The New Orleans docks at the Mississippi River smelled every bit as awful as May had been warned. A brisk north wind swept down the levee at Canal Street, carrying not only the chill warning of an unseasonably cool day but also the putrid scent of overripe produce, rotting fish, and unwashed bodies.
May tucked her reticule closer to her and picked up her pace as she shrugged closer into her woolen wrap. Though anyone who knew her back home in New York City would be shocked at her unseemly display of haste, there was little chance of recognition here as she hurried toward her destination.
She’d tried this walk just yesterday and had turned around before she reached her destination. Today, however, telegrams offering marriage from Teddy Vanderwellen and both Campbell twins were tucked into her reticule along with a letter of approval for one of them—which he chose did not matter—that Mr. Austin merely had to sign. With just over three weeks left to find a solution, May could not afford to allow her disgust of this vile place to keep her from reaching the man who could set her free from it all.
Stepping over a thick rope, she pointedly ignored the stares of a group of ruffians, who ought to have been minding their work, by returning her attention to the line of vessels tied to the ramshackle docks. Here stacks of cotton, barrels, and crates were lined up higher than May’s head, and more just like them were being unloaded all down the docks.
All around her, throngs of persons of questionable background scurried off and on these ships, making for a chaotic walk down the narrow boards that passed for a sidewalk. To make matters worse, black clouds had begun to gather overhead and a rumble of thunder rolled past.
She had paid the detective well for the information, so Mr. Austin’s vessel had better be where he claimed. Things would have been much easier if Mr. Breaux had simply answered her question regarding the identity of the man Father put in charge of determining her future.
But no. The attorney could only tell her what Father allowed him to say. And apparently Father had anticipated with great glee the difficulty it would take to acquaint herself with Samuel Austin III.
However, he had not anticipated May’s ability to achieve whatever goal she set after. Just another example of how her father hadn’t known her at all. She was just as at fault, for had she taken the time to be a proper daughter to him, she might have anticipated this debacle and somehow prevented it.
She stepped into a smear of something slimy and skidded toward a wall of cotton bales. A man stepped in between her and the bales, allowing her to slam into his generously broad shoulders rather than the wall of cotton.
Arms that felt more like bands of steel caught her and held her upright. May looked up into a pair of sea-green eyes fringed by thick black lashes. He wore a workingman’s shirt and trousers and had bound his dark hair back with a length of leather, reminding May of the pirates in children’s storybooks.
This was no pirate, of course. Their ilk was long gone from the Louisiana waters. And this man, though rugged, bore only a small crescent-shaped scar on his right cheek. Her gaze lifted from the scar back up to his eyes.
Slowly one dark brow lifted. He then released her without a word, though his eyes still held her.
May knew she should return to an errand much more important than anything else, but she remained still. Took just a moment longer to study the curve of his jaw beneath the stubble of a beard and the fullness of his lips as they formed a smile.
“Mademoiselle, you have found me.”
She matched his smile and then realized how foolish she must seem. “I must be going,” she muttered then made her escape.
A few minutes later, May came to a stuttering halt. There it was, the battered wooden hull of the Vengeance wedged between a more elegantly sleek sailing ship and an overloaded merchant vessel that looked as if it would sink under the weight of its cargo.
This was the home of the man who held her destiny—and the purse strings to her father’s accounts—in his hands. What had Father been thinking?
She knew the answer to that question, of course. He’d been thinking that he would take one last opportunity from beyond the grave to voice his displeasure by saddling her with an impossible situation. And not just her, but her mother.
A lady does not dwell on the unpleasant. May straightened her backbone even as she felt the eyes of nearby dockworkers on her.
Though she had been informed the vessel was not the most luxurious, she had not been prepared for its current state of dishabille. Like its owner, the detective had warned.
The down-on-its-luck Vengeance bore traces of a former glory in the ornately carved woman decorating the prow and the glints of gold paint on the masts. Three masts pointed skyward, though the centermost of the trio appeared to have been recently repaired.
