Her Wicked Captain: The River Rogues, Book 1 (11 page)

She curled her fingers in his hair again and kissed his rough cheek. “Touch me,” she commanded. Still in control.

“Christ,” he muttered, and excitement shot through her. His fingers went to the shell buttons of her dress. Her breasts strained against the tight material as he finished opening the ripped bodice with unsteady movements. Without a corset, her breasts spilled out and he caught them, one in each hand. Rough but tender, his fingers stroked across her globes, passed over her nipples. He wrapped an anchoring arm around her and lifted his head to pull one nipple into his mouth.

The damp heat of his mouth made her thoughts, or what was left of them, scatter. She sank her fingers into his hair and held him to her as his tongue made robust circles around her taut nubs. His teeth chaffed her, teased her, but his tongue was there each time, chasing pain with pleasure. She ached. She died. His mouth was pure heaven.

In the swirling mist of desire and passion, she heard a voice whisper, “Who’s in control now?” but she couldn’t be certain who’d said it, or even if had been spoken at all.

His head moved between her breasts, and the scruff of his chin scraped along her skin, bringing new sensations, new wonder. She traced the bones of his face, wanting his lips against hers again.

The doorknob rattled. Dell turned at the sound. The whole door shook as a fist pounded against it outside.

Rory clutched his forehead, swearing under his breath.

She slid off him and pulled her bodice together with shaking hands. To be found like this…

“Dell, don’t worry.” He reached for her.

“Cap’n?” Zeb. Dell recognized the craggy pitch of the old pilot behind the door. “Look out. He’s on his way.” His boots retreated and they were alone again.

Dell was certain Zeb meant Moreaux. Her stepfather couldn’t find Rory and her like this.

She had the first button fastened. Pushing one of her breasts into the garment, she started on the next. Rory scooted close and kissed her cheek. “No one here cares. It’s actually expected.” He lifted her chin on his fingers and held her gaze. “It’s okay. He wants you to be here. I’m sure of it.”

Dell pulled away, shielding her breasts with her hands. A horrifying realization washed over her. “Rory, did you bring me here to impress your boss?”

He tilted his head, considering. “No, but it couldn’t hurt.”

Dell scrambled off the bed and gave him her back. She fumbled another button closed, determined not to let him see her any longer. Now her hands shook with anger, rather than alarm. Her eyes sought and found her rifle against the wall.

She should shoot Rory Campbell!

“Philadelphia, you don’t understand.” He was behind her. His hands fell on her waist.

She turned around and shoved his chest. “Why are you so eager to please him? The more I see of him and his influence, the more I’m convinced I don’t even want to give him the time of day, and he’s my…was my mother’s husband!”

His fingers sank into her hair, kneading it as he stared deeply into her eyes. “It’s complicated. I can’t just fold. There are things to account for. Just trust me. I meant what I promised.” His voice had gone to honey, attempting to soothe her.

Not a lie. At least not that she could see. The telltale signs of perfidy were absent, his mind and thoughts hidden behind the dark veil of his eyes. His body’s response to her certainly hadn’t been a sham.

The brass hardware of the door rattled. They turned as Quintus Moreaux crossed the threshold. His face was scarlet with anger, but his scowl smoothed as he took in Dell.

With another three buttons left to close, she gripped the edges of her bodice together to hide her bosom.

His black eyes flicked to Rory. “Licking your wounds, I see.” Then to Dell, he indicated the door. “Leave us.”

She broke from Rory’s hands, ready to comply, then stopped. He wasn’t her boss—not really, anyway. “No. This might be your boat, but you could at least knock.”

Moreaux surveyed her with undisguised disgust. “So my captain has found another use for his charlatan. You want to stay? So be it. I’ll have a man send your things here to Campbell’s quarters. If today’s disgrace was any indication of the captain’s future—as you ought to know—he’ll be dead soon. I wouldn’t get too comfortable in his bed, my dear.”

Rory moved around Dell, stalking closer to Moreaux, and his hands in fists at his sides. “Haven’t I any say in the matter?”

“Oh!” Moreaux covered his mouth, feigning shock. “I forgot. You sleep alone. Ah well, at least this will give you both plenty of time together to determine our opponents’ weaknesses.”

He slithered toward the door, his hand trailing across the captain’s furniture. “And Campbell?” He glanced over his shoulder as he stepped outside. “I’ve not wasted years of my life training you to be someone else’s target practice. The next time you walk twenty paces in my stead, either you or your opponent leaves in a pine box. Understood?”

