September's Dream Page 3

  He watched her stiff spine, her moment of hesitation, before she reached for the latch. "Thank you, Mr. . . . Deke. But I’m sure I won’t change my mind. Goodbye."

  Oh, but you may, my dear Miss Malloy, he thought with a frown marring his boyish good looks. You just may.

  * * *

  "September. I was so worried. Where were you all night?"

  A frown line creased Nell’s forehead as her new friend walked toward her. September’s hair was neatly brushed and tied. Her face had the glow of soap and water.

  "Umm. You smell so good." As September sat cross-legged on her blanket, Nell studied her. "Something’s happened. Tell me."

  "The strangest thing occurred last night. A nice man gave me his private cabin."

  "September! You didn’t!"

  At her shocked tone, September reached over to take Nell’s hand. "He wasn’t there with me. I had the cabin to myself. All night. I swear," she added, seeing the look of skepticism on her friend’s face.

  "But why would he do such a thing?"

  September shook her head. "I don’t know. I can’t understand it either. I only know it was the most heavenly night I’ve ever known. Oh, Nell." She laughed, getting caught up in her narrative. "The bunk had snowy white sheets, and three blankets. The towels were so fluffy, I swear I thought they were sheepskin. And the soap was all spicy. Smell it," she added, thrusting her hand under her friend’s nose.

  "September Malloy. You smell like—like one of those women," she giggled.

  "Oh." Snatching back her hand, September sobered. "I didn’t do anything wrong, Nell. He never came to the cabin ’til this morning." She sat silently, staring intently at the young woman. "Why do you think he did it? Why would a rich man give me his cabin for the night?"

  Nell plopped her little son into her lap and dropped kisses into his hair. Looking up, she met September’s steady gaze. "I don’t know. I wish my Jack was here. He’s as good a judge of men as he is of horseflesh. He’d know right off whether you should trust this man or not."

  September jumped up, smoothing down her skirt. "The sun’s shining. I’m going up on deck for some fresh air. Why don’t you and Will come along? It’ll do you both good."

  As they stepped into the wind, Nell whispered, "Which one gave you his cabin?"

  September stared around at the sea of faces milling about the deck. "I don’t see him. He’s probably gone to bed."

  Nell shivered. "I don’t like the looks of any of these men, September. My Jack says they’re a tough lot in Alaska." She caught September’s hand and squeezed it. "You be careful."

  September’s smile was as radiant as the sunlight. "I got to sleep in a warm bed last night. This morning, I had breakfast from the captain’s own table. And tonight. Tonight," she said wistfully, "I’ll go back to being who and what I’ve always been. Just plain old September Malloy."

  Grabbing Will’s hand, she scooped him up and swung him around. Nell watched the two of them giggling in their innocence. Seeing the stares of some of the men, she felt her mouth go dry.

  Could anyone that beautiful really believe she was plain? Hadn’t September ever looked in a mirror? Couldn’t she see how men looked at her?

  Nell had never met such an artless beauty. In some ways, September reminded Nell of herself a few years ago. So young. So trusting. She had been lucky. Jack was good to her. But the wrong man could hurt a girl like September.

  Nell fervently hoped that her friend had been born under a lucky star. She was going to need it.

  Chapter Four

  The mysterious fever that had afflicted young Will laid siege to the other passengers, sending one after another to their pallets below deck. Many, too weak to make the trek to the railing, were forced to lie in their own waste.

  In desperation, September gathered up her blanket.

  "Where are you going?" Nell’s sleepy voice stopped her.

  "Out on deck."

  "You’re crazy," Nell called. "You’ll freeze to death."

  "I’d rather freeze in fresh air than suffocate down here."

  Quickly, September climbed the steps. She was determined to brave the bitter cold above deck rather than endure the stench another night.

  She realized she was not alone in her decision. The main deck was littered with huddled bodies engulfed in blankets and overcoats to ward off the cold.

  "Well, lass, how’d you like to keep me warm?"

  September whirled at the coarse voice. To the accompaniment of a chorus of laughter, she made her way stiffly to the rail.

