Nan Ryan (17 page)

“Nevada Marie Hamilton!” Miss Annabelle’s tone caused Nevada to blink.

“Yes, Miss Annabelle?” Nevada swallowed nervously.

Miss Annabelle drew several long, deep breaths, the lace-trimmed blouse covering her thin torso quivering with her efforts. She was slowly, deliberately canning herself, regaining her usual control. At last she came to Nevada, pushed an errant lock of jet-black hair behind her ear, and sat down beside her.

She said, “It’s fortunate we have some time alone this morning. I’ve been meaning to speak with you.” She smiled and took Nevada’s hand. “You are aware that Cap’n Roulette is—”

“Why do you keep calling Johnny
Cap’n
?” Nevada interrupted.

“He attained the rank of captain during the war and is entitled to it for the rest of his life. I address him as
Cap’n
out of respect, much the same as he addresses me as
Miss Annabelle.
”

“Hm. Well, I don’t respect him all that much, so I’ll just—”

“Let’s not get off the subject. As I was saying, you are well aware that the cap’n employed me to be your chaperon and tutor. So far, I have been lax in my duties. We thought it best to wait until we’re settled in London to begin—”

“I agree with you on that!”

“Dear, don’t interrupt me again. It’s rude to interrupt.”

“You should tell that to Johnny. He’s forever interrupting me.”

Miss Annabelle softly sighed. “Never mind that. About the cap’n, Nevada, you must
never
again go into his stateroom alone, especially when he is in bed.”

“Oh, it’s all right. He was angry at first, when I woke him up, but when he saw I had brought him a cup of coffee he stopped grumbling.” She grinned, remembering.

“That isn’t what I … now hear me carefully, Nevada. Young ladies do not go into a gentleman’s bedroom.” Her face grew pink. “Why, reputations have been forever spoiled over less.”

“I suppose. But I don’t give a flip about my reputation. I know who and what I am.”

Miss Annabelle cleared her throat needlessly. “Dear, I’m concerned with more than your reputation. I’ve a idea you are too … um … too … fond of Cap’n Roulette and—”

“Fond of him?” Nevada again interrupted, “Hellfire, I’m in love with Johnny.” Nevada snatched her hand from Miss Ansabelle’s and crossed her arms over her chest.

“Possibly you think that you are, but I suspect it’s simply a matter of hero worship.”

“Hero worship? Johnny’s no hero, far as I can tell. He’s just a gambler, but I love him.”

Miss Annabelle tried once again. “Let’s just say that you are naturally very grateful to the cap’n for offering you help and guidance.”

Nevada shook her head negatively. “Johnny’s not the only man who ever helped and guided me, Miss Annabelle.” Her blue eyes turned almost wistful. “The men on my papa’s keelboat all helped and guided me. Luke and Big Edgar and Slim. Teddy and ‘Black Jack’ Jones and especially old Willie. Then when I went on the
Moonlight Gambler
there was Pops McCullough and Stryker. Stryker told Johnny he’d personally kill him if he ever mistreated me. Stryker’s the
Gambler’s
bouncer and he’s even bigger than Johnny. A giant.”

Miss Annabelle felt rattled, as though she might be losing her train of thought. “Yes, well, no danger of that. What I’m trying to say, Nevada, is that you are mistaking Johnny’s kind concern for your welfare as being something more … different … from what it is.”

“Really? What would you say if I told you that Johnny and me …” Nevada caught herself and fell silent. What she and Johnny had done that night on the
Moonlight Gambler
was something beautiful and special and secret, not to be shared with anyone.

“The cap’n is your friend, Nevada. And nothing more.” Miss Annabelle rose from the bed and crossed the stateroom. She paused at the open porthole, inhaled deeply of the damp salt air, turned and said, “Possibly the best friend you’ll ever have. I know him. He would never mislead you. Never. He simply is not that kind of man. He does care for you but only as a benefactor cares for his ward. Or, perhaps, as an older brother toward a younger sister.”

“But I want him to—”

Miss Annabelle raised her hand for silence. “Dear, I’m afraid you’re a trifle spoiled.
I want
is a phrase that passes your lips far too often. You must learn that you cannot have something merely because you want it. Nor can you command a man to love you. Life just doesn’t work that way.”

