Читать книгу Reckless - Beth Henderson - Страница 12

Preferring to spend as little time as possible in his suite, Garrett changed for dinner and retreated to the gentlemen’s smoking room where he plied a steward with silver for information. It took only a single clandestinely passed bribe to learn the direction of Winona Abbot’s stateroom, and that she represented the Shire family aboard the liner.

The news cheered him immensely, for it meant they met on far more equal footing. Both were not only financially comfortable, they were wealthy. Even though Deegan had handled the arrangements for their trip, Garrett’s nose for business had led him to make inquiries about the Shire Line before actually boarding the luxurious steamship. What he’d heard had impressed him. A number of shipping companies had folded when pitted against the sailing expertise of the White Star Line and Cunard, but the Shire Line had held fast, cutting a niche of their own in both the Atlantic trade and that of the Pacific. Considering that luxury liners had been making the crossing regularly since the Great Eastern launched in 1859, a good twenty years previous, he was rather surprised that the Nereid was the Shire Line’s first attempt to corner a share of the first-class passenger trade. Perhaps they had dallied, learning from the mistakes of their competitors. He wondered idly if the Shire and Abbot families had considered issuing stock, taking their shipping business out of the realm of a closed company, opening it to investors. A block of Shire stock would work well with his other investment interests. As soon as things were settled on his family’s lands, he’d, check into the matter, escape to London and—

Garrett nearly laughed out loud. Considering the way his associates in London treated him, London was anything but an escape. It would be little more than a brief reprieve from the oppressiveness of the Blackhawk estate.

That destination, thank God, was still more than a week away. A week in which he intended to immerse himself in the delightful pursuit of Winona Abbot. This would no doubt be the last time he could trust a woman to see him as simply a man rather than as Blackhawk of Hawk’s Run.

Unless, that is, his wretched reputation was known by someone aboard, which, considering a good many of the passengers enjoying the luxurious accommodations were British, was quite possible. It was only a matter of time before news of his past escapades buzzed in the plushly appointed saloons, flitting first in the men’s lounges before flying fleetly to that of the ladies’, where it would be tat-tered even more thoroughly. Perhaps even embroidered upon.

It certainly had been in the past.

Ah, his wretched past

When she learned who he was, would it change the way Winona Abbot looked at him? The memory of her darkly lashed deep green eyes lingered in his mind as strongly as the vision of her shapely form teased it.

It was only their first day at sea. Surely word would not spread this quickly. Surely he could remain anonymous for a brief while longer. Until she learned who—what—he was, Garrett intended to enjoy every moment he could steal with Winona Abbot.

It was a simple matter to lie in wait for her when it drew near to the hour for dinner. Fortunately, she was alone when she left her stateroom, rather than accompanied by her companion. The helpful steward had given him a name, but all Garrett recalled now was that the other woman was a widow, nothing more. She, after all, hadn’t been the subject that held his interest. He was relieved the widow appeared to be keeping to the cabin rather than join the company in the dining room, for sharing the blond beauty was not on his itinerary.

Winona didn’t notice him lurking in the shadows near the companionway. Her attention was on a contrary button on the wrist of her long ivory glove. Even with her head bent, Garrett found she was far more beautiful than his memory had painted her. No longer tossed by a sea breeze, her flaxen locks were upswept to a knot that spilled artful curls to tease her creamy shoulders. Delicate drop earrings danced as she moved, the cut of the crystal stone catching the light of each lamp she passed along the darkly paneled corridor, creating quickly flashed prisms of color. She wore no other jewels, but Garrett was too entranced to question why. His attention was drawn instead to the neckline of her bodice as it dipped low over a bosom that was both full and cleverly concealed by a swath of fine pale blue tulle. Silk a scant shade deeper molded to the rest of her torso, accenting her narrow waist, and swept in a shimmering apron around her generous, womanly hips. Fabric cascaded behind her in a graceful train, rustling with every gliding step she took. As he watched, she finished with the button and bent slightly to catch up her train before descending the stairs.

Garrett waited until she lifted her slimly cut skirts before he stepped forward. The delay allowed him a glimpse of her delicately turned ankles and high-heeled satin slippers.

He doubted there was another woman aboard to match her for beauty and grace.

She noticed him just as the ship dipped slightly, gently tipping the deck upon which they stood. Ever-alert to opportunity, Garrett took advantage of the situation.