  "Hey, girlie. Want to share my blanket?" A hulking, bewhiskered miner spat over the railing, then turned laughing eyes to her.

  She had heard suggestive comments like these made by men on the streets of San Francisco. But there she had always been able to scamper away to the safety of home and mother. Here, in the middle of a vast ocean, she felt alone and suddenly homesick.

  Which would be worse, she wondered. Having to endure the sickness below, or the insanity here on deck? She moved away and found a spot alone at the rail.

  Jase Conroy’s eyes narrowed at the sight of the small figure clinging tightly to the ship’s railing. What kind of fool woman would place herself squarely in the midst of all these lonely men? He frowned. He figured he knew the answer. The kind who enjoyed teasing them. He supposed her first conquest only whetted her appetite for more. She was going to see how many more scalps she could add to her belt. Silently, Jase moved across the deck, keeping her in his line of vision.

  September lifted her face to the fresh air, breathing deeply. No matter what, she couldn’t bear to go below again tonight. How long, she wondered idly, would it take her to count all the stars in the heavens? Would it make the long night pass more quickly?

  She was stunned when a hand clamped about her shoulder, roughly twisting her around. "A bit scrawny, but I bet you got all the right womanly charms, all the same."

  She wrinkled her nose at the smell of liquor on the old man’s breath.

  "Take your hands off me."

  "A scrapper, too. I like that."

  She tried to pull away as he reached a finger to her cheek.

  "Nice, smooth skin. Soft as a baby. I think I’d like to feel more of you."

  A man’s voice, deep, commanding, exploded in the night. "The lady asked you to remove your hand."

  September’s eyes widened as a towering stranger grasped the man’s arm in a viselike grip and shoved him roughly across the deck. The man went sprawling, as the onlookers laughed.

  Jase turned and found himself staring into wide, startled eyes. The innocence he could read in their depths puzzled him. He watched as a tremor of revulsion swept through her. Then, as quickly as the drift of a snowflake, he saw her compose herself.

  "Thank you." She extended her hand.

  Her voice was soft, husky on the night air. It had the same effect on him as her laugh had the first time he heard it. Something knotted deep inside him.

  He stared at her hand for long seconds, as if afraid to touch her. Then, accepting her handshake, he felt the chilled softness against his calloused palm. The jolt was instantaneous. The stunning sexual pull of man for woman. His eyes narrowed, and he dropped his hand quickly to his side.

  Bewildered by his reaction to her, he lashed out in defense. "What the hell are you doing flaunting yourself for these men?"

  The words were out before he had time to think. He hadn’t meant to sound so angry. He saw her flinch, as if he had struck her. Then, her chin lifting defiantly, she met his dark look.

  "I don’t have to answer to you." She started to turn away, then tilted her head. As if to deny her own words, she added softly, "I needed some air."

  September found herself staring into the darkest, stormiest eyes she had ever seen. This man was filled with a barely controlled fury, and she had the feeling that his anger was directed at her. But she couldn’t imagine why. She had never seen him before.

  His brows drew togethe
r, forming a frown line that made him appear even more dangerous. He wasn’t handsome, she realized on closer scrutiny. But he was a compelling figure. He was so tall, she had to lift her head to meet his gaze. Thick, dark hair spilled slightly around his forehead and neck. The hand that had gripped hers was strong, work-roughened. He was dressed in a parka of animal fur. On him it seemed appropriate. He was as frightening a figure as any wild animal. Sleek. Silent. Threatening.

  He took a step closer, and she realized that he favored his right foot. She glimpsed a hint of pain before he composed his features.

  "Get below." His voice was a low growl of command. "Before we have a real brawl on our hands."

  He saw the flash of fire in her eyes, before she whirled away, nearly colliding with Deke Kenyon.

  Deke studied her for long moments, holding her at arm’s length. "You shouldn’t be out here, Miss Malloy. These men have been aboard too long. After a while, they forget how to be civilized."

