Ethan Lucas wins the River Goddess from its owner in a poker game. A few years later, Blythe Bouvier goes looking for the sternwheeler. Despite the long odds, the riverboat is still operating, Blythe finds what she seeks and boards the vessel in search of her grandfather.

Here are the Prologue and first two chapters of my newest historical romance entitled Portrait of Obsession.

Determined to find the young woman whose hair reminds him of a portrait in his office, Ethan searches for Blythe. Blythe, however, has heard from others that he is looking for her and, having had an unpleasant encounter with the large, intimidating man, does everything she can to stay away from him. But that is not to be when he follows her one night and attacks a man who offers to help her discourage Ethan. To her dismay, the man kisses her against her wishes. Ethan defends her honor and hits the man. When he turns to see if Blythe is okay, she is gone.

Because of his assault on the man, Blythe hides out from Ethan. They are on a vessel, though, and there are few places she can go without somebody seeing her. Eventually, they meet face to face, and Ethan discovers the truth about Blythe.

PROLOGUE

He paused in the doorway to the gambling parlor to scrutinize the nine tables in turn. Each had five men seated around it; each had only one lantern hanging over it from the beamed ceiling. The lanterns swayed in rhythm with the choppy waves. The noisy steam engines of the sternwheeler, which he had heard on deck, scarcely registered in this room. The owner of the River Goddess had chosen the best location on the boat for the parlor—relative quiet for maximum concentration.

Moving toward the table to his left, he stood behind and between two players. After only two hands, he knew that none of the five were his caliber of poker player. Unless he was having a particularly bad night and needed to recoup his money, he would leave these gentlemen alone. No sense in taking money from poor players. He, Ethan Lucas, believed that was cheating and had never deprived a man of his money so easily unless he was desperate for money himself. He moved on to the next table.

One man folded and rolled some tobacco into a piece of paper about four inches long. Deciding to have a smoke himself, Ethan whipped a dark brown cigar from his inside jacket pocket and bit off the tip. Spitting it out, he strode to stand by the man with the cigarette. As soon as the man lit it with a match he struck on the edge of the table, Ethan grabbed the flaming stick before it went out.

All at the table stared up at him as he casually touched the flame to the end of his cigar and puffed on it several times. Smoke encircled his head like a cloud did a mountain top. Shaking the fire off the match, he dropped it into the ceramic ashtray and nodded once in acknowledgment toward the quintet.

Those men appeared afraid of him, and why wouldn’t they? At about six feet two inches and muscular, most men found him imposing because most were six or more inches shorter. Ethan moved on to the next table. A dapper man in his forties sat across from him. When Ethan’s shadow fell across his hand, Dapper Forties looked up. His mouth gaping, Dapper Forties folded on his turn, grabbed the money before him on the table, and knocked his chair over in his rush to leave.

Ethan smirked. He must have played against that man before since Dapper Forties left so abruptly. At least, there was an opening in the room now. The four others at the table gazed up at him but didn’t appear intimidated. Good. They had some spunk, and they didn’t let their feelings show. He wouldn’t mind betting against them. He might come back to this table when he finished sizing up the competition.

He moved on to the fourth table. The dealer was shuffling the cards quickly. Ethan noticed the extreme efficiency with which the dealer passed out the cards. Ethan puffed on his cigar. There was no way in hell he would play at that table. The dealer was a slick shark, and the other four were too stupid to see it.

At the head table, Ethan stopped and stared at the portrait on the wall before him. That was the most attractive woman he’d ever seen. She wasn’t the beauties he was used to, but she possessed a quality that made her much more pleasing to look at. Maybe it was the shy smile—or the innocent expression in her pale eyes. Whatever it was, he had to have that painting. Then he had to find that woman to see if those attributes were real or merely a painter’s vivid imagination.

“If you’re not going to play,” the man sitting adjacent to the portrait ordered in a heavy French accent, “get out from behind me. You’re ruining my concentration.”

Although taken aback that the Frenchman knew he was there, Ethan took another puff of his cigar as he moved off to one side. In the middle of the hand, the player slammed his cards face-down on the table. Rising abruptly, he glared up at Ethan.

“If you don’t get away from me,” he warned as he took in Ethan’s size, “I’ll have my four biggest men throw you overboard.”