“Good evening, Miss Abbot,” he murmured, slipping his hand beneath her elbow to steady her. The scent of her perfume teased his senses, a mixture of rose water that hinted of vanilla and clove. Its effect on him was erotic, titillating. And yet when she looked up at him, her very expression was one of innocence. “It is Miss Abbot, not Mrs.?” he pressed.

She didn’t pull away from him but paused, as if considering whether to accept his escort or not. Rather than answer his question, she posed one of her own. “And it is Baron Blackhawk, rather than Mr., is it not, my lord?”

Garrett grimaced wryly. Obviously he had been too wicked in the past to merit a respite from fate now. “Found me out already?” he asked as the deck righted once more.

Winona seemed little aware of the ship’s movement. “You needn’t feel flattered,” she said lightly, and proceeded down the staircase. “I did not go seeking the information, sir.”

Far from appalled at whatever rumors she had heard about him, she appeared to be far more miffed that he hadn’t told her of them himself. Garrett grinned to himself, pleased she cared that he hadn’t. “I am crushed,” he murmured.

“Yes, I can see you are,” she answered dryly. “Why didn’t you tell me you were titled, my lord?”

“Actually, it was to avoid having you call me my lord in just that tone of voice. I’d much rather hear you use my first name, which, if you recall, is Garrett,” he said.

She stepped away from the touch of his hand as they reached the bottom of the stairwell. The glow of the setting sun reached them through the glass of a nearby porthole, casting a pink glow around her, coloring her cheeks a warm, blushing peach.

She turned slightly to face him, her chin lifting in resolution. “I think not. I’m sorry if you got the wrong impression of me earlier on deck,” she said. “I really am not interested in a shipboard romance, or a brief flirtation. You would do much better to set your sights on another lady if dallying is your goal, my lord.”

“And if it isn’t?” he asked.

“Forgive me if I doubt your word, but what other reason might you have for lying in wait for me?” When he didn’t answer immediately, she smiled knowingly. “Believe me, sir, where men are concerned, I am far from an innocent as to their intent when they seek me out”

“You would convict me without a trial? My dear Miss Abbot, surely that goes as much against an American’s grain as it does an Englishman’s,” Garrett insisted. “Do you not believe that I enjoyed your company this afternoon and wished to continue our conversation?”

She shook her head slightly. He was pleased to note the corners of her mouth still curved upward in amusement. “What I believe is that you don’t enjoy taking no for an answer, my lord.”

The hatchway to the outer deck swung open. “Ah, my dear!” a voice greeted loudly, interrupting her. Although Garrett had only met the man once upon boarding, captain Kittrick’s gravelly baritone was quite distinctive. “Thought I’d come along to see you safe to our grand galley. I see someone else’s had the same idea, though, eh, Baron?”

Garrett held back a snarl of frustration. “Quite,” he agreed, allowing his voice to drop into the sarcastic drawl he had perfected in London a lifetime ago. “We shan’t have to duel over who wins the honor of escorting the lovely Miss Abbot, shall we?”

Winona’s eyes widened in surprise then clouded with a hint of confusion at his metamorphosis from determined flirt to bored aristocrat. Garrett couldn’t blame her. He hadn’t even been conscious that he was doing it. Donning the role on cue had become so natural over the years.

Kittrick chuckled as if he’d heard a great joke. “A duel? By George! You’ll find me quite game—ha-ha. What shall we use? Shuffleboard cues? Ha-ha.”

Before Garrett could respond, Winona slipped her gloved hand onto Kittrick’s proffered arm. “Nonsense, Captain,” she insisted lightly. “Lord Blackhawk was merely asking for directions to the dining room. I’m sure he won’t mind tagging along behind us.”

She glanced back at him over one shoulder, issuing him a steady green-eyed challenge. “Will you, my lord?” she purred.

Although Hildy and, no doubt, the captain believed Blackhawk was wealthy, Wyn maintained her belief that he was nothing more than a fortune hunter and thus a cad. She had surmised it earlier, and had seen no evidence that he was anything else yet. But he was an awfully attractive one. She only hoped that Hildy would see past his hand-some exterior to the true man beneath. That she would realize he was not the man she had hoped he would be.

Such would not be the case, though. Her friend’s breathing would be just as erratic when Blackhawk was around as her own was at that moment.

If only he weren’t so…so…

Dangerous.

Yes, that was it. There was nothing in his appearance that could not be found just as attractive in a dozen other men aboard. It wasn’t the way the midnight black of his evening wear fit him. It was obviously the work of a master tailor. It wasn’t the breadth of his shoulders or the leanness of his build that pulled her eyes to him so often. Other men were as well of feature and form. No, it was something else. Something she had simply not managed to isolate as yet to explain why she thought him splendid.