Nevada lowered her head. Miss Annabelle hastily crossed to her. Reaching out, she lifted Nevada’s chin. “Don’t fret so. While there will always be things you can’t have, there are just as many you can have. You’re quite beautiful and I predict there’ll be more than one handsome young gentleman who’ll fall in love with you once you’ve learned to be a lady.” She smiled kindly and said, “Lesson one: Ladies never swear. You must stop swearing, dear.” She sat down, put an arm around Nevada’s shoulders, and hugged her. “One day you’ll make us proud, the cap’n and I. We’ve great plans for you, child.”

For a time they sat in silence. Then Nevada’s chin lifted. She looked the older woman in the eye and announced, “You and Johnny may have plans for me, but I have plans for Johnny.”

Undaunted, Miss Annabelle continued trying to reason with Nevada, failing to realize just how much in love and how stubborn her young charge was. Nevada was respectful enough to listen, and some of the things Miss Annabelle said did get through to her. While the wise older woman went on and on about the importance of behavior and manners and the like, Nevada concluded that if she could manage to become a lady, then surely Johnny would love her.

But by early afternoon Nevada had completely forgotten her desire to become a lady. In truth, she was fit to be tied. She’d not seen Johnny since breakfast. He had been absent at lunch and she suspected his absence had something to do with women, as opposed to poker.

Nevada wanted desperately to be with him. To have him all to herself. To hear that deep drawling voice speaking her name. To see that full sensual mouth stretch into a devilish grin beneath his sleek mustache. To have those dark eyes looking only at her.

She came up with a rather ingenious idea. She would pretend to be ill, too ill to spend the afternoon alone. Someone would have to stay with her and since Miss Annabelle had mentioned she was eagerly looking forward to a bridge game in the ladies’ salon, Johnny would have to be the one to stay with her.

“
Ooooh!
” Nevada suddenly moaned, clutching her stomach.

Miss Annabelle swiftly laid her book aside. “What is it, child?” she asked anxiously. At the same time there was a knock on the door. “Yes, come in,” she called impatiently.

“I’m not feeling well,” said Nevada, making a face and then biting her lip to keep from smiling when Johnny, his beige suit jacket hooked on a thumb and slung over his right shoulder, walked in. “I’m sick,” she said for emphasis, and watched through lowered lids as Johnny tossed his jacket over a lyre-backed chair and came to the bed.

“Dear me!” said Miss Annabelle. “Should I ring for the ship’s doctor?”

Not answering, Johnny sat down on the bed facing Nevada. He pressed a brown hand to her forehead. “No fever,” he said. Then, “Where does it hurt, Nevada?”

“Here,” she said, pointing. “My stomach.”

“Think it’s a touch of seasickness?”

“Yes,” Nevada was quick to reply. “I’m seasick. I feel miserable.”

“I’ll dampen a cloth for your forehead,” Miss Annabelle offered, and rushed to the bathroom.

Johnny laid a spread hand on Nevada’s flat stomach. “Tummy churning?”

She didn’t have to lie. Her stomach began fluttering like crazy the instant his big warm hand touched her. “Yes,” she said, “it is. I feel weak too.”

Miss Annabelle, returning with the cool cloth for Nevada’s head, said, “Thank goodness she wasn’t alone. I was just about to leave for my bridge game. Ten more minutes and I would have been gone.”

Johnny, moving his hand from Nevada’s stomach, rose from the bed. “Miss Annabelle, I’ve no plans for this afternoon. Go on to your bridge game. I’ll stay here with Nevada.”

“Why, Cap’n, I wouldn’t hear of it,” said Miss Annabelle.

“Well, why not?” said the patient, raising herself up on one elbow. “I—I mean, you shouldn’t miss your game, Miss Annabelle. Johnny can look after me.”

But Miss Annabelle was adamant. It would not be proper for a gentlemen to sit alone with a sick young lady. She shooed Johnny right out the door and took up her post at Nevada’s bedside.

Foiled, Nevada came clean with the truth. “I feel fine, Miss Annabelle, truly I do. Go on and play bridge.”