May paused to consider whether the boat was seaworthy. While it wasn’t the most unpleasant ship rocking at anchor, it was by no means a vessel she would willingly board under any other circumstance. But she boarded it now, striding up the makeshift gangplank as if she owned the miserable thing.
Bolen Shipping likely owned a number of the ships surrounding this one and all down the river, though May never cared to step aboard any of them. If her mission here went well, perhaps she never would have to.
If she failed …
“No,” she said under her breath as she held tight to the reticule that held her key to a future outside of this wretched city. “I simply cannot fail.”
Glancing around the deck, May thought the vessel unattended until she spied something moving beneath a mildewing pile of burlap.
May reached over to pick up a length of wood off a stack near the burlap. Wielding the stick, she poked at the burlap, and the movement ceased.
Then she spied the fingers reaching out from beneath the fabric.
She hadn’t recognized him. That was the only explanation for the Bolen woman’s behavior.
From his vantage point on the docks, Sam had spied May Bolen heading toward him well before she nearly landed in the cotton bales. Thanks to her father’s will, at the top of the list of trouble Sam inherited along with the family name was the slip of a woman boarding his ship as if she owned it and the entire Canal Street docks.
Of course, rich girls like her were taught from the cradle how to walk like that. How to assume the world and everything in it were theirs for the taking.
After the Bolen woman’s first attempt to walk the length of the docks yesterday, something a woman of her quality should never have done, he had made it known the striking brunette was not to be accosted. The warning served to reduce the usual abuse a female might have endured to something akin to lecherous stares.
She wore yellow that day. Today she had chosen a gown of pale blue, and given the fact her nose was in the air, she was likely oblivious to the smears of mud decorating her hemline.
Sam gave her another long look and thought of how she felt in his arms. If she weren’t a Bolen, she might have been worthy of more than just a second look. But she was a Bolen, and she must know that he held her future in his hands.
“What is she doing?”
Sam glanced over his shoulder as his brother, Joseph, approached from the opposite direction. He frowned. As much as possible, he tried to shield Joe from the unseemly world of the docks. Protecting the younger Austin was a cause he’d taken up at a young age. While he was meant for this wild and ugly place, gently raised Joe, the mama’s boy, was much more suited to his chosen life as a college professor.
“Her?” he asked with a nod toward the Bolen woman. “I believe she’s looking for me.”
Joe ran his hand through his hair, a gesture so reminiscent of their father that it hurt. “Who is that?”
Sam gave a moment’s thought to telling his brother the story of the will and what this soon-to-be poor little rich girl likely wanted from him. But to repeat the story was to bring Joe into something he had no business knowing about yet.
Not until Sam decided what he was going to do about all of it.
“No one you’d know.”
“Whoever she is, she’s sure not suited for the docks.” Joe shifted his attention away from the woman to slide him a sideways look. “What business would she have with us?”
“I suspect her business is with me, but I think I’ll just wait and see.”
“Why’s she poking that pile of sails? Wharf rats?” Joe said.
“Not on my vessel, though it could be a stray dog or cat.” He shrugged. “Or worse.”
“Worse?”
Sam nodded. “More likely one of those deckhands I hired on last week.”
They watched in silence as the lady in question made a circular trip around the pile and then raised the stick only to lower it again. If, indeed, there were cats or dogs hiding there, she’d get a nasty surprise when they scattered. If a lazy crewman was sleeping, which was the more likely possibility, the surprise would be worse.
Once again the woman raised the stick. Something caught her attention.
“Shouldn’t you stop her?” Joe demanded.
“I’m sorely tempted not to,” he said. “But I have far too much trouble keeping good deckhands.”
“You know you can always call on me,” Joe said, his eyes narrowed. “I’m as much an Austin as you are, and as such am fully capable of doing any work on an Austin vessel that needs done.”
Sam clamped his hand on Joe’s shoulder. “Stick to the classroom, Professor. You’re not suited for that sort of work, and even if you were, I made a promise to our mother and I won’t break it.”