He was most definitely that. The color of his coat and trousers was a continuation of his natural coloring, adding to the illusion that he was a reflection of his namesake, the black hawk. Was it simply his superficial resemblance to a hawk that gave him the aura of a predator himself, inclining her to believe he was as dangerous to court as would be the predatory bird?

Wyn was not surprised when Blackhawk chose to pick up the verbal gauntlet she’d tossed. “I would be honored to arrive on your heels, Miss Abbot,” he vowed, his deep voice still harboring the newly acquired sardonic edge. Rather than trail behind though, he fell into step at her side. “However, I find it very inhospitable of the good captain to keep you all to himself.”

Kittrick chortled. “Jealous of me, are you, Baron?” He patted Wyn’s hand on his arm. “Well, you see, I have first call on this lovely lady. She’s my chosen belle for the voyage.”

“Not an easy choice to make, I’ll wager,” Blackhawk said. “There are so many other lovely ladies aboard.”

“That there are,” the captain agreed readily. “But I’ve an eye for the special ones.”

“You do at that,” the baron murmured, casting Wyn another glance of approving admiration.

She laughed softly. “Thank you, my lord, but I can do without blatant compliments. You had best find another ear in which to feed them.”

“And if no other appeals to me?”

“I’m sure a good number of them will,” Wyn assured him. “Simply the knowledge that you are a lord—”

“A very minor one,” Blackhawk interrupted. “So minor, the state barely deserves notice.”

He was far too intent upon singling her out for a flirtation. Wyn wished she had followed Hildy’s course in remaining in the press of passengers at departure. If only she hadn’t been alone at the rail earlier, he would be as much a stranger to her as he was to the rest of the Nereid’s company. If only Hildy hadn’t decided that having a baron aboard suited her plans for the voyage perfectly. She must find a way to discourage him before Hildy misread the whole situation. Her friend’s emotional state was too fragile at this time to recognize that Wyn was not encouraging him.

Although to not encourage him was difficult. Very difficult.

He leaned closer to her as they walked, his voice dropping to a confiding rumble that made Wyn regret her vow to help Hildy find romance this journey. “Believe me,” Blackhawk murmured, “a good number of people have gone quite out of their way to avoid noticing the baronage in the past.”

“’Indeed? But I sincerely doubt they are among our companions on this voyage,” Wyn persisted. “Do you not agree, Captain?”

“Humph,” Kittrick said. “You see, sir, you are our sole personage, you might say, on this trip. There’s a good bit of money traveling with us, but it’s not the inherited kind, if you catch my drift.”

“Neither,” Blackhawk said, “is mine.”

“Still, that’s not how folks will see things,” Kittrick continued. “And, you being a single gentleman, the ladies will be atwitter. We’ve a number of families with marriageable daughters sailing with us and the purser’s planned at least one grand ball before we dock. Two if the crossing is smooth.”

Wyn smiled at Blackhawk. “You see, my lord? You will be quite merry without adding me to your string of conquests.”

“Will I now?” he asked, lifting one dark brow in patent disbelief.

“Can’t help but be,” Kittrick said with a chuckle. “Can’t say I envy you though, sir. It’s a hard life for a man dealing with bevies of beautiful women demanding his attention. Damned hard life.”

Wyn was glad that their leisured steps down the long paneled inner passageway at last joined another corridor and they began to encounter other guests. It enabled her to slip free of the captain and his now-captive lord. She lingered only long enough to enjoy the sight of the enthusiastic Kittrick taking great pleasure in introducing the baron to his fellow passengers, then she slipped into the dining room.

Although she had seen it the evening before, the intricacy of detail in the room still left her feeling stunned. The area appeared vast upon first sight, the bulkheads rising the height of two full decks before arching in a shallow dome over the room. Elaborately painted friezes rose above rows of portholes, the style and subject matter a distinct reflection of her older brother’s flamboyant taste. For a change Pierce had exercised a hitherto unknown sense of good taste. She had feared to see furnishings that rivaled those chosen by a whorehouse madam. She did, after all, know exactly where Pierce tended to spend his spare time.

