Morning Song (35 page)

The last was a sibilant hiss.

"No, I . . ." For once in his life Clive was fumbling for words. But Luce, getting into the spirit of things, answered for him. Clive winced.

"Stuart Edwards? Wasn't that the name of that thief you killed?

Oh, did you ever get your money back?"

304

"You cheating—lying—fornicating—bastard." Jessie wasn't even shouting. Her fists were clenched at her sides, her eyes blazed fury at him, but her voice was scarcely louder than a whisper for all it flailed him with the stinging lash of a whip. The room had gone completely silent as one pair of eyes after another had become aware of the diversion going on in their midst. Neither Jessie nor Clive noticed that they had a large, and fascinated, audience. Luce did, but being the center of attention had never bothered her.

"You lied to us all from the beginning! Everyone— Celia—

Miss Flora and Miss Laurel—and me!" "Jessie. I know it sounds bad, but—"
"Sounds
bad!" She laughed then, a high, hysterical titter that alarmed Clive. She looked on the verge of hysterics, with her eyes grown black as coals and glittering in that paperwhite face, and her neck stretched high above tense shoulders so that the cords in it stood out visibly. Memories of other hysterical women he had seen, hooting in grating peals of laughter before dissolving into mindless shrieks, caused the hairs on the back of Clive's neck to rise. He had to get Jessie out of here, get her someplace where he could talk to her, force her if need be to listen to reason. What he'd done sounded bad, he agreed, but once he'd explained it all, surely she'd see that it wasn't nearly as terrible as it sounded. He hoped.

"I can explain," he said again, feebly. And again she laughed. There was nothing for it but to take her back to their cabin, sit her down on the bed, and spell things out for her. He was pretty sure that what was making her so mad was the fear that, if he had lied about everything else, he had lied about loving her, too. Even if nothing much else he'd told her was, that particular statement was the truth.

305

"Come on, Jessie. We need to talk," he said, hoping to head off her impending explosion with his own calm reasonableness, and took her arm again.

Jessie looked down at his large bronzed hand on her bare white skin as if it were a copperhead ready to bite her.

"Don't you ever," she said distinctly as she jerked her arm free of his touch, "lay a hand on me again."

Then she turned on her heel and started toward the door. A wild chorus of cheers and clapping broke out amongst the onlookers to mark her progress. If Jessie heard them, she ignored them magnificently, sweeping toward the door with as much stateliness as a queen. For the first time noticing his audience more than vaguely, Clive felt the urge to preserve as much of his masculine dignity as he could. Taking care that Jessie didn't see, he shrugged as if to say, "Women!" and followed her toward the door.

She had almost reached it, and he had almost caught up with her, when she suddenly turned on him. Her eyes blazed with fury, and her body quivered with it. She was so angry that even her hair seemed to throw off sparks.

"You lowlife scum," she hissed through clenched teeth. Then, before Clive had the least inkling as to what she was about, she drew back one clenched fist and launched a roundhouse punch that caught him squarely on his unsuspecting nose.

It was a punch worthy of a champion. Clive howled and staggered a pace backward, his hand flying to his injured nose, which felt as if it might be broken. When he took his hand away, he saw to his disbelief that his fingers were covered in blood. Jessie had already turned her back on him and sailed out the door. The onlookers were shouting with laughter, hooting at him 306

and bombarding him with snippets of mostly obscene advice that he didn't even register. Luce laughed, too, although she tried not to show it as she hurried to his aid. With a shake of his head and a swipe at his bleeding nose, Clive shrugged aside her offer of assistance. He had more important things to worry about at the moment than a bloody nose, such as shaking some much-needed sense into Jessie.

In hitting him, Clive realized, Jessie had really done him a favor. He was no longer quite the cringing penitent he'd been just moments before. His own temper was starting to heat. He'd be damned if he would put up with much more in the way of abuse from a wet-behind-the-ears snip of a girl!

As he stalked out the door in Jessie's wake, he caught one final contribution to the general hilarity.

"Round one to the lady!" some wag cackled. Clive gritted his teeth. Somewhere, he knew, the gods were laughing again. He could almost hear their raucous chuckles at his expense.

