Gallant Match (8 page)

“These ships usually carry a gambler or two,” her aunt went on with a wise nod. “Captains wink at it as it relieves the tedium for certain passengers.”

“I suppose.”

Sonia kept to her aunt's idle pace only with an effort. She looked away out over the town, at the Place d'Armes backed by the crumbling Spanish towers of the cathedral, the barrel-tile roofs of the town houses lining rues Royale and Chartres and, through the treetops, the dome of the Hotel Saint Louis. She tried to appear as if idly enjoying the view, afraid Tante Lily might guess her intentions otherwise. Not that she thought her aunt would try to stop her, but she would protest, calling after her and generally drawing attention. That must be avoided if she was to have any chance of getting away.

Pigeons swirled above the Place d'Armes. Joyful descendants of escapees from
pigeonniers
where gentlemen raised squabs to grace their dinner tables, they soared in and out of the pall of yellow-gray coal smoke that lay over the town. Vendors of greens and berries, flowers and pralines called their wares on the cathedral steps and under the Cabildo's arcade, their voices making a singsong cacophony. Barrel organs played and children danced in hope of earning a few picayunes. Men hurried in and out of the government house on
matters of business, or else stood in idle groups, chatting and gesticulating. Some kind of assembly was beginning on the flat, bare parade ground with its cannon emplacements. Men streamed from the barracks that lay on the downriver side, beginning to form ranks.

If Kerr Wallace was anywhere in the bustle, she could not locate his tall form.

“The gentleman may be only a planter from upriver,” her aunt said with a light touch on Sonia's arm. “We must keep an open mind, though he looks a thorough rogue. I suspect we shall soon make his acquaintance, for he is staring at you,
chère.
”

She was still talking about the sporting gentleman, Sonia realized. For an instant, she'd thought she referred to the
Kaintuck.
“Is he?”

Her aunt tapped her arm again. “You must pay more attention to your surroundings, particularly when gentlemen are present. One never knows when such a one will make advances, as I've told you a thousand times.”

“Yes, Tante Lily.”

The answer was perfunctory as her attention was taken by a rather large man sitting in a deck chair just down from the gangway, his face hidden by a news sheet. She frowned even before he began to lower the large page of print.

“Ah, here is Monsieur Wallace.” Her aunt's features relaxed into a smile. “We might have known he would not be far away.”

It was indeed the Kentuckian. He folded the news sheet that had concealed his face and rose from his
chair, a slow and endless movement that caused Sonia's heart to do a stutter step. His smile as he met her eyes had a sardonic edge, which made it clear Monsieur Wallace had been on guard, had suspected she might entertain some idea of flight.

There had been no chance whatever of it without being stopped. Recognizing that fact was infuriating, almost as much so as the painful heat of embarrassed remembrance that flooded her as she met the gentleman's watchful gray eyes.

She looked away at once, her gaze drawn to the levee where the foot of the gangway rested. Desolation settled, aching, around her heart. Freedom lay there in front of her, so close and yet so far away.

Kerr Wallace tipped his hat of glistening beaver as he drew closer. “Ladies,” he said politely, “I trust your cabin is satisfactory.”

“Perfectly.” Tante Lily beamed at him as if she had not shooed him out of it not so long ago. “And you,
monsieur?
You are as comfortable?”

Sonia was grateful to her aunt for filling the breach, since she could not have formed a coherent, much less pleasant, answer.

“The
Lime Rock
is a cargo vessel,
madame.
Passengers are an afterthought. Only four cabins are available, and they are given over to you and your niece, a lady who travels with her children, a government official of some description and an elderly woman in bad health. The rest of us must make do as best we can in a pair of common cabins, one for the ladies and one for gentlemen.”

“We are honored to be among the chosen then,” her aunt said. “That was your doing, perhaps?”

“Monsieur Bonneval made the arrangements, though someone else was in possession when we came aboard earlier. It was only necessary to persuade the gentleman of your prior claim.”

“With no great difficulty, I hope?” The sparkling look her aunt gave the Kentuckian made it obvious she expected otherwise.

Kerr's face remained grave. “None at all, at least not after the situation was explained to him.”

“I was happy to oblige, I promise you, and am even happier about it now.”

The sporting gentleman had left his companion to stroll toward their party. Skimming off his straw hat as he spoke, he swept the deck with its wide brim.

Tante Lily turned toward the newcomer, her gaze severe. “I beg your pardon?”

“Forgive the intrusion, I beg, but I couldn't help overhearing. It's presumptuous to introduce myself, but I hope it may be forgiven under the circumstances. Alexander Tremont, always at the service of two such lovely ladies.”

Sonia's aunt offered her hand and a slow smile. “It's you we have dispossessed?”

“Only through an unfortunate misunderstanding.”

“Then the informality may be permitted, I believe. We can hardly pretend not to know you for the length of the voyage.”

Tante Lily might be fond of male company, but was usually cautious about admitting male strangers into
her confidence, as witness her strictures on the subject just moments before. Sonia could hardly believe she was being so cordial now to a man she had labeled a gambler. She was up to something without doubt. It was likely nothing more than securing an amusing companion, someone to fetch and carry, shift deck chairs out of the wind or sun and make agreeable conversation over dinner. Sonia hoped that was the whole of it.

Monsieur Wallace did not appear happy with the turn of events. His face remained grim, his stance foursquare and watchful as introductions were made all around. It was enough to reconcile Sonia to their new acquaintance, in spite of his presumed occupation.