Instead of a blur of scarlet, the room was tastefully decorated. An unknown artist had created massive portraits of two ancient sea gods. It was easy to recognize the Roman god of the sea, Neptune, with his spear, surrounded by ships, sea serpents and mermaids. The mermaids were lush creatures. Definitely Pierce’s choice. The Greek god Nereus was lesser known but, having fathered the sea nymphs known as the Nereid, his appearance in the frieze was de rigueur. He was banked by a host of his lovely daughters. Very lovely daughters.

Pierce definitely needed a new direction in his life.

The long dining tables had been set in advance, their tops covered with gleaming white linen, each place setting a picture of perfection, from glistening china to delicate crystal to highly polished silver flatware.

A number of the luxury-class passengers were already seated at their assigned tables or picking their ways through the crowded room in search of their places. The captain’s table sat at the head of the room, far from the double-doored entranceway, directly, she noted, under the complacent gaze of Nereus himself. The company there would number ten, four on either side of the board with chairs at both head and foot, as well. Some of the captain’s other guests were before her, already seated where the stewards directed. There was an older couple, so obviously married they had begun to resemble each other in feature, a very pretty, very young woman who was obviously their daughter, and a dapper but solemn-faced young man.

Choosing not to wait for Hildy—who planned to make an entrance—or the captain, Wyn began picking her way toward her own place. Briefly she wished it could be at one of the other tables rather than in the very visible chair at the captain’s right hand.

She’d barely taken two steps when a startled male voice gasped nearby.

“Wyn.”

Wyn closed her eyes briefly, letting the sound of Deegan Galloway’s voice wash over her. He still said her name with a lilt that hinted at adoration. It had once sent pleasant chills skittering up her spine. This time she felt nothing and, as a result, bereft that the sensation was missing.

“Wyn,” he said again, his voice sounding a bit thunderstruck as well as awed at her appearance. ‘’What are you doing here?”

She opened her eyes, turned to stare at him coldly.

A faint rush of color flooded what was visible of his face beyond his tawny side-whiskers. He’d added a dashing mustache since she’d last seen him. It enhanced his appearance, she thought. When his devilish smile curled beneath it, female hearts would melt en masse. Except for hers.

Deegan’s eyes shifted as he glanced nervously aside. “I mean, I thought you were still in San Francisco. How does it happen you’re aboard the Nereid?”

“I could ask you the same, Deegan,” Wyn said. “More to the point, I’m wondering what you are doing in this dining room. Considering the state of your finances, I would have thought steerage the limit of your travel funds.”

He flinched. “That’s cruel, Wyn, even if I did deserve it As it happens, I’m traveling with a friend of mine.”

“Female, I suppose,” Wyn snapped, incensed despite herself. “I hope she can afford your tastes.”

Deegan actually grinned with pleasure. “Well, he can, at any rate. It is a bit difficult, you and I stuck on the same ship. I swear, Wyn, if I’d had any idea that you were sailing on this pleasure palace, I’d have booked with another line. I chose a Shire ship out of loyalty and affection for your family, believe me.”

It was difficult to be spiteful over his actions after such a declaration. “Thank you,” Wyn murmured, albeit reluctantly. “But I’m sure that you will agree, the less we must deal with each other during the voyage, the more pleasant this journey will be.”

An expression of shifty unease flitted across his face. “Well, there may be a difficulty in avoiding each other. You see…” His voice trailed off as he glanced away, back toward the wide entranceway and the crowd of richly dressed people congregated near it.

Wyn wasn’t to be distracted though. She kept her eyes firmly on his face, determined this time to see the real Deegan Galloway, and not be seduced into thinking him a different man than he was.

“Yes?” she prodded.

“You see,” Deegan bleated, still scanning the crowd for someone. Obviously a party to rescue him from the awkwardness of their encounter, Wyn decided. “My host is a fellow who draws the limelight, and, er, even standing on the outskirts of it as I am…”

Wyn gave an unladylike snort of disbelief.

”…I doubt you and I will be able to escape rubbing shoulders because…”

The interruption didn’t come from among the gathering at the door. It sneaked up on them from the rear.

“Excuse me,” one of the stewards murmured. “Miss Abbot? Might I show you to your chair?”

Wyn jumped at the chance to end her unwelcome conversation with Deegan. “Certainly,” she agreed, rewarding the uniformed attendant with a brilliant smile as she took his arm.

Her smile dimmed considerably when the man addressed Deegan, as well. “Would you mind coming along, too, Mr. Galloway?” he asked respectfully.

Deegan gave Wyn a weak smile of apology before answering. “Yes, of course.”

