To Love a Scoundrel (44 page)

Brent closed his eyes and shook his head. Still seeking the right words, he glanced back up at her and gently whispered, "I can't know your pain, Jewel, but I do recognize the good fortune in that fact. That's my point—you don't know how
good
it feels in here," he said, placing his palm on his heart, "when I think of the word 'family.' I had hoped to share some of those feelings with you."

Jewel stared at him a long moment, trapped by his intense gaze, locked in place by her own erratic heartbeat. Tears, more alkaline than acid, formed against the back of her eyes, and threatened to expose a part of herself she'd never before seen. Unprepared for what she might find, Jewel blinked back those tears and thrust the billiard ball toward the rail where Brent's fingers were draped. Then, her usually glib tongue unable to form the words "good-bye," she spun on her heel and stomped toward the door. When her hand touched the knob, Brent's voice reached her from across the room.

"Before you open that door," he cautioned, his voice heavy and grave. "I want you to understand one thing. I happen to love the woman you are. I love her very much. But know that if you walk out of this office now and proceed with your plans to destroy your father, a man I have embraced as family"—Brent hesitated a moment, making himself aware of the challenge in his next words—"if you can do that, don't bother to come back through that door."

Anger and fear collided, forming a huge knot in Jewel's throat at his final words. Not daring to face him, she let her hand remain poised above the doorknob as she asked in a strangled whisper, "You say you love me in one breath, then tell me not to return in the next. May I ask why not?"

"You may," he answered softly. "I love you, who you are today, Jewel. But I repeat: Family means everything to me. I could never love the woman you'll become if you find yourself capable of ruining Harry."

Those new, softer tears pressed forward, broke through the dam of her eyelids, and joined forces with the knot in her throat. In a blind rush, Jewel tore open the door and slammed out of the room—out of Brent's life.

Brent stared down at the eight ball in his hand, and snarled at the cruel white eye as he imagined it laughing up at him. Then he heaved the globe through his office window, splintering the glass in a parody of his own shattered heart.

* * *

The following day as the northbound train rattled its way through Mount Vernon, Illinois, Harry returned to the small compartment he shared with Jewel. He found her moping as she had been since they boarded the train in Memphis. She was staring out the window, looking at the landscape, but seeing nothing.

In an effort to boost her spirits, Harry plopped down on the plush hinged seat across from her and said, "I realize these accommodations are far from perfect, my darling, but tomorrow evening when we leave Chicago, I shall see to it that you travel in style. Princess? Did you hear me?"

At the mention of his newest pet name for her, Jewel looked away from the window and managed a wan smile. "I'm comfortable enough. You don't have to spend extra money for first-class accommodations on my account."

"Don't be silly, dear. Where do you think we'll find all the lords and kings you'll bewitch with your great wit and beauty—in steerage?"

Jewel chuckled, brightening in spite of her dark mood.

"That's better," Harry said, surprising even himself with the depth of emotion behind the words. "You're so very beautiful when you smile. I wish I'd had the chance to watch you grow. Were you a simply adorable little girl?''

Again in spite of herself, she laughed. "Are you kidding? With these freckles and this hair, which I should tell you was the color of a rusty mop bucket until I turned thirteen."

Enjoying another rare burst of laughter, Harry sighed, blissfully eager for more information on the daughter he was proud to call his own. "Tell me some more about yourself, dear. We've hardly had a chance to become acquainted. Given these cramped quarters, I'd say you've got my undivided attention for the next twenty-four hours."

"Oh, I'd rather not talk about my past, if you don't mind."

Harry leaned forward and took her hands in his. "Oh, but I do mind, Jewel darling. I've grown quite fond of you since learning your true identity, and I cannot seem to get enough information about your childhood. I've missed so much of your life." He released her hands and sat back, angry as he thought of all he'd been deprived of. "I still cannot believe your mother was selfish enough to keep this from me."

Finally able to believe that he was telling the truth, to accept that he'd had no knowledge of her birth, Jewel bit her lip and stared out at the rolling hills as the train chugged on by them.

Harry sat forward abruptly. "Goodness me. Jewel darling, perhaps Martha wasn't aware of you herself the last time we met. Isn't it just possible she couldn't tell me what she didn't yet know?"

The idea had occurred to Jewel more than once. She merely shrugged.

"When were you born, darling?" he asked, his eyes shining with excitement.

"On October 22, 1850, I'll be twenty-six this year."

Harry rolled his eyes toward the ceiling as he made his mental calculations. "Assuming you were not premature, that means you were..." He stopped just short of overstepping the bounds of good taste, and continued his addition in silence. Jewel had to have been conceived in late January or early February, he determined. But what had he been doing in the year 1850? Then it came to him.

"My goodness," he said, his eyes glazing with memories of another time, another life. "I think the odds are your mother had nothing to say to me but good-bye the last time we met. That was most definitely on Valentine's Day. She made some small heart-shaped cakes for us to share." Harry snapped back to the present and straightened his shoulders. "I know that's the correct date because I brought her a dozen red roses that night. I wanted to leave her with something special. Little did I know," he added, "that it would be you."

Jewel blushed and stared down at the white satin ruching on her skirt panel.

"Please don't be offended, princess," Harry apologized, again reaching for her hands. "I don't mean to be indelicate, but I had to make sure of the dates. I know the last time I saw Martha was on Valentine's Day because the following morning I cleaned out old Lemuel's safe and took off for New York."

