Reckless

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“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.

Chapter Five (#ulink_bb9ed6fd-4ad3-511d-ad7a-ced37bee43ce)

It ranked as one of the worst evenings of her life, Wyn decided as she watched the soup imitate the ocean, moving from side to side in her shallow bowl. Not only was Dee-gan seated on her right, his placement forcing her to speak civilly to him when table etiquette so demanded, but Garrett Blackhawk occupied the chair directly across from hers so that she felt his glance on her frequently. It made Wyn nervous since Hildy was at her most bubbling effervescence on his left

Why must he continue to be so contrary and single her out over all the ladies at the table? If not with his attentions, then with his eyes? She’d particularly chosen her gown because it paled in splendor next to Hildy’s. Miss Suzanne Carillo, who looked to have only recently lengthened her skirts and put her hair up, wore a gown far more rich and attractive than hers. While Blackhawk didn’t appear to have noticed Hildy’s daringly cut dress or Miss Carillo’s elegant one, Wyn didn’t think there was a single thread of her own ensemble that hadn’t fallen under his approving scrutiny. Nor had he missed the fact that his study left her flustered.

Perhaps that was frustrated, Wyn corrected herself waspishly. Either way she would have been in a far pleas-anter frame of mind if Hildy weren’t involved. Or if he were anything but the fortune hunter and con man she believed him to be. Why was it that she was always attracted to the wrong type of man? Hadn’t she learned anything in her disastrous past?

As if she didn’t have enough on her plate of problems, there was Deegan to deal with, too. When his foot brushed against hers beneath the table, she was transported to another world, an aeon ago, when such touches had been considered intimate, precious, stolen caresses. She could feel the heat of his body next to hers, smell the scent of his cologne, both so familiar.

And yet, she didn’t feel any of the same sensations that had once assailed her when in his presence. In its place was this all too intoxicating awareness of every gesture Deegan’s friend Garrett Blackhawk made.

His friend! Another unhappy coincidence. It had been nearly as much a shock to learn that Blackhawk and Dee-gan were traveling companions as it had been to learn that Blackhawk was Hildy’s baron. Now that she considered the matter though, Wyn was inclined to believe the two men belonged together. They were both handsome, charming and unconscionable liars. One had only to listen to the farfetched tales they told over dinner to realize the last. They were fortune hunters. Dazzling young, unsuspecting women was part of their trade.

How had they come to be aboard the Nereid? Had they pooled their funds, plotted their current course, determined to, between them, seduce at least one wealthy young woman into plighting her troth before the ship reached England? Which of them would it be who requested the captain perform a wedding service while still at sea? And who would be the victim bride? Miss Carillo? Her parents doted in equal measure on the unscrupulous pair. The fact that the Carillos merited inclusion at the captain’s table was like waving a red flag before the likes of such men. Only passengers of a certain status were awarded the pleasure of Kittrick’s company. More often than not, that status was given to the very wealthy. Or the titled.

No wonder Blackhawk was claiming to be a baron! It enabled him, and Deegan as his associate, to be placed in a position that allowed them to meet only the richest women aboard, be they young heiresses or lonely widows.

Hildy’s pursuit of the baron would no doubt slow down his courtship of the impressionable Miss Carillo, but Dee-gan would have all the opportunity single-minded determination could afford. She should warn the young woman’s mother.

Wyn glanced to where the lady in question sat, her face aglow as she surveyed the guests. It seemed doubtful that Mrs. Carillo would give due merit to any warning issued by another woman. She was too enthralled to be among the elect company.

Which meant the Carillos’ money was new money. They would squander it in Europe, likely buying whatever they wished. Wyn had little doubt that a husband for their daughter headed the shopping list. It had been the reason a good many wealthy American families had gone abroad.

And if such were the case, the Carillos might as well take Deegan, Wyn thought. At least he wasn’t as bad as some of the cads she had had the misfortune to meet.

“Would you care for more wine, Wyn?” Deegan asked.

“No, thank you,” she murmured coolly.

He grinned at her fondly, then turned to his right to offer the same service to the blushing Miss Carillo. The young woman’s murmured answer was lost as her mother tossed table etiquette to the winds and leaned forward to claim his attention.

“This is all so exciting!” she gushed. “I do wish you would tell me of the adventures you and Lord Blackhawk shared in the Amazon, Mr. Galloway. I know Mr. Mosby is interested and my precious Susanne is quite breathless in anticipation, aren’t you, my dove?”

Mr. Mosby, looked disconcerted. Miss Carillo colored even more brightly in confusion but leaned a bit nearer so as not to miss one of Deegan’s dulcetly dropped words.

“In Mexico, my dear lady,” he corrected. “I haven’t the stamina that a trek up the Amazon entails. Dealing with bandits in the mountains of Sonora was quite chilling enough.”

“Bandits! Good heavens!” Mrs. Carillo gasped. “However did you get involved with them?”

Wyn listened with half an ear as Deegan spun out a tale that she was quite sure he made up as he went along. Since he worked Blackhawk into the scenario, she wondered if the two men would meet later to coordinate their stories.

Blackhawk, she had found as the captain drew him out, told just as hair-raisingly improbable tales, a good many of them featuring Deegan as his companion in arms. Of course, he was far less sensational in the telling than the dramatic Galloway. She felt it had something to do with the baron’s delivery. The adventure, when retold in the careless, drawling affectation he had assumed at the captain’s appearance earlier, took on the mantle of a tedious trial endured with a stiff upper lip. She was quite sure that, like Deegan’s tales, not a single word bore the least resemblance to the truth.

“You hid from savages in a cave overnight, then in the morning discovered a fabulous vein of gold ran directly above your head?” Hildy demanded, her blue eyes sparkling with excitement as she gazed at Blackhawk. “Did you immediately file a claim, my lord?”

“Bother the gold,” Captain Kittrick snorted. “However did you escape the savages?”

Wyn sampled her soup and let the conversation wash over her.

She should have been prepared. Having Blackhawk at the captain’s table practically insured that the company would be agog. She’d seen her keenly republican neighbors in San Francisco become overnight royalists when a traveler with an old-world title arrived in the city. It had happened again that evening as the captain made the introductions. He’d barely let Blackhawk’s name trip from his tongue before Mr. Mosby, the young man seated next to Miss Carillo, had stammered that he’d heard of the baron. Even Blackhawk’s sardonically lifted eyebrow had not stemmed the flow after that. Eyes aglow with something like hero worship, Mr. Mosby had asked about a mine in Brazil. That had put Mr. Carillo in mind of a rumor of a rail line Blackhawk was said to have been involved with founding somewhere in Mexico. Mrs. Carillo remembered hearing a friend tell of an incident involving the Blackhawk name in Egypt a few years ago, although she had not been able to bring the details readily to mind. Hers had been the only statement that neither Blackhawk nor Deegan had seen fit to expand upon thus far.