Beth Henderson - Reckless

Hildy tossed her gowns over the end of Wyn’s bunk and perched on the lid of her largest trunk. “If I’d discovered he was aboard before we sailed you could probably have had him tossed off,” she said and assumed a thoughtful expression. “Do they still keelhaul people?”

This was serious indeed. “Not aboard a Shire ship,” Wyn answered, “and never to a paying customer.”

Hildy sighed. “Well, perhaps Deegan didn’t pay for his pas—

Blood rushed to Wyn’s face. “Deegan? Deegan Gallo-way?” she demanded in a tight voice.

“I don’t believe he noticed me,” Hildy admitted. “He was engaged in conversation with a very pretty girl and a mountainous woman whom I took to be her mother.”

Not only was he aboard, he was dallying with another heiress! Wyn surged to her feet, fuming and confused at the tumult of emotions his name raised in her breast. Had Pierce arranged this? She recalled clearly that he’d placed a wager on Deegan’s success in winning her. Pierce’s disreputable conduct in the past lead her to believe in the likelihood of the scheme. He’d probably sought Deegan out before leaving San Francisco months ago and arranged everything.

Well, he’d read her heart wrong if he believed she would fall readily into the perfidious Mr. Galloway’s arms again.

Wyn strode angrily around the cabin, unaware that Hildy was unnaturally quiet.

Had Pierce actually used her eagerly offered money to appease the bank during construction of the ship, or had he merely told her that he had? If it was still nestled in the vault of the Bank of California, she was going to cheerfully murder her older brother.

“I wonder what he looks like?” Hildy murmured.

No, she would torture Pierce first. She would see about acquiring thumb screws from a moldering dungeon and—

“What?” Wyn snapped, halting in mid stride.

Hildy looked up, her face still contemplative. “I was just wondering what the baron looks like,” she repeated.

“Fat and balding probably,” Wyn said, her voice bordering on a growl. Didn’t Hildy realize the complications Deegan’s presence presented?

Hildy shivered theatrically. “Oh, I hope he isn’t,” she said with a sigh. “I’d enjoy an improvement over Oswin, in looks, age, and money.”

Especially money, Wyn thought ruefully. It had come as a nasty shock to Hildy to find the man she’d married for his wealth had died nearly a pauper. Apparently her friend had yet to learn her lesson. There were other things in life that mattered more than a healthy bank account.

As if reading her thoughts, Hildy sighed again. “I do wish I had my diamonds rather than the paste copy to wear. The baron will probably notice the difference. Those of noble birth tend to be more educated in these matters than Americans are.”

Spoken like the true snob Hildy was, Wyn decided with disgust.

“What do you think the baron will think is my most attractive asset?” Hildy asked seriously.

In resignation, Wyn sank back down on the dressing stool. She had suggested Hildy accompany her on the voyage to restore her widowed friend’s spirits. Deegan Galloway could be dealt with successfully later. For now, it was Hildy who needed her whole attention.

Wyn pasted a bright smile on her face. “Your charm,” she declared staunchly. “It will stand you in good stead once you are a baroness.”

Hildy laughed softly and leaned forward to hug Wyn. “You’re lying but I love you for it,” she said.

The porthole framed a portrait of early evening. Flamboyantly painted shadows in various shades of purple appeared like bold brush strokes across the eastern sky. The stateroom suite was located on an upper deck and, to Wyn’s mind, afforded some of the most spectacular views available. How lovely it would be to escape to the bow of the ship and watch night gather. The heavens would sparkle in their full glory and, when the moon rose, the ocean would metamorphose into a gleaming reflection of the vast universe above.

But as an Abbot aboard a Shire ship, she had responsibilities.

“Perhaps we’d best change for dinner,” Wyn suggested. “You wouldn’t want another lady to attach your baron before we arrive.”

“If another woman so much as looks at him, promise me you’ll help me toss her overboard,” Hildy said, her tone of voice making Wyn wonder if her friend was actually serious rather than theatrical. Obviously, bringing a man with a title up to scratch meant a lot to Hildy. If that was the case, Wyn vowed silently to do whatever it took to make Hildy happy once more. Perhaps in doing so it would mollify her conscience over the way her blind attachment to Deegan had inadvertently hurt Leonore Cronin in San Francisco.

“I do wish the purser had been able to give me a few details about the baron’s appearance instead of being insidious,” Hildy said as she gathered her gowns from the bed.

Wyn began working loose the buttons of her form fitted jacket “Perhaps he hasn’t met the man,” she offered.

The fabric of Hildy’s evening gowns rustled softly, brushing against the flounces of her day dress as she crossed the room. “No, he said he met all the truly important passengers as they came aboard. But all he would tell me was that the baron’s appearance was quite appropriate to his name.”

Wyn turned her attention to the fastenings of her cuff. “What is his name?”

“Nothing spectacularly strange sounding.” Hildy paused in the doorway a moment. “It’s quite plain and distinctly Anglo-Saxon really. It’s Blackhawk.”

Preferring to spend as little time as possible in his suite, Garrett changed for dinner and retreated to the gentlemen’s smoking room where he plied a steward with silver for information. It took only a single clandestinely passed bribe to learn the direction of Winona Abbot’s stateroom, and that she represented the Shire family aboard the liner.

The news cheered him immensely, for it meant they met on far more equal footing. Both were not only financially comfortable, they were wealthy. Even though Deegan had handled the arrangements for their trip, Garrett’s nose for business had led him to make inquiries about the Shire Line before actually boarding the luxurious steamship. What he’d heard had impressed him. A number of shipping companies had folded when pitted against the sailing expertise of the White Star Line and Cunard, but the Shire Line had held fast, cutting a niche of their own in both the Atlantic trade and that of the Pacific. Considering that luxury liners had been making the crossing regularly since the Great Eastern launched in 1859, a good twenty years previous, he was rather surprised that the Nereid was the Shire Line’s first attempt to corner a share of the first-class passenger trade. Perhaps they had dallied, learning from the mistakes of their competitors. He wondered idly if the Shire and Abbot families had considered issuing stock, taking their shipping business out of the realm of a closed company, opening it to investors. A block of Shire stock would work well with his other investment interests. As soon as things were settled on his family’s lands, he’d, check into the matter, escape to London and—

Garrett nearly laughed out loud. Considering the way his associates in London treated him, London was anything but an escape. It would be little more than a brief reprieve from the oppressiveness of the Blackhawk estate.

That destination, thank God, was still more than a week away. A week in which he intended to immerse himself in the delightful pursuit of Winona Abbot. This would no doubt be the last time he could trust a woman to see him as simply a man rather than as Blackhawk of Hawk’s Run.