, and we’ll be on our way back to Memphis. I’m sure you’ll find it no surprise your stepfather never quit searching for your mother. She was the greatest…loss he’s ever suffered.”

His words, spoken with seriousness, seemed planned and measured. Was this the part where he threatened to expose her unless…unless what? Dell glanced around, hoping no one would overhear. “I don’t understand.”

“If you were to come back with us, leaving this place, I know my employer would welcome you as a daughter.”

His cheek hovered inches from hers, and the spicy scent of him confused her.

She blinked rapidly to clear her head. “Not a chance. How could I believe that? If he’d wanted us—or me—my mother wouldn’t have left him.”

Rory leaned back, studying her face. “Are you so sure of your mother’s motives? You were just a small child. I believe Moreaux wishes to make amends. He’s growing older. He has no family of his own. I’ve no doubt he’d make sure you lived comfortably.” He grunted. “Certainly more comfortable than in a dog-trot house making moonshine.”

Of all the arrogant—

Backing up, Dell tugged her elbow free from his hand. “As I told you before, I don’t plan on staying here forever, and I don’t need anything from a man like Quintus Moreaux.”

Rory’s jaw tightened. She could see him thinking, studying her as if she were a problem to be solved. Why?

He glanced over the top of her head, and his mouth curved at whatever he saw. He tweaked one of her curls. “You really should leave your bonnet at home more often. I’m not going to let it be said I allowed the most beautiful woman in the room to stand here talking. Come dance with me, Philadelphia.”

He caught her hand, but she stood her ground. “I am not interested in dancing, Captain.”

He chuckled, adjusting his hold on her hand. Tingles from the contact spread up her arm. “What are you afraid of? You used to dance jigs on the wharf to old Pierre’s fiddle with everyone to see.” His fingers linked with hers as he pulled her a step closer to the dancing.

That wasn’t her. Surely. She had no recollection of it, anyway, or of anyone named Pierre.

Had she been happy once, living on the Mississippi? All she remembered now was fear, powerful and constant. But maybe that had been because of her mother’s illness.

She could feel the warmth of Rory’s body. His pull on her hand compelled her along with the invitation in his bright green eyes. In his company, she was always the envy of the other girls. He’d been witty, clever, kind. Dancing with him now promised to be the most exhilarating moment in her dreary life. A few minutes in his arms—

“Damn the Millers to hell!” A man’s voice rose above the festivities.

One of the fiddlers stopped playing while the others continued. Several heads turned toward the double doors.

“They got no right!” Ephraim shoved a farmer out of his way and stormed out into the rain.

A handful of men trailed after him, throwing on hats and coats as they went. Uncle Reuben wove through the crowd toward Dell. Rory released her hand when he reached them.

“What’s going on?” she demanded, noting her uncle’s reddened face.

“Ephraim’s slave. The Miller boys have him.”

“Jeremiah? Why?” Alarm zipped through her.

He grabbed her arm in a grip hard enough to bruise. “C’mon. This is your doin.’ You need to be a witness.” He dragged her toward the exit.

“Miss Samuels?” Rory called.

She had no time to answer him, catching his frown before she turned away. She struggled to keep up with the long strides of her uncle. “What about Jeremiah?”

Once they emerged from the noisy building into the rain, he stopped and yanked her around to face him. Rain splattered on his cheekbones, drawn tight with anger.

He lowered his voice. “Mrs. Sharpe said you and the darky hid together behind the clothes rack at the mercantile, twice, and God knows what else you did. I know better than to ask you for the truth, so don’t even try to explain.”

Dell gasped. She’d been the one pulling Jeremiah away from eyes to see and gossips to overhear. She hadn’t stopped to consider…

His lip curled with disgust. “So now they got him outside, waiting on me and Ephraim so we can whip him for messin’ with a…”