“We will begin serving shortly,” the steward assured them both, leading the way to the captain’s table. He held Wyn’s chair, allowing her time to arrange her skirts and train before taking the seat. “Is there anything I can get for you at this time?”

Wyn just wished he would leave, taking Deegan with him. “Nothing, thank you.”

The steward turned to Galloway. “And you, sir?”

“Just point out my place and leave it at that,” Deegan said.

The steward looked taken aback a moment, but recovered swiftly. “I’m sorry, sir. I thought you knew. You are, just here.” He gestured to the right.

Wyn’s heart sank.

“We’ve seated you next to Miss Abbot, sir.”

Magnus Finley slipped into the dining room with none of the fanfare a good number of the guests appeared to demand. He, unlike them, preferred his presence to be overlooked. While the price of his passage had given him the luxury of hobnobbing with the wealthy, it had also been modest enough to allow him to go unnoticed by them. His assigned seat was located a decided distance from the captain’s table, yet allowed him an excellent view of the guests gathered there. It had taken a bribe to secure this particular chair, but he felt it well worth the expense, one that would no doubt come out of his own pocket rather than company expenses, since he had decided not to take Captain Kittrick into his confidence. From his observations thus far it was already apparent that, if apprised of his mission, the blustery captain was more likely to make a slip that would tip off the suspect Finley had gone to such trouble to follow all the way from San Francisco. Kittrick wouldn’t have taken kindly to the suggestion that one of the passengers chosen to sit at his table was an alleged jewel thief.

In all honesty, it wasn’t a single passenger that Finley had his eye on. While his own investigation led him to favor one suspect over all others, the reports of various Pinkerton agents had made it advisable to add other names to his list Especially when it was discovered that all of them were sailing aboard the Nereid. It had only been that afternoon that he had learned the suspects would be gathered together at the captain’s table that evening.

The situation led him to hypothesize a new theory: it might not have been a single thief who had lifted jewels in San Francisco, or added to the cache in Boston, but a team of clever thieves, each able to vouch for the other, to cover the other’s tracks when capture threatened.

As the last of the glittering passengers made their way to the tables, Finley kept an unobtrusive eye turned to the table at the top of the room. He hoped to discover a clue—a series of clues—that would allow him to narrow the scope of his investigation before the ocean liner docked in Liverpool. Even though he would be contacting police officials in Britain for assistance in apprehending the thief, if he still had more than a single suspect to follow, Finley doubted he would be taken seriously. Especially since the whole case currently hung only on suppositions, educated guesses based on the fact that these suspects had had the opportunity to commit each of the crimes, rather than on the evidence of a witness to the thief’s escape or of a fence trying to extricate himself from involvement in the series of crimes.

There was nothing solid about the case yet. Nothing that would hold up in a court of law. Unless he had an out-and-out confession, in the presence of witnesses, Finley feared the case would drag on, that the agency’s clients would lose confidence in the Pinkerton office and withdraw, leaving him frustrated with the knowledge that the criminal had been the only winner in the drama.

They all looked like winners now. The guests gathered at the main table were amongst the most glittering. His own tablemates appeared tacky and lacking in both grace and taste when compared to the captain’s chosen few. While the woman across from him was gowned in expensive finery, her dress was too frilled and her gems were of an inferior grade. The man at her side sampled his wine with a shopkeeper’s profit-conscious expression rather than with the appreciation of a true aficionado. The guests on either side of the couple were cut from the same mold, eager to be a reflection of the class to which they aspired and from which they were held back by their own antecedents.

Nearly all the people he watched at the far table belonged to a different breed. The very naturalness of their movements, choices and actions, set them apart even though Finley suspected their bank accounts on the whole were inferior to those of the guests at his own table. It was their financial resources that had occupied him of late as he studied reports for patterns he could use to prove a motive for involvement in the now long series of jewel robberies, or as proof that profit had been gathered from the sale of one of the stolen items.

He had not yet found what he was seeking. But he would. Finley was sure of it. The clue he sought was awaiting his notice, perhaps had already been gleaned and not recognized for its impact as of yet. If such was the case, he knew from experience that only time would allow it to rise to the surface.

The stewards arrived laden with tureens of soup. Finley watched them deftly maneuver among the waiting guests, tilting their trays to avoid spilling the broth when the deck tilted slightly beneath their feet. His mind wasn’t on the dexterity of the crew members though, it was on the information he had gathered on the passengers whose names headed his list of suspects: Deegan Galloway, Winona Abbot and Garrett Blackhawk.