Without waiting for a response, he left, and Dell watched his long shadow disappear before rounding on Rory. “I’m not staying here with you!”

Rory stood with arms akimbo, frowning as he stared at the ground. “I told you so. He means to control you through me.”

“Well, he can try, but I’m not sharing your quarters. You’ve got dozens of cabins. I’d rather sleep on the passenger deck. There’s no reason I should have to—”

“I don’t like it either, but the man won’t be gainsaid. Never has, never will.”

“The hell with that!” Dell swept around him and grabbed her rifle. “Let him make me leave my room.”

“Dell.” Rory caught her at the door and spun her to face him. His frown was gone, replaced by a roguish smile. “I’m sure you’re wonderful with that, but you have to trust me.”

She pushed the barrel of the gun beneath his chin. “Trust you? You’ve already broken your promise. You said you wouldn’t make me do anything I didn’t want to.”

The light behind his smile faded as her words seemed to sink in. She pushed the gun into his hands and marched away, certain she’d become everything her mama had died trying to prevent.

Chapter Fourteen

En route to St. Louis the next morning, Rory thundered down the stairwell along the narrow passageway. Instead of wasting time or breath, he combed the crowded passenger deck with an eye to the ground, scanning the line of blankets and sleeping strangers for the shapely body and dark hair of Philadelphia. He then flew back upstairs, inwardly cursing.

He had only himself to blame. He should’ve stayed in his stateroom yesterday and made sure she’d gotten settled. If he’d only swallowed his pride and shared his bed, the possibilities would’ve been infinitely better than the alternative he’d chosen—spending the night in another deck chair.

After he’d exhausted his search of the final deck, there were only two other possible places left that she could be and neither boded well for his state of mind—Moreaux’s stateroom or the men’s quarters. Rory trusted his crew without question, but the boss’s cutthroats were capable of anything. He recalled the gleam in their eyes the moment Dell had boarded the
Queen
and he’d watched the mongrels salivating over her as if she were a piece of meat.

He rubbed his sore neck as he rounded on the door to the crew’s barracks, then banged on the door with the book in his hand. Damn Edmond Dantes too.
The Count of Monte Cristo
hadn’t even remotely held his interest last night, not after yesterday when he’d held the beautiful fortuneteller in his arms. Now all he saw when he stared at the book’s pages were Dell’s warm brown eyes and soft golden skin. Instead of his usual nightmares when he’d finally dozed off, his dreams had been full of the woman—her lips on his, her exquisite breasts in his hands, and her narrow hips straddled above him. She’d been a petite Boudicca, reigning dominion over him, and he would’ve easily submitted to her rule.

In a burst of fury, he raised his book, meaning to pitch it over the side into the
Queen
’s wake when he heard the door open.

“Don’t!” He wheeled around at the sound of Dell’s cry. She stood in the doorway with Asa behind her. Snatching the book out of his hand, she scowled. “What are you doing? There aren’t enough books on this boat as it is.”

Rory surveyed her. Not a hair seemed out of place lying pinned and styled neatly on her shoulder, and although she was back in her shapeless gray frock, she looked prim and composed. Delectable.

He’d had his choice of women in every port, but now that he’d had a taste of the charming minx, he was desperate for more.

“Where in the blazes have you been?” he bellowed. His lack of sexual fulfillment along with another poor night’s rest made him cross, giving a new edge to his voice.

Dell exchanged a look of bewilderment with Asa, who stepped out into the sunlight with them.

Rory took a cleansing breath and exhaled slowly, restoring his voice to normalcy. “I’ve been looking everywhere for you. After your threats yesterday, I was beginning to think you’d confronted Moreaux after all and got yourself dropped on a sandbar.”

“Would he do that?” Her brows lifted.

Asa answered her, “Oh yes. The last time was three months ago.” He crossed his arms over his chest, in a gesture that made him seem more mature while wearing his vest and tie. “We caught a poker player using a second deck.”

Dell bit her lip as if she had something to say to him but thought better of it. Her dark eyes lifted to Rory again. “Asa invited me to breakfast, but first he wanted to show me the contraption he’s made.”

“Which one would that be? The dealer’s box or the painting device?”

Asa rolled his eyes. “Anyone can make a dealer’s box. I’ve finally finished the painter. Quintus wants you to use it tonight.”

“We were just trying it out.” Dell regarded Asa with a fond smile. “The design it makes is so tiny and perfect, you’d need a magnifying glass to see its mark if you didn’t know it was there.”