XLI

Jessie slammed the door to her cabin, turned the key in the lock, and leaned against it, still in shock. Rage bubbled like boiling liquid in her veins, but overriding that and every other emotion was sheer, quivering disbelief. The man she had loved had never even existed. Stuart Edwards was no more than a role Clive McClintock had assumed to gain control of Mimosa. And Clive McClintock was a slimy, low-down confidence man whose 307

business it was to take advantage of everyone with whom he came into contact, including herself.

In short, she'd been had, in more ways than one.

A brisk rap made her jump away from the door and turn to survey it as if it had suddenly come alive and tried to bite her.

"Jessie. Let me in."

How dared he even foul her name with his mouth! Jessie glared at that closed panel as if her eyes could bore right through it and stab him.

"Jessie. Open the door. Please."

Hah! It was all she could do not to say it aloud, but she refused to give him the satisfaction of exchanging so much as another word with her. She was going home, home to Mimosa and people who were what they seemed whether they all loved her or not, as soon as the blasted boat touched dry land again. As for him—Jessie would take great pleasure in trumpeting his infamy to the skies! If he ever dared to show his face in the Yazoo Valley again, he'd be lucky not to be run out of there on a rail!

"Jessie. I mean it. Unlock this door!"

So he thought he could still give her orders and have her obey, eh? Was he in for a shock! The man she obeyed was the man she had looked up to with sickening adoration, and that man was not Clive McClintock, curse the name!

"Jessica!" The knob rattled. A sneer curled Jessie's lip.

"Damn it, Jess!" The knob rattled again. "If you don't open this damned door right now, I'll break it down!

His voice was getting progressively angrier. So Clive McClintock was upset that his little game had been disclosed before he was quite done playing, was he? Jessie wondered what his next step would have been. After seducing and ruining her, 308

would he have abandoned her somewhere and gone back to Mimosa to play at being Stuart Edwards until it no longer suited him? Or had he looted the plantation of its operating cash and the profit from the cotton before leaving, intending all along not to go back, but rather to live high on the hog on Mimosa's money until he could locate another victim?

There was a thud, and the door shook as if he'd thrown his shoulder against it. Eyes widening, Jessie took another step backward as she realized that he truly meant to break down the door. On the third try the lock broke and the door crashed back on its hinges, leaving Clive McClintock looming large and threatening in the frame. For just a moment he was a darker shape against the gathering night beyond, and then he was strolling almost casually into the cabin. Annoyingly, he didn't even seem out of breath.

"Get out of here!" Jessie hissed at him. He didn't so much as look at her as he gently closed the damaged door behind him. With its lock broken, it immediately swung open again. Crossing the room with a purposeful stride that made Jessie jump out of his way, he picked up the chair that was his objective and set it beneath the knob, this time effectively closing the door. "Get out of here or I'll scream!" "I wouldn't do that if I were you." There was the slightest edge to his voice.

"I will! I'll scream! I'll scream so loud that they'll hear me clear up to the bridge!"

"If you even try it, I'll gag you and tie you up and sit you down and
make
you listen to me. If you don't believe me, just let out a yell."

309

Oddly, the very levelness of his voice was convincing. Jessie was left with no doubt that the swine would really do as he'd threatened if she screamed. So, prudently, she did not.

"Sit down." It was an order, not an invitation. When Jessie continued to stand where she was, silently defying him, he took a step toward her. The cabin was dark, and she could see no more of him than a large, menacing shadow. It occurred to Jessie suddenly that she did not know this man at all. This was not Stuart Edwards, whom she loved. This was Clive McClintock.

"I said sit down!" The words cracked like a whip. Jessie was standing near the end of the bunk, upon which she abruptly sat.

"Very wise.'

He crossed the cabin to where the lamp hung from a center beam. There was the click of flint on steel, and then the lamp was lit. Its warm glow flickered and gradually grew, illuminating the cabin. Jessie sat as he had ordered, warily watching his broad back as he crossed to pull the curtains over the porthole and thus shut out the night.