Monsieur Tremont held her hand a little longer than was necessary as she was presented, but was quite well behaved otherwise. His remarks were addressed as much to Kerr as to her aunt or herself, and consisted mainly of when they would sail, the route they would take across the gulf, the experience of their captain and other such details. Tremont represented himself as owning a sugar plantation above New Orleans, though his main interest was investments in Mexico and Central America involving coffee and other such commodities. It might even be so, for all Sonia could tell, though in truth, she hardly listened.

Her thoughts inevitably reverted to how she was going to get off the ship. What a devil the Kentuckian was for vigilance. Still, he could not be everywhere. She might yet outmaneuver him.

Whatever she was going to do, she must hurry. Time
was leaking away. The packet for Mobile would leave its moorings in less than two hours. If she missed it, she might still hide away somewhere in the city until the next one left. But she had mere hours to get off the
Lime Rock,
for it would up anchor and sail away down the river at dawn tomorrow.

“Shall we walk, gentlemen?” Tante Lily said. “We are facing the sun here, and Sonia and I failed to bring up our parasols.”

No one objected, least of all Sonia. She was eager to look over the ship for anything that might present itself as a screen or concealment for her flight.

The deck was narrow and cluttered with the preparations for departure and tools for ship's maintenance. Only a few steps beyond where they had been standing, a pair of seamen were scraping the railing and repainting it. Tante Lily took the arm of Monsieur Tremont as she stepped around a bucket of varnish. This left Kerr to steady Sonia while she held her skirts away from damage. She removed her elbow from his grasp as quickly as possible, disturbed by its effect upon her, like the tingling static shocks of winter where each of his fingers touched.

As they passed the two seamen, one of them tilted his head to look up. His gaze met Sonia's and he grinned, showing teeth stained red by the juice of the odd chewing tobacco that bulged in his cheek. Something in the widening of his mouth seemed unduly forward, and he licked his tongue over his lips as his gaze moved from her face down her body. Of a combi
nation of nationalities from English and Spanish to Lascar, he appeared to be of that breed of seagoing men who kept the barrelhouses and brothels busy while their ships were in port.

Sonia looked away at once. Kerr moved closer and took her arm again in a possessive grasp as he stared down at the man.

“You there, Baptiste. Back to work.”

The order came from a ship's officer who stood at a nearby hatchway, supervising the loading of flour barrels.

“Aye, sir. Right ye are, sir.”

The seaman's answer, in the accents of dockside England, had an insolent ring to it, though he ducked his head and went back to his task as if his life depended on it. As they passed by, Kerr looked back, a frown lingering between his eyes.

The incident was so minor and quickly over that Sonia dismissed it at once. She was much too aware of the Kentuckian at her side. He did not release her a second time, but took her hand and placed it in the bend of his elbow.

She could feel the iron-hard muscles and tendons beneath his sleeve, sense the contained power in his tall form. In a frock coat of slate blue, worn with a cream and blue figured waistcoat and gray trousers fastened under his polished half boots by straps, he was a somber yet commanding figure of a man. The bright morning sun picked out the small fans of wrinkles at the corners of his eyes, glanced over the hard planes of his face and the indentation of a small scar on his chin, reflected silver in his eyes.

An odd frisson rippled over Sonia, leaving goose bumps in its wake. She frowned in disturbance. She was not some schoolroom
mademoiselle
to be thrilled by a set of fine shoulders and a prowling walk like some great mountain cat. What ailed her that she could see this
Kaintuck
as attractive in any fashion? It was ridiculous, especially when she preferred culture and refinement in a man. Yes, and some modicum of civilized discourse.

It was her duty to at least attempt conversation, of course; the precept had been impressed upon her from the moment she put up her hair. She might have depended on her aunt to supply the stream of chatter necessary to prevent awkwardness, but that lady had drawn ahead with Monsieur Tremont. Sonia was half inclined to remain silent since she had little to discuss with the man at her side. A moment's reflection dissuaded her. It would be prudent to convince him she was resigned to what lay ahead. He might then let down his guard.

“Have you been to sea before?” The question, couched in tones as even as she could make them, was instigated by the gentle movement of the deck under their feet as the ship rocked with the river current.

Kerr Wallace gave her a narrow look, though his answer came readily enough. “Only on coastal steamers, traveling between here and Mobile or Charleston.”

“So you have no real idea whether you're a good sailor.”

“No. And you?”

“My parents and I traveled to France when I was a child. I enjoyed the journey, loved the movement of the ship. But that was a long time ago.”

“We must hope for the best then.”

“Yes.” That seemed to dispose of the subject. While she scourged her brain for another, she caught up the fan that dangled from a wrist cord and waved away the wood smoke that drifted around them, coming from an upriver steam packet making ready to leave the dock. It was bound for Natchez, she thought. Beyond it lay the Mobile packet that also had fired up its furnace, building steam in its boilers.

Resentment that she was not on that vessel washed over her in a wave. And with it came the vivid memory of the effortless way Kerr Wallace had lifted her, carried her the night before. It gave her a hollow feeling in her abdomen, and she could not prevent her gaze from flickering to his wide shoulder where she had rested. Her hip had pressed against the square line of his jaw, his large hand had clasped her upper thigh, coming perilously close to the softness between her legs in a way no man had dared before.

A heated, almost painful awareness of him as a man suffused her. It was disturbing beyond anything she had ever known.

If he felt anything similar, it was not apparent. Why should he indeed? She was his charge, a source of profit and funds for travel to Mexico, one he had no intention of losing. He had been the victor in their clash of wills and intentions so could afford to be at ease. At least for now.

“Something puzzles me, Mademoiselle Bonneval,” he said in quiet tones. “You're not exactly hard on the eyes. You have family background and I suspect your papa can
afford a good dowry. How is it you're come to—what was it, two-and-twenty—without being leg-shackled?”