The boy extended his hand and opened his palm to Rory, showing him the silver ring. Seemingly normal in every way, the object was decorated with an elaborate dragon insignia. A monster for The Monster. Rory accepted the ring and slid it on his finger, flexing them to admire the piece in the sun. He made a fist and felt the small prick of the metal point. When he passed his thumb across the top of the dragon, a miniature door sprang open, revealing a tiny well of black ink. “Ingenious, Asa.”

A grin lit the boy’s wan face. Rory re-sealed the ring.

“Here, Asa.” Dell handed the boy the book. “We can start your reading lessons with Captain Campbell’s novel since he’s evidently finished.”

Was it his imagination or was her voice more tart? And now he was Captain Campbell?

Her eyes flashed with heat as she glanced back at Rory. “Asa hasn’t been taught to read.”

Definitely more tart.

The boy shrugged. “It seems like a waste of time. Quintus says I’ll be earning my living behind the tables soon.”

Rory gave his shoulder a pat. “Go put the book up. I’m going to walk Miss Philadelphia to breakfast. We’ll meet you in the dining room.”

The boy’s expression darkened, but he complied, disappearing into the cabin. Rory touched Dell’s hand but she moved out of reach. She walked ahead of him with her chin held high, and he hastened to catch up with her.

“You’re angry. Is it because of the boy’s marking device?”

“No. I’d be the last person to point a finger about deception, Captain. You’re gamblers. Cheating is in your nature.”

Ouch. He strained to catch her expression. A spot of color was high in her cheek, the clear sign of her present mood. For the first time he noted the tiny pearl earrings hanging from her ears, most likely borrowed from Molly. Despite the sad state of her clothing choices, she’d cared enough to adorn herself with something pretty—yet understated, like Dell herself. Dare he hope the gesture was meant for him?

He continued to probe her, “Are you mad about Asa, then? You feel we’ve neglected him by not teaching him to read? I taught myself by the age of fourteen, so I suppose I expected he would do the same.”

“I’m not mad. I’m disappointed. I don’t understand my stepfather at all, taking orphans as his wards, then showing not the slightest interest in their welfare except to train them for”—she compressed her lips, flicking a chagrinned look at him from under her long black eyelashes—“sorry.”

Rory put a hand on her arm, stopping her. “Don’t pity us. Do you know how much money passes through my hands every night? The cigars I smoke, the liquor, clothes, food, women—”

She yanked her arm away and regarded him through flashing eyes, making him regret his angry boasts. “Yes, you have a marvelous life, Rory. But I’d rather have nothing at all than have things I haven’t earned.”

Her passionate words both infuriated and humbled him. If she only knew…

His life was more hell than heaven. But he could see its potential. Now it was finally within reach.

Dell ought to channel her passion into more moments with him like he’d witnessed yesterday. Perhaps it was the charlatan in her, or perhaps it was just good sense, but her trust didn’t seem to come easily. Thank goodness.

It was better that she disapproved of his lifestyle, thinking him materialistic and selfish, than to know the sordid details of his past.

Unable to stop himself, he reached out and ran his thumb down her ear to tweak the bauble on her lobe. “You could earn everything your heart desires like Eleanor did. I could show you how, if you’d just let me. It would be the two of us against greedy bastards like Moreaux. Someday I’ll have my own boat and be free of him.”

She lifted an eyebrow, regarding him with skepticism.

“Tonight we’ll make port in Cape Girardeau alongside
The Argo
. She’s a smaller vessel, but she carries several wealthy passengers from St. Louis to New Orleans. Their captain expects us to entertain them with a few games, so of course we’ll be happy to oblige.” He cupped a hand behind her neck and leaned to her ear. “I’ll show you what I have in mind then…along with everything you’ve been missing.”

“I wish I could believe you.”

He couldn’t resist the allure of her skin, satin smooth beneath his hand. He kissed her beneath her ear. She inhaled sharply. The mere sound did more to arouse him than any whore had in months. He murmured, “That promise I made you is still good. I won’t make you do anything you don’t want, but angel, you’re gonna want to do everything. If you have cards in your blood like me, you’ll have to play the game.”

She must. The dangers ahead were great. If she failed to follow his guiding instructions, she could wind up in a far worse place than the
Queen Helen
. If another gambler recognized her act for what it was, Rory’s card-turning enchantress could wind up on a sandbar.

Or she could wind up dead.