Ethan raised an eyebrow and puffed on his cigar again. When he spoke, his deep, clear voice boomed throughout the room, attracting everyone’s attention. “You own this riverboat?”

“Yes. I’m Frank Bower. Now leave.”

A quick thought flashed through Ethan’s mind. Frank Bower didn’t sound like a French name. Then again, many people changed their names when immigrating to America.

Instead of leaving, Ethan strode to the player sitting under the portrait and clamped his hand onto the player’s shoulder. Nodding once toward the table Dapper Forties had vacated, he said, “Over there.”

Without hesitating, the player grabbed the money before him and left. Ethan sank onto the now-empty chair. “I’m Ethan Lucas. Finish this hand then deal me in.”

Bower sat down again, glowering at Ethan’s audacity. He picked up his cards and placed his next bet while Ethan watched stone-faced, puffing on his cigar.

After several hours and two bottles of wine, Bower began betting recklessly. With the other men in the parlor long since gone, Ethan became ruthless. He was determined to out-play this drunken mark and teach him a lesson he would never forget—that poker and wine don’t mix. He would win the portrait above him that Bower constantly glanced at.

By dawn Bower had downed another bottle of wine. About an hour after sunrise, Bower dealt the final hand. He had work to do and had to stop gambling whether he won this hand or lost it. As he always did, he fanned his cards out one by one. Five-card draw, deuces wild. The top card was the ace of spades; the next, the ace of diamonds. The following three he uncovered were the three of spades, the nine of spades and the four of spades. What a hand! he thought sarcastically. A pair of aces and three low cards, but he did have four spades—and a major decision to make. Did he turn in the three low cards and take three more in the hope of getting some higher cards to go with his aces? Or did he turn in the diamond and try his luck on one more spade for a flush?

He glanced across the table. Ethan puffed on his third cigar that night and absently blew a smoke ring, watching it rise toward the ceiling and dissipate. His expression gave no hint of how good or bad his hand was.

“How much to you want to bet, Lucas?” Bower demanded.

“Last hand, eh?” Lucas asked, rubbing the day growth of beard on his square jaw in contemplation.

“I have work to do.”

“Stakes?”

Bower glanced at his cards again. It probably wasn’t a very smart play, but he felt lucky. He had to see if it was real or imagined, so he said. “Whatever you can afford.”

Lucas pushed all the money before him to the center of the table. “Twelve hundred dollars.”

Bower stared at him in wide-eyed disbelief. “That’s everything you have—to open.”

Reaching into his pocket, Lucas pulled out a roll of bills and laid it on the table. “You in?”

Bower let his gaze drift to the portrait behind the man. What would she have said about this hand? She would have told him to stop gambling before he lost everything. But she didn’t understand a man’s lust for the danger of that happening. She only understood the other kind of lust. And she understood it very well!

With a sigh, Bower counted out twelve hundred dollars of the money before him and laid it on top of Lucas’s. “What will it be, Lucas?”

“Stand pat,” Ethan replied as streams of smoke drifted from his mouth and nostrils.

Bower grunted and shook his head. Three times during the night Lucas had refused any new cards, and three times he had lost the hand. Only a fool would try the same thing a fourth time. Making a quick decision, Bower laid three cards from his hand aside and announced, “Dealer takes three.”

Bower stared at the three cards. Then he looked over at Lucas, whose expression remained unchanged, a good poker face. Could his cards beat the ones he had dealt to his opponent?

“Are you going to bet?” Bower asked. “Or are you going to sit there all day?”

Lucas picked up the roll of bills and dropped it on the pile. “Two thousand dollars.”

“On a pat hand?” Bower asked in shock. But Lucas stared at him stone-faced through a cloud of smoke. Bower counted the money he had left. Two hundred seventy-five dollars, but he had plenty of property. He looked at his cards again—four aces and the five of clubs. It was a damned fine hand, because only two could beat it. Lucas couldn’t have a royal flush, because he had the ace to make it. And the chances of Lucas having a straight flush were almost as slim. He himself had only had four in over twenty years of gambling.

“I have two-seventy-five here, Lucas,” Bower asked. “Will you take property?”

“Only one thing,” Lucas replied. “The portrait behind me.”