  He saw the relief in her eyes even before she spoke. "Yes, I realize that now. I’m afraid there was a scene. But everything is all right now. I’m glad you’re here. I was—I was in need of some pleasant company."

  Behind her, she could almost feel the stranger’s stern gaze boring into her back. She forced herself to walk away, as if unaware of his scrutiny.

  Deke Kenyon stared down at her determined expression. He saw the flush of anger that colored her flawless complexion. "I’ll accompany you to the stairs. You’d better get below."

  "No." She looked away for a moment, wondering how to explain to a gentleman like him why she was out here, with her blanket folded over her arm.

  He stared pointedly at the blanket. "You don’t wish to go below?"

  "Everyone is sick down there. I can’t stand the—I needed some air."

  "I see." He paused dramatically, his mind awhirl with fresh ideas. He had thought he’d lost this gamble. Now, suddenly, the cards were all coming up his way. "I wish I could stay and keep you company." He stared around at the men watching them, unaware of the dark figure at the rail. With a note of sarcasm, he murmured, "I hate leaving you to their pleasant company. But I have an appointment with the captain in a few minutes." He studied her bowed head, then lifted her chin with his finger, staring deeply into her eyes. His voice was a sultry whisper. "My offer of a private cabin still stands, Miss Malloy."

  She shook her head. "I couldn’t."

  Deke Kenyon smiled. He had sensed her hesitation as she refused.

  He stepped back stiffly. "I understand. Now, if you’ll excuse me."

  "Wait."

  September dropped her hand on his arm. He waited, with the patience of a man who knows he’s holding aces.

  She licked her lips, glancing around at the huddled forms nearby. How could she possibly stay out here with all these leering men?

  Deke seemed to turn away, as if impatient to be off.

  "I—I accept your offer." She spoke quickly, to keep from changing her mind.

  He turned back. In the darkness, his eyes were masked. But she could hear the silky warmth of a smile in his voice. "I’ll accompany you as far as the door of my cabin, Miss Malloy." He took her arm and led her past the grinning old men, past the faceless voices and knowing laughter.

  At the door of his cabin, he paused. "I’ll lock you in, Miss Malloy. That way, I’ll know you’re safe from these lechers."

  "I can lock myself in, Mr.—Deke."

  "I’m afraid I may need the key later," he said, offering her that warm, friendly smile.

  "But why?" Fear sliced her heart, and September curbed the urge to run.

  "Tonight the captain wishes to play for rather high stakes. I don’t want to carry too much money on my person." He glanced around. "It isn’t wise, with this desperate crowd."

  "But can’t you pay him in the morning?"

  "We dock in Skagway in the morning. You’ve never seen anything like it. This boat will be chaos. The captain will want everything settled tonight." He touched her arm gently. "I may not need to come back, if I manage to win. But if I should lose, I’ll just let myself in, get the money, and lock the door once more." With his arm beneath her elbow, he guided her further into the room, allowing the warmth to weave its magic. "You’ll be perfectly safe, Miss Malloy. And I’ll feel better, knowing no one can get to you in here."

  He began to close the door. "Sleep well, Miss Malloy."

  Before she could form a protest, the door closed. She heard the key turn in the lock. For long moments, she stood paralyzed, afraid to breathe, afraid even to swallow.

  She tried the door. It was locked. Listening intently, she strained to hear footsteps coming near the cabin. There were none. She paced the room restlessly. What had she done? She stared around the stateroom. It was as clean, as luxurious as before. Deke Kenyon was a gentleman. What could possibly go wrong in such a spotless place as this? Too weary to fight the pull of the freshly made up bed, she stripped off her heavy woolen dress and folded it and her blanket neatly at the foot of the bunk.

  Pouring some water from the pitcher, she picked up the fragrant soap and washed thoroughly. This might be her last chance to pamper herself with a bath for many days to come. There was no telling what she would find in Skagway, or how long she might be on the trail of her father.

  Removing the pouch of money from her dress, she shoved it under the pillow. After a moment’s consideration, she removed the knife from her pocket and placed it beside the money pouch. Terrance was right about the men on this boat. She would be a fool not to be prepared.