In the
Queen
’s gaming room after sunset, Dell leaned over the shoulder of Timothy Pierpont, a well-heeled plantation owner from Tennessee, while across from her, Molly nuzzled her breasts against the cheek of a factory-owner from Boston. As instructed, Dell dutifully mimicked her new friend in actions and docile repartee while gathering information about Rory’s opponents. They’d made port about fifty yards behind
The Argo
, and many of its passengers had boarded the
Queen
for Moreaux’s games.

Rory sat at a table with three other men, while Moreaux sat at another. Their gazes lifted to Dell’s occasionally for signals.

She’d created a simple code. She touched her left eye and it signaled that the opponent’s eyes went to the left when he was bluffing. She touched her hair, the opponent favored the ceiling when trying to bluff. A tug of the collar or a tug on the ear and in quick fashion, she relayed the tells for each gambler at the men’s tables.

Rory’s final opponent at the table folded. The captain sat back with a coy smile as he pulled in his pile of chips.

Dell’s heart fluttered when his satisfied gaze met hers across the smoky room. His expression communicated more than thanks or pleasure at winning a few hundred dollars. He bit his lower lip, and his gaze slowly raked over her, stripping her dress away to the naked body he’d seen before. Her pulse raced with titillation.

He was right. They could be great together—at least in the gaming room where Rory displayed his expertise and Dell her sharp observation. Could they be great together elsewhere? Well, she’d made the mistake of coming to Memphis with him, and where had that gotten her? Exactly where she’d sworn never to be.

At times Dell found herself wondering what her mother must’ve looked like, floating around these tables, fighting men’s hands as they reached for her bottom, feeling unwanted gazes on her breasts. If Eleanor had possessed the ability to read people and the knowledge of the games, she could’ve sat behind the table along with Quintus and the other players. And for that matter, so could Dell…

Pierpont, the man she’d been assigned to play companion to for the night, caught her hand and brought it to rest on his shoulder. He spoke to her around the pipe in his mouth. “I hope you’re my lucky charm, dear.”

The present situation was too demeaning. Her eyes stung from his smoke, and if she stood there much longer, tears would form. No matter how righteous her anger might be she’d never be able to live with herself if these men saw her cry.

Pushing down nausea, she leaned down and gave Pierpont a quick smooch on his shaven cheek. “For good luck.”

Straightening, she glanced Rory’s way.

Hellfire. His attention was focused on one of the men at his table instead of her performance, and she felt a stir of emotions. Pierpont was just practice—kissing him wasn’t necessary. She had a sinking feeling she knew why she’d done it, and it had nothing to do with her act. Molly’d done much more by practically licking her man’s neck to show her how best to distract a player. Not that Dell needed any pointers. The same as in fortune telling, the better the performance she gave her patrons, the more they revealed to her without even realizing it. As long as she kept their glasses full, the secrets spilled and spilled.

Rory didn’t seem to notice or care, as long as she helped him make money.

Suddenly, a man approached the captain and leaned to his ear. Rory stood, excusing himself. Dell followed his movements as he made a beeline through the room, caught his boss’s ear for a moment, and finally paused at her table to make some small talk to the players there.

Glancing pointedly at Dell, he rubbed his jaw in another signal. A word in private.

Molly bumped her player’s chips, sending a cascade across the table. “Oh, balls!” she grumbled and bent over the table. Her breasts poured over the low bodice of her green silk gown, distracting the table while Dell slipped away.

Outside, Dell walked by the railing until she saw Rory’s tall silhouette gazing at the shadow of a nearby island. Away from the tables, she’d caught glimpses of him without his trademark swagger and charm—at times like this when he thought no one was looking. There was a certain loneliness about him—peculiar for someone with so many admirers.

He turned, catching the sound of her footsteps, and the pensive look in his eyes gave way to a sly, sexy grin.

“You’re a natural, angel. As good a seer as your mama, to be sure.”

Dell leaned against the rail to enjoy the sight of the anchored
Argo
with its lighted decks. People moved inside its windows mingling as they did on the
Queen
. She focused on that, ignoring how dashing Rory looked and the way her heart skittered when her mind drifted to kissing him. She squelched the image from her thoughts.

“Most of these men shouldn’t be gambling, Rory. They may be wealthy, but they have families, businesses and employees. Pierpont, the man I’ve been watching—his cotton was affected by blight this year and he likely won’t have enough money to make it through the winter. He’ll have to sell everything.”

“I have no sympathy for him. The man’s a slave owner.” Rory’s voice was severe.

“Yes. But should I be the instrument of his ruin because I know these things about him?”

She noted Rory wore the painting ring. His hand tightened on the rail. “Some men deserve what they reap. Who’s to say God doesn’t choose people like us to deal his justice?”