Bower stared at him in shock. “You want my painting to be worth seventeen hundred twenty-five dollars?”

“Do you want to forfeit the money you’ve already bet?” Lucas prompted.

Again, Bower looked at his hand. Four aces and a five. Only one hand possibly higher. “All right, Lucas. The portrait plus my cash.”

Without a word, Lucas laid his cards face-up on the table. Bower stared at them in shock. Ethan had the king, queen, jack, ten and nine of hearts. If he’d given up the nine, he would have drawn the ace. That would have made a royal flush. But even that didn’t matter now. A straight flush beat his four of a kind. He had lost his beloved portrait.

Suddenly, panic set in. He had to get the painting back. He had to. He grabbed up the cards and shuffled them frantically. Slapping them down on the table, he said, “Cut the deck.”

“Don’t be a fool, Bower,” Lucas advised. “You’re a cold player now, and you know it.”

“Cut the damned deck,” Bower ordered.

Shaking his head, Ethan took the top part of the deck and set it to the right. Bower put the bottom stack on the top cards.

“We’re going to draw one card,” Bower announced. “High card takes all.”

“All what?”

“If you lose, I get everything on the table and my portrait. If I lose, you get the River Goddess and everything on board.”

“I’ll give you one thing,” Lucas said, picking up some of the cards, “you’ve got heart. But you’re a real dupe, too.” He turned his cards over to reveal the top one. “Ten of diamonds exposed. You can go either way.”

Bower took some cards and turned them over. The seven of clubs. He’d lost everything. Numb with shock, Bower rose and strode out of the gambling parlor.

“Idiot,” Ethan grumbled as he stuffed the money into his pockets.

He rose and turned around to study the portrait more closely. Now that the early-morning light shone on it, he noticed that there was a sadness in those innocent eyes. His normally cold heart melted somewhat when he saw it.

“If I ever find you, …” His gaze drifted to the name etched in the bottom of the frame. “… Angel, I’ll turn your sorrow into happiness. I swear I’ll find you and take you away from all of your sadness. I don’t know why I feel this way, but I have a deep desire to fill your life with nothing but joy.”

As it always did, his sexual appetite reached its peak when he won big, and he needed a woman more than he ever had. “I wish you were here right now, Angel. I’d show you a good time like you’ve never seen before. But that will have to wait until I find you—and by God, I will. For some reason I have a desperate need to have you in my life. Right now, though, I need to find a willing female partner to satisfy my desires.”

After finding and spending three hours in the arms of a willing woman, Lucas took a slow tour of his newly acquired riverboat. At the end, he stopped back at the gambling parlor. Without paying attention to the poker players present, he strode purposefully to the portrait and stared at it. He felt almost as though it was calling to him, pulling him into its power without saying a word.

I don’t know why you’re doing this to me, Angel, he thought. I don’t know why you want me so much. But I do know one thing. We’re destined to meet some day, and I won’t stop searching for you until we do.

ONE

On the gangplank, the breeze blew the young woman’s bonnet from her head, and Naomi Carter saw the resemblance between the young woman boarding the steamboat and the portrait that used to hang in the owner’s stateroom was uncanny. On the ramp, three young crewmen hurried to help with her four carpetbags. She bent her head as they took her valises; then smiling shyly, returned her gaze to them and spoke. Finally, all four went inside.

Naomi stood on the upper-most deck and leaned against the mahogany handrail. That strawberry blonde woman below could cause a lot of trouble for her simply by being on board. If Ethan Lucas noticed her—and he certainly would—he would undoubtedly see the likeness. Somehow she had to keep the two apart for as long as possible.

“And what are you doing up here, beautiful lady?” a deep, cheerful voice to her right asked. “I thought you were going to greet my passengers.”

Facing the tall, darkly handsome man, Naomi accepted his brief kiss. “I don’t feel very friendly today, Ethan. You didn’t want me to alienate your passengers, did you?”

“It must be that time again,” he said with a playful grin.

“I suppose,” she agreed as she traced the pale scar under his left eye. He’d received the wound several months earlier, trying to break up a fight between one of his crew and a gambler. “I always found you handsome, darling, but your scar makes you even more desirable.”