  Wearing only a chemise of ivory cotton, she climbed beneath the covers. Through the porthole she stared at the stars, charting their course through the heavens. While her lids grew heavy, then fluttered closed, the stern, dark features of the stranger drifted into her consciousness. He was a hard, angry man. She had sensed quiet strength flowing through his every pore. When he stood there, confronting her, she could feel the intense energy, which he had kept under rigid control. Dark eyes. Dark hair. There was nothing, not one thing, to soften that hard image.

  Deke Kenyon was his opposite. Light hair, laughing blue eyes. Quick to smile. The prince of light. She shivered. And the prince of darkness. Yet she couldn’t bring Deke’s image into clear focus. There was only the stranger. She could see his face clearly. Every harsh angle and plane. The contour of his strong jaw. Tight, angry lips. Eyes as hard as coal.

  With his image etched firmly in her mind, she slept.

  * * *

  An eerie, flickering light disturbed September’s slumber. Fighting a strange sense of disorientation, she sat up. As she did, the covers dropped, revealing creamy shoulders and the soft swell of firm breasts beneath the delicately embroidered chemise. Her hair, which she always brushed loose before bed, tumbled wildly about her back and shoulders and spilled over one breast.

  "Mr. Kenyon! Deke. What—what are you doing?" Realizing suddenly how she looked, she grasped the edge of the covers and pulled them up to her chin.

  He stood over the bunk, holding a swaying lantern aloft, staring down at her. His voice was low, nearly a whisper. "I’m admiring your beauty, September. I’m a connoisseur. Do you know what that is?"

  She shook her head, sending her hair drifting like a silken cloud about her face before settling once more around her shoulders.

  His eyes narrowed at the movement, then focused on her face. "A connoisseur is an expert, one who enjoys with discrimination all the subtleties of art, music, beauty. You are a rare beauty. And I mean to enjoy you."

  Her heart began racing. His words were foreign to her, but his meaning was clear enough.

  "You—you promised me I’d be safe here."

  "And you shall be," he said, setting the lantern down on the chest.

  As he turned, she realized he was removing his coat. "Aren’t you going out in the—bracing night air?"

  "I’ve had enough night air, September."

  She didn’t like hearing her name on his l
ips.

  "And the captain’s card game. Aren’t you going to join him?"

  "We’ve concluded the game. I won." His voice dropped even lower. "I always win."

  She felt a shiver along her spine at his prophetic words.

  He sat down in the chair and pulled off his shoes. As he removed his shirt and pants, September gaped, shocked beyond belief at seeing a man in this state of undress, but too afraid to look away.

  Her heart was drumming so painfully, she thought it would burst. She had to run, but if she ran out of the cabin now, everyone on board the boat would see her in her chemise. Where could she hide?

  "Please." Her voice rose to near hysteria. "Please, Deke. Let me leave before you finish undressing."

  He stood, naked, with his hands on his hips, and laughed at her. "Are you really this innocent, or is it a game you play?"

  Tears sprang to her eyes and spilled over, staining her cheeks. Mortified, she turned her head away. She felt the bunk sag as Deke sat on the edge. Gently catching her chin, he turned her face toward him.

  "No. This is no game with you, September. I can see that. That only adds to your charm." With exquisite tenderness, he wiped away her tears, then bent his lips to the corner of each eye. "Oh, September. I’m going to show you a world you’ve never seen before." His lips trailed her eyebrow, her cheek, the line of her jaw.

  She pulled back, afraid. Wrapping his arms around her, he drew her to his chest. He could feel the wild flutter of her heart, like a bird trapped in a cage.

  "Please don’t. I want to go now. Please let me go. Please."

  She was crying harder now. He felt the excitement growing. Like a mother rocking her child, he swayed, cooing softly to her, murmuring unintelligible words.

  When her tears subsided, he handed her a spotless handkerchief. "Here. Blow."

  She did as she was told. He smiled. September took several gulps of air. Deke had been kind. He would let her leave now.

  "Feeling better?"

  She nodded her head.