Moonwitch

“Because Natchez could use a regular steamboat service to New Orleans. Someone ought to establish one.”

“Are you thinking of doing it yourself?”

Kyle’s eyebrows drew together for a moment. Then he shook his head, as if he had been dreaming of an impossibility. “No, not seriously. You heard what Shreve said. To build a stern-wheel boat, it takes around fifty thousand dollars in capital, plus ten thousand a year in running expenses.”

Yet she could tell that the thought of operating his own steamboat appealed to him. And she didn’t believe it was the money that was keeping him from pursuing the opportunity. If rumor was correct, Kyle was wealthy in his own right, notwithstanding the proceeds from the Markham plantation, which would allow him to buy five steamboats if he chose to. So it must be the responsibilities he faced in Natchez that were preventing him from even considering such a step.

But Kyle appeared to dismiss the subject as they arrived at the door to her cabin. “Supper will be served at seven bells…that is, half past seven. I’ll return to collect you then.” He started to turn away, then glanced down at her. “Do you need any help changing your gown?”

She was immediately conscious of the subtle change in his voice. The tone seemed to ripple over her skin. Selena looked at him sharply. “Thank you, no. I’m not…wearing a corset.”

His gaze dropped to her breasts, measuring, lingering. A slow smile curved his lips, as if he could see very clearly what lay beneath the high-necked bodice of her gown. “I know you aren’t.” The words were an intimate murmur, his gaze a probing visual caress.

At his scorching look, warmth flared in the pit of Selena’s stomach. Kyle’s eyes smoldered with the same heat she remembered from that stormy night of passion, arousing sensations and images that made her recall other things about that night… How his mouth had closed hotly over her nipples. How the hard expanse of his chest had rasped sensually against her breasts as he moved inside her. How the weight of his sleek, muscular body had felt between her thighs....

Selena stiffened. It was wholly unnerving the way memories of lying beneath this magnificent man haunted her. Particularly when it was all too likely that he had only recently left the arms of his mistress.

Pressing her lips together in determination, Selena murmured a cool “Good day” and let herself into her cabin. She would not allow his scorching looks and suggestive remarks to affect her.

In the narrow corridor, Kyle stood staring after her, wondering how he was going to manage being confined in close quarters for several days with Selena. It had taken the severest restraint just now to resist the temptation of her tantalizing mouth, to overcome the yearning to take her in his arms.

&n

bsp; Clamping his teeth together, Kyle dragged his gaze away from her door. He was quite glad he had taken separate sleeping accommodations. There was no way in hell he could share a cabin with Selena and still maintain his distance. The trouble was, even distance didn’t help. She bedeviled his dreams, bedeviled his waking hours, bedeviled his thoughts....

In frustration, Kyle plowed his fingers through his hair. What he needed was a good stiff brandy and the width of the Atlantic Ocean between them. Though he had the sinking feeling that even that wouldn’t be enough to make him immune to the elusive charms of the frosty, straitlaced lady who was now his wife.

They dined in the common room with the other passengers on board the Washington, in a social atmosphere that resembled one of the finer hotels in New Orleans. Kyle found the encounter as difficult as he had anticipated. He was unused to jealousy, and he didn’t handle it all well, but the frequent glances his beautiful young wife was receiving from the dozen or so other gentlemen gave him the urge to put his fists to good use.

Yet he could see what attracted their notice. Selena was dressed in an evening gown of blue crepe that fairly shouted taste and good breeding, but the paisley shawl draped demurely across her slender shoulders did little the hide the elegant line of her white neck or the ripe swell of her breasts.

Gazing across the table at Selena, Kyle was struck afresh by her loveliness. It was easy to forget he hadn’t wanted to marry her. What was difficult was controlling his physical reaction to her nearness. An exercise in fortitude, he thought grimly. His body was achingly aware of her, even though she occasionally favored him with a distancing glance from those cool blue eyes of hers.

Selena couldn’t be said to be enjoying the meal, either. The fare offered a wide variety of meats but few vegetables and none of the luscious fruits she was accustomed to on her island. And she was experiencing a similar physical reaction to the one Kyle was experiencing. A dark blue coat and closefitting buff trousers hugged the contours of his muscled torso and long, well-defined legs, making her fully aware of his overwhelming masculinity.

But Kyle’s unsociable behavior affected her more than his rugged appeal. He seemed determined to ignore her. The few moments of friendly intimacy they had shared earlier that afternoon might never have happened.

The thought lighted a spark of anger in her. Even if Kyle didn’t want her for his wife, he at least owed her the common courtesy of civil conversation at the dining table. When she had endured as much of his silence as she could stand, she decided, perversely, to make him talk.

“If you have such a low opinion of steamboats, how do you know so much about them?” she inquired. As polite conversation, it lacked something, but at least she had chosen a subject that she thought would interest Kyle.

He looked up briefly from his rice pudding. “I don’t have a low opinion of steamboats. Merely the same prejudice against river craft any self-respecting seaman would hold.”

“Oh, I see,” she said archly, and when he resumed eating, asked, “Aren’t you worried the Washington might explode?”

His mouth tightened in a thin line. “Explosions aren’t a frequent occurrence, Selena. They get the greatest attention from the newspapermen, but there’s more danger to a steamboat from snags and fires. And even those are rare,” he lied, not wanting to alarm her further.

“I don’t understand how you can be so unconcerned when your parents were killed in an explosion.” Kyle looked up sharply, and Selena was sorry to have mentioned it. Kyle’s frown showed he didn’t like being reminded of the tragedy.

“A careful pilot can prevent most accidents,” he answered with obvious forced politeness.

Selena’s gaze softened. “I’m sorry about your parents. How did it happen?”

Kyle sighed. “It was never determined. Negligence or sheer stupidity, perhaps. It’s possible the engineer weighted the boiler’s safety valve but more likely the strikers simply let pressure build to a dangerous level. The Merilinda was pulling away from the levee when the boiler went. The ship sank within minutes, with only a few survivors.”

“Was it recent?”

“Last fall.”