“Child, why would you feign
mal de mer
…. Was it nothing more than a trick to be with the cap’n?”

“I’m sorry.”

“I’ll not lecture you, but I will say that should I return from my bridge game to find you and the cap’n alone in either his or our cabin, I shall not let you out of my sight for the remainder of the crossing.”

“Yes, ma’am. May I please take a walk?”

Miss Annabelle thought it over. “Only because a degree of fresh air and sunshine are necessary to insure good health.” She smiled then and added, “Do
not
leave our deck and don’t be speaking to strangers.”

“Thank you, Miss Annabelle,” said Nevada, and impulsively hugged the taller older woman.

His hair was as silvery as the precious metal upon which his vast fortune was built. His face was as smooth as a baby’s and as pink. His eyes, wide set and as deep blue as the Atlantic, shone with a mischievous light. A well-trimmed silver goatee covered his chin and a full silver mustache almost hid his red smiling lips.

His gray suit was custom-cut to fit his tall slender frame, his shirt had a stiff boiled collar, his cravat was black-and-silver striped. In his lapel was a vivid lilac orchid and in his right hand was a varnished malacca walking stick.

Nevada, lazily reclining in a deck chair, shaded her eyes against the northern sun and watched as the tall silver-haired man strolling past paused when a steward rushed up to him. Holding out a silver salver, the steward waited respectfully silent while the tall dapper man read the missive.

“Will there be a reply, King?” the uniformed steward asked.

“Yes,” said the silver-haired man, and his voice, strong and melodious, carried on the breeze. “When I damned well feel like it.”

“Sir? That is your message?”

“It is,” said he and walked away, the silver head of his malacca cane glittering in the sun.

Her mouth agape, Nevada leapt from her deck chair and hurried to intercept the steward. “Excuse me,” she said, tapping him on the shoulder. “Is that gentlemen actually royalty?”

“Beg pardon, miss?”

“That silver-haired man. You called him a king.”

The steward smiled. “The gentleman is Mr. Theodore Cassidy of Nevada. His fortune was made in silver. He’s the silver king and he’s come to be known as King Cassidy.”

“And why is King Cassidy going to London?” asked Nevada.

The smile left the steward’s face. “Miss, I do not trespass into the motives of my passengers.” He glanced warily about, then added, “There are rumors of a late autumn poker game in London.” He turned and walked away and Nevada went back to her deck chair.

Moments later the tall silver-haired man returned, and Nevada blinked when he came straight toward her. Standing between her and the sun, he leaned on his cane, smiled, and said, “What say we strike a bargain, miss?”

“Sir?”

“A bargain. You shall have the chair from noon until three o’clock. I’ll claim it from three until six. Sound fair?”

“Sure,” said Nevada. “This your favorite deck chair, then?”

Grinning, he said, “Something like that. Allow me to introduce myself. I’m—”

“I know who you are,” said Nevada, jumping up to face him. “You’re King Cassidy from Nevada.” She stuck out her hand. “My name’s Nevada. I was born there and my papa named me after the state.”

King shook her hand warmly. “Why, we might be kin-folk, Nevada, and I’m certain we’re going to be friends.”

Liking him instantly, she replied, “King, my papa was Newt Hamilton and my mama was …” She took his arm and they strolled away, Nevada telling him her life’s story, King listening with interest. In minutes the silver-haired silver king had learned that Nevada was the daughter of the only woman to whom he had given his heart.

A heart which she had refused.

The young beautiful Beth Davis had rejected him. At thirty-six he was too old for her, she had told him and had, within a week of turning down his proposal, married a young handsome southerner new to Virginia City.

Now, all these years later, he was looking into the eyes of the enchanting product of that union.

17

“She’s a girl of extremes,” said Johnny, drawing a thin brown cigar from his inside coat pocket. “The way she has developed, there’s a quality about her that is … ah … this incredible sensuality that a woman-child has, a true woman-child. Her voice is a child’s, her attitudes, the way she walks and moves her hands about, childlike.” He struck a match and drew on his cigar. “But she’s a woman, with a woman’s ripe body. The mixture is explosive.”