“You know how I feel about that promise you made not to—oh no!” Joe gestured toward May Bolen, who held the stick poised over her head like a warrior about to go to battle.
“Woman, drop your weapon,” Sam called, but as soon as he said the words, he knew they were too late. The Bolen woman slammed the stick against the sails hard enough to be heard over the noise of the docks.
Sam scrambled forward, colliding with a workman and his load of barrels. The barrels went rolling in all directions, and the workman came up swinging.
As Sam ducked the smaller man’s right fist, he spied his formerly sleeping deckhand emerge from the sails to tackle the source of his pain. “Let her go,” Sam shouted, taking his attention off the workman.
Something cracked against his skull, sending him down onto the slime that coated the docks. A second later, the fellow landed with a thud beside him.
“Need a hand?” Joe asked as he reached down to help him to his feet.
“Where’d you learn to do that?” he demanded as he rubbed the back of his head.
Before Joe could respond, a scream split the air. Though the deckhand was still fighting the sailcloth wrapped around him, he had managed to knock the Bolen woman off her feet and was holding her in place with his free hand.
As Miss Bolen scrambled to try and get away, Sam bolted toward the gangplank. Snatching up the edge of the sail, he gave it a yank. The deckhand fell backward, releasing Miss Bolen, who spun around and slammed into Sam.
He caught her. “Mademoiselle, we meet again,” he said to her.
“Release me,” she demanded as she pressed her palms against his chest.
Sam let her go then grabbed her elbow once again when she nearly tumbled. “Easy now. You’ll need time to adapt to standing on a deck.”
“I do not intend to take any more time than necessary.” Her eyes flashed anger. “Do stop following me.”
“Mademoiselle, I believe it is you who are following me,” he said. “And perhaps you’re trying to find me?”
“Only if you are Samuel Austin III, though I would seriously doubt you if you made the claim that you are he.”
He slid a sideways glance at Joe, who had come to stand beside him. With his brother’s grin broadening, Sam shrugged.
“Well then, I suppose you’ve got a better idea of who Samuel Austin III is and where he might be?”
For the first time since she marched aboard the Vengeance, Miss Bolen looked less than sure of herself. “My source says he owns this vessel and often stays aboard.”
“Your source?” Sam said. “Might he have a name?”
“He does indeed, and a very prominent name at that.” She paused. “However I’ll not be revealing anything to a man of your sort.”
“And what sort is that?”
“Well, the sort who would follow me and … oh, I don’t know,” she said, clearly flustered. “I am not looking for trouble, only just to find Samuel Austin III.”
“If you were not looking for trouble, you should not have taken a stick to an innocent man,” he said as he nodded toward the deckhand now glowering at them from a safe distance. “A man who will apologize and then leave us.”
At his subtle command, the deckhand moved a few steps forward to mutter words that might have been a request for forgiveness. As soon as the request was out, the man had disappeared below deck.
“There,” Sam said. “Now tell me about this Austin character.”
Joe chuckled under his breath, causing Sam to elbow him in the ribs. Miss Bolen’s nervous attention skittered between Joe and Sam, finally settling on Sam.
“I believe you are toying with me, sir,” she said as she straightened her backbone and squared her shoulders.
“For what purpose?”
“I cannot say, though I merely wish to deliver a …” She looked down and then back up at Sam, her expression now distraught. “Oh no. My reticule. I’ve lost it.” Ignoring the conversation at hand, she wandered away with her attention now on the deck.
He nudged Joe. “Help her find whatever she’s looking for.”
Leaning against the mainsail with his arms crossed, Sam watched the pretty lady scour the deck while Joe walked the perimeter of the vessel. “I think I see it,” Joe shouted a few minutes later as he gestured to the water on the leeward side.
Miss Bolen stood beside him and then seemed to crumple. Sam hurried over in case he needed to catch her for the third time. There, floating in the river between the Vengeance and the next vessel was a beaded bag with strings flowing out of one end.