This pulled a chuckle from Jewel. Returning her gaze to his again, she smiled and said, "I have to tell you, that hurt Grandfather more than anything you did to my mother. I think you could have bedded the entire household, Grandmama included, and he'd have forgiven you, but once you stole his precious money, you became the enemy."

"I know," Harry said, holding up one hand in submission. "I remember him quite well. Why do you think I never tried to see your mother again?"

"Because your job was done?" she ventured with a knowing grin.

Harry shrugged. "All right, you have me there, but perhaps you don't have a very clear picture of your mother. Even if she had known about you before I left, I doubt anything would have come from it. Had I proposed marriage—''

Jewel's sudden burst of laughter cut him off.

"All right," Harry grumbled, grinning at her insight. "On the off chance that I might have proposed, I do not believe she would have have married me, at least not if I insisted she move out of Lemuel's home and start a life away from him."

As she thought back to her days with her mother and remembered the blind devotion her mother had for Grandfather Flannery, Jewel recognized that there was probably a lot of truth in Harry's words. Suddenly uncomfortable with the conversation, with the thoughts it seduced from her mind, she shrugged it all off.

"There's really no point in all this conjecture. What's past is past, and no amount of scrutiny will change any of it."

"I'm aware of that, Jewel darling. I'm only trying to find out more about you, to become a significant part of your life, I suppose." Humbling himself, Harry did something he would never have done before he discovered this lovely link to his immortality. He begged. "Please, princess, I beseech you. I'll be happy for the rest of my life if you'll allow me into your life and give me a chance to become the kind of father you deserve."

Her throat swelled, and again Jewel had to look away. Why was he doing this? she wondered. What did he have to gain now? A daughter? Could she really have become that important to him in so short a period? Knowing she couldn't afford to think such thoughts, mentally or professionally, Jewel tried to raise the protective shield. Oddly enough, she remained vulnerable.

Interrupting her moment of silent introspection, Harry ventured forth, "Princess? If you doubt my sincerity, I want you to realize just how determined I am to become a man you'll be proud to call your father. As of this moment Handsome Harry Benton is officially retired."

Jewel snapped her around at this. "Retired? But—"

"I know," he interrupted, grinning. "I promised to teach you the business, but I'm afraid I must decline."

Jewel leaned forward in her seat. "But I don't understand. Why would you?"

"Please, darling. Try to look at it from my standpoint. I'm getting on in years, although I'm still as spry as a man half my age," he qualified, raising his chin a notch. "And frankly, in my profession, one never knows when one might be—how shall I say it?—incarcerated."

"Oh, holy hell." Jewel groaned as she collapsed against the back of her seat.

"You may be disappointed in my decision now," Harry went on, assuming he'd ruined her plans for fleecing all of Europe, "but one day you'll thank me. I couldn't bear the idea of you practicing such a dangerous profession, anyway. We'll both be much happier this way, and as I've said before, I have plenty of money to sustain us until you land some wealthy baron."

Jewel slowly shook her head and stared down at her fingernails. Why was all this happening to her? Why now? The next thing she knew, Harry would be telling her how much he loved her—
loved
her, for heaven's sake. All her life she'd looked for some kind of affection, for some sign of love from the few men in her life. The best she'd ever received was strained tolerance. Now she had Brent professing his love, however many qualifications he put on it. To top that off, she had Harry sitting across from her, the word "love" forming on his lips even as she stared at him. Why was she working so hard to push them both away? she suddenly wondered, struck by a bolt of insight. Why couldn't she just welcome honest affection?

Jewel's thoughts were abruptly interrupted as the train's wheels screamed an agonizing protest against the steel rails. Groaning, objecting mightily, the locomotive puffed and screeched to a sudden stop. The force crushed Jewel's shoulders and head back against the wall. Harry, off balance and caught by surprise, was catapulted across the small compartment and smashed against the opposite wall.

Stunned, the breath knocked out of her, Jewel remained pressed against the wall for a long moment before she was able to lean forward and try to make sense of it all. She glanced at Harry and gasped. He was sprawled half on her seat and half off, his headed wedged against the corner farthest from her. A crimson puddle was beginning to form just above his right ear.

Movement caught her eye, and Jewel swiveled back toward the window. Three horsemen galloped on by, a fourth following along behind. As the last rider neared, Jewel could make out the sinister features of Jesse James. When he rode past her window, he seemed to grin at her. Then he moved beyond her field of vision.

Shocked into action, Jewel hiked up her skirts and reached for the pistol she kept strapped to her leg. Then she jumped to her feet, intending to race through the train to the baggage compartment. But her eye caught Harry's form as she was about to step over his legs.

Jewel gasped in horror, as she reached for the door handle. The puddle had grown to a small scarlet lake.

Chapter 21

"Oh, my God," Jewel cried. "Dad?"

But Harry didn't answer or move a muscle. With only a halfhearted glance toward the compartment door, Jewel tossed the pistol on the seat and dropped to her knees.

"Dad," she whispered, her voice taut. "Can you hear me? Wake up."

She stroked the top of his head with one hand and pressed the other to the hollow of his throat. Chewing on her bottom lip, Jewel sought the vibrations of life, but her panic urged her fingers upward before she was able to find even an irregular heartbeat. She raised his eyelid, then recoiled at his blank stare.