"If you run out that door, I'll catch you within three steps." Either ne had eyes in the back of his head or he knew precisely how her mind worked. Guessing that it was the latter, Jessie regarded the back of his head with renewed rage. She had indeed been on the verge of bolting for it. But, as he threatened, he'd have her back within seconds. Even if she did manage to get away from him for a while, he would track her down. On a steamboat the size of the
River Queen,
there was nowhere to go. Then he turned to face her. Jessie gasped as she saw the mess she'd made of his beautiful face.

Blood was smeared around his mouth and over his cheeks, and his nose was already slightly swollen from the blow she'd landed. 310

More blood oozed from his nostrils. As Jessie stared, just a little appalled at her own handiwork despite the fact that he'd mightily deserved what he'd gotten, he moved over to the washstand, dipped a cloth into the water that remained in the basin, and held it to his nose. Looking at him, Jessie felt a quiver of trepidation. What would he do to her in revenge? Never had she thought to physically fear him—but again she reminded herself that he was not the man she thought she knew.

But then her gaze lifted. Above that damaged nose were the clear blue eyes and black hair of the man she'd loved. Lying, cheating scum or not, Jessie suddenly wasn't afraid of him anymore.

"I hope it hurts." She meant it, too.

"It does, thank you very much."

"You deserved it, and more."

"If I didn't agree with you, I'd have paddled your backside by now."

"If you lay one hand on me ..."

He sighed, and shifted the cloth beneath his nose. "Don't threaten me, Jess. If you'll just let me explain, you'll see that this whole unfortunate situation is nothing more than a—

misunderstanding."

"Some misunderstanding!" She snorted. "I suppose you're going to try to tell me that you introduced yourself as Clive McClintock, and we, poor backward fools that we were, somehow misunderstood you to say Stuart Edwards?" He eyed her in a way that told her that her sarcasm was not appreciated.

"I love you, you know. Whatever you may think, I wasn't lying about that."

311

"Oh, I believe you." Clearly, from her tone, she did not. He removed the cloth from beneath his nose, which had apparently stopped bleeding, and turned Id the mirror over the washstand to wipe the blood-stains from his face. There wasn't much he could do about the stains on his shirt. He swiped at them with the cloth, with no perceptible result. Grimacing, he decided to let them be.

Turning back to her, he crossed to the bunk and stood in front of her. Fists resting lightly on his hips, he looked down at her with a considering expression. Jessie had to tilt her head way back to see his face, and immediately felt at a disadvantage. Still, if she got to her feet she would be practically in his arms, the very idea of which she could no longer abide. So she stayed where she was.

"I'm still the same man I was an hour ago. I haven't changed, except for my name. Wasn't it Shakespeare who said that a rose by any other name would smell as sweet?" There was a coaxing note to that last. If he was trying to be funny, the effort fell dismally flat.

"Or stink as bad," Jessie replied tartly, and crossed her arms over her chest as if to erect a symbolic barrier against him.

"I was going to tell you."

"Oh, yes?" Jessie inquired politely. "When? It seems to me that you passed up several excellent opportunities—such as before you seduced me."

"I did not seduce you," he said, sounding nettled. "Damn it, Jessie, I fell in love with you. And you fell in love with me. Me, not Stuart Edwards. Me."

"I don't even know you. Clive McClintock and I have never met."

312

"You're determined to be difficult about this, aren't you?"

"I suppose I must be. It's contrary of me, I know, but I find it hard to overlook the fact that everything you've ever told me is a lie."

"Not everything."

"You'll have to pardon me if I don't believe you."

"You want the truth? I'll give you the truth. I'm a gambler, and I used to work the riverboats up and down the Mississippi. One night I won big, enough to set me up for life if I was careful with the money. But it was late at night, and I had to keep my winnings with me until morning. Two men broke into my cabin that night, stole the money I had won, and put a knife through my hand. I chased them and killed one—the real Stuart Edwards—

but the other got away with my money. Then I found out that my hand—I'd never be able to make a living as a professional gambler again. Too much damage."

"So you decided you'd pretend to be someone respectable—I assume that Stuart Edwards really was Miss Flora and Miss Laurel's nephew? You didn't lie about that, too? No?—and see if you couldn't rob people just like you were robbed, only in a slightly more genteel way."