He fetched a net and scooped up the bag, depositing it onto the deck along with three dead fish, a rotting piece of fruit, and a length of rope. When he lifted the bag from the soggy, stinking mess, a lump of pale-colored pulp fell out.
“Oh no,” she said as she dove for the pulp, and then moaned when it disintegrated in her hands. For the first time since May Bolen came aboard the Vengeance, she appeared to be at a loss as to what to say or do.
“Something important?” Sam asked.
“More than that,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper against the noise of the riverfront docks. “I thought with these documents I might have …”
A tear slid down her cheek, and Sam reached up to swipe it away.
“Mademoiselle”—he said gently as he wrapped his arm around her shoulder and led her toward the gangplank—“I see you are in distress. Perhaps I can help. This Samuel Austin III. What if I were able to deliver him to you? Or you to him?”
Eyes the color of café au lait lifted to meet his gaze. “It’s him, isn’t it?” she said as she nodded toward Joe.
Sam laughed.
“I knew it was,” she said as she whirled around and ducked under his arm to march over to where Joe stood. “Good sir,” she said. “Am I correct in my guess? Are you Samuel Austin III?”
Joe opened his mouth to respond, but Sam shook his head. Until he had more time to consider his next move, he intended to use her disbelief to his advantage.
Joe closed his mouth and then began again. “I am not,” he said. “However, he is my brother. Would you like me to arrange a meeting?”
“I would like that very much,” she said sweetly. “Mr … Austin, isn’t it?”
“It is. Joseph Austin at your service.”
Her eyes narrowed. “I hope you’ll understand my reluctance to rely on your word alone,” she said. “You see, this is a matter of extreme urgency and I must be certain to whom I am speaking.”
Though Sam shook his head again, Joe ignored him. “In that case, meet me at my office at Tulane University tomorrow morning at ten. I am a professor in the mathematics department. Would the plaque with my name on my office door convince you of my identity?”
“Possibly,” she said, “although I will have to check the notes from my source to be certain a brother is listed in Mr. Austin’s dossier. Might I bring my detective with me?”
“I insist,” Joe said as he shot Sam a grin. “After all, I would hate to think of you traveling unaccompanied. As a matter of fact, I am concerned as to where your escort might be. Surely you did not come down to the docks alone.”
While Joe made a big show of looking around for the Bolen woman’s escort, May Bolen’s expression told Sam she was enjoying the attention. Before Sam could convey a warning to his brother, Joe had talked May Bolen into allowing him to escort her off the docks.
By the time Joe returned, Sam had worked up a powerful irritation. “What were you thinking, Joseph?” he demanded as soon as his brother boarded the Vengeance.
“I was thinking that a pretty lady needed an escort, and she certainly wasn’t going to allow you to be the man to do that. Besides, she made it plain she didn’t want to spend time with you.”
“And yet tomorrow you’re going to tell her how to find me.”
“Well, yes, that’s the purpose for the meeting,” he admitted. “Don’t act like it’s my fault. You could have tried harder to convince her of your identity.”
“I’ll speak with her on my own terms when I’m ready.”
“Now that’s an odd statement, Sam,” his brother said. “She’s quite pleasant. I enjoyed chatting with her.”
“In all the chatting you did on your way up the docks, did you happen to ask that pretty lady her name?” Before Joe could respond, Sam continued. “I know you did not. How did I know, you might ask?” He paused. “Because that woman you just spent time flirting with is May Bolen.”
“As in Bolen Shipping?” Joe shook his head. “Why would a Bolen be looking for you?”
“That, Joseph, is a much longer conversation that I don’t want to have out here on this boat. Let’s go back to your office, and I’ll tell you all about it.”
“All right”—he said as he fell into step beside Sam—“but tell me one thing. Is Miss Bolen single or spoken for? I find her fascinating.”
“The answer to that question, little brother,” he said with a grin, “is up to me.”