Moonwitch

“I am not,” Selena replied stiffly.

“No? I seem to remember you’ve professed not to want my lovemaking. Maybe I should find a woman who will appreciate my better qualities.”

“Maybe you should!”

Kyle would have vigorously continued their public argument, except that he realized a porter from the hotel had come out to serve them and was staring at them goggle-eyed. Determined not to create a further spectacle, he bit back his fury and jumped down from the carriage.

Selena accepted his help alighting with rigid politeness, angry heat still stinging her cheeks. When Kyle thrust Horatio’s cage into the gaping porter’s arms, she clamped her lips shut, afraid the outrage she felt would spill over into words.

In tight-lipped silence, he escorted her through the arched doors of the hotel, where they were greeted by a smiling proprietor. Kyle immediately requested two bedchambers and a private parlor. Originally he’d planned on taking only one room, for he had been willing to give their marriage a chance. But he would be damned if he would plead with Selena for permission to exercise his husbandly rights.

When he had made the arrangements and then tersely informed Selena that he would see her in the morning, Kyle turned on his heel and stalked from the hotel.

Selena wasn’t sure where he spent the night. Despite his engagement of a separate bedchamber, she couldn’t be sure he chose to use it—particularly when she remembered the redhead’s promise to “wait anxiously” for him.

Kyle did not, however, pay a visit to Veronique—although he did send her an expensive gift and a carefully worded note of apology in an attempt to soften the blow of parting. Then he spent the entire night in an exclusive gambling hell playing cards and losing. Feeling plagued by women in general and one in particular, he emphatically refused the feminine companionship that was so willingly offered him. And when he finally returned to the hotel at dawn, he found himself standing in front of his wife’s door, glaring at the unoffending portal.

His pride and his passions were waging a terrible war. Selena had no grounds for cutting up stiff over his past association with Veronique. He had explained the situation and asked her forgiveness, and he would be hanged if he would grovel. Selena had no right, either, to deny him her bed. As her husband he was entitled to the physical privileges marriage entailed.

Setting his jaw, Kyle reached for the latch. Then he jerked his hand back as if he had touched a hot coal. He’d never forced himself on a woman, and if he opened that door, that was precisely what would happen.

Kyle raked his fingers through his hair. If Selena was upset about Veronique, how much more resentful would she be when she learned about his son?

He didn’t want to think of the answer. He wouldn’t think of it.

Stalking away, Kyle let himself into the room that was two doors down from Selena’s and threw himself into bed—quite alone.

Chapter Nine

Selena didn’t see Kyle at breakfast, but she received a curt note from him shortly afterward. It would be another day, his bold, slashing hand informed her, before the Washington left for Natchez.

At loose ends, she wandered down to the enclosed courtyard of the hotel, where the lush vegetation reminded her of home. She would have liked to explore the New Orleans shops, but she didn’t want to walk the streets of a strange city without an escort or a maid in attendance, and she had too much pride to approach Kyle with such a request. Besides, according to his note, he intended to spend the day away from the hotel, calling on business acquaintances in the city.

Settling herself on a bench shaded by small palms and surrounded by bougainvillea and fragrant white jasmine, Selena occupied herself reading long-outdated issues of ladies’ magazines from London and Paris, which a kindly servant provided.

She ate a solitary dinner that evening, and the following morning, the porter came for her trunk and parrot. It was nearly afternoon, however, before Kyle appeared to escort her to the wharf. They made the short carriage trip in silence. Selena was inclined, after so many hours of loneliness and boredom, to initiate a conversation with him, even if it consisted only of polite small talk, but Kyle’s grim expression had returned, and she wasn’t quite desperate enough to brave his ill humor.

The earthy smell of the river reached her when they were still a block away. And as they neared the throng of people and merchandise that crowded the levee, the steamship caught her eye at once. The great white bulk of the Washington’s superstructure stood out from the long line of boats like a clumsy giant among dwarfs, while thin ribbons of smoke curled from the towering black chimneys.

Reluctant to board the strange ship, Selena took Kyle’s arm with great unwillingness. She had just put one slippered foot on the gangplank when a hoarse blast from the steamboat nearly startled her out of her skin. With a small cry, she whirled and collided with the hard wall of Kyle’s chest. She would have bolted if Kyle’s strong arms hadn’t closed around her, preventing her from fleeing the ship.

“It’s all right,” he said gently. “They’re just getting up steam. The boat isn’t going to sink.”

Selena warily eyed the clouds of white vapor above the twin stacks. “Oh,” she said lamely before glancing up at Kyle. His hazel eyes were tender, amused.

Flushing at her cowardice and the absurd way she was clinging to him, Selena disengaged herself from his embrace and smoothed the skirt of her gown, then allowed herself to be led up the gangway.

The steamboat’s clerk appeared instantly to greet them, escorting them through a maze of deckhands who were handling cargo to a steep flight of steps. When they mounted the stairs, they found themselves on a second deck that occupied the rear two-thirds of the steamboat.

The entire upper deck, Selena learned from the clerk, was actually one long cabin. It boasted a drawing room, a ladies’ dormitory, a common room lined with berths for the accommodation of the male passengers and three handsome private sleeping rooms, two of which Kyle had taken for their use. The arrangement didn’t seem to surprise the clerk; it was customary for well-bred couples to sleep apart. Still, Selena found herself wishing it wasn’t so.

She thanked the clerk as she entered her cabin. Before she closed the door, however, she heard Kyle asking about the steamboat.

“Yes, sir,” the clerk replied eagerly. “The Washington is Captain Shreve’s own design.”

“Perhaps the captain might be persuaded to allow me a tour.”

“Of course, sir, as soon as we get under way.”