“What a nice compliment.” Grasping her waist, Ethan pulled her against him and kissed her again. “And you’re beautiful. You’re very good for my image, too. Having you act as hostess was the best business move I’ve ever made.”

“Is that all I am to you?” she asked with a pout. “Something to improve your business?”

“You know better than that, Naomi. I need you in a lot of ways—not just for my business or my image.”

“In my heart, I know it. But sometimes …”

“Correction. Once a month for about two days you doubt my sincerity, and you know the best way to remedy that. Go on up to the stateroom. I’ll join you after we cast off.”

“That won’t solve anything.”

“Solve, no, but it will show you how much I need you. Now go on. I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

The blue-eyed blonde strolled away, and Ethan sighed. As much as he liked Naomi, he hated her monthly accusations. They’d been together for well over a year, so she should know he wouldn’t desert her. And he’d already done more for her than he had for any other woman he’d known. Besides giving her expensive jewelry and fashionable clothes, he’d removed the portrait of “Angel” from his quarters, simply because she was jealous—of a painting. But rather than dispose of it as she’d wanted, he’d hung it in his office. That was the only room on board from which she was absolutely barred.

Looking out over the Hudson River, he recalled the first time he saw the portrait. His luck at the table had been good that weekend, and he still attributed his winnings to the portrait that had overlooked his hands. From that time on, the beautiful “Angel” with the strawberry-blonde hair was his confidant, his hope for the future. As hard as he’d tried to learn the woman’s identity, all he’d found out was that the former owner of the riverboat had painted the portrait. If only he hadn’t left the boat before Ethan had connected the name on the portrait with the owner.

“Excuse me, sir,” a man said from behind him.

Startled from his daydream, Ethan spun to face his tall, husky captain. “What is it, Jennings?”

“You asked me to let you know when we’re ready to cast off. I figure it’ll be another ten minutes.”

Taking his watch from his pocket, Ethan opened it. “Right on time. Did you and two other men check the boilers? I don’t want to kill my passengers because one of them explodes.”

“Aye, sir. I found a small problem, but I fixed it. Then I had three others check them to be safe.”

“And everything’s fine now?”

“Absolutely, sir.”

“Good.” Ethan paused to release a long, sorrowful sigh. “Cast off on schedule.”

“Is something wrong, Mr. Lucas?”

“Naomi’s in one of her moods again. Now I’ve got to prove how much I need her. Unfortunately, I’m not in the mood. How the hell is a man supposed to handle a wife if he can’t even understand her monthly moods.”

“Why do you think I travel so much?” Jennings replied with a chuckle. “I can’t. But when I am home, I love married life.”

“Have you ever been unfaithful?”

“Not once in twenty years. I’m lucky that she trusts me, or we’d probably have lots of arguments. She’s a wonderful woman, Mr. Lucas. She has to be to put up with an old seadog like me. That’s why I took on as a riverboat captain—so I could be home more often. I don’t have blood in my veins, sir. It’s water, and my wife knows it. That’s probably why we get along so well.”

“And that’s why I can discuss women with you. I’m thirty-three years old, but I feel like I’m ten when it comes to understanding women.”

“That will probably never happen, sir,” Jennings said, grinning. “I don’t think women want men to understand them. Understand that, and you don’t need to understand them.”

Frowning, Ethan gazed down at his captain. “Maybe you’re right. Thank you for talking to me, Jennings, but if I don’t let you go, we won’t cast off on time.”

Instead of joining Naomi, Ethan wandered absently to his office on the lowest of the three decks.

***

An involuntary shiver coursed through Blythe Bouvier at the sight of the foreboding man who passed as she exited her room. It might not have been so bad if he’d done more than grunt when she greeted him. Her first attempt at overcoming her shyness, and the person she chose to practice on acted like she didn’t even exist.

He was a handsome man, though, with neatly trimmed black hair and equally dark eyes that stared straight ahead as if unseeing. The thick black mustache seemed to be a solace for him, and the short, dark beard added to his intimidating appearance. With his right hand, he toyed with a corner of his mustache, his left hand thrust deep into his trouser pocket. Even though she was attracted to his physical appearance, she dreaded the possibility of running across him in the dark. His imposing stature alone made her wonder how safe she would be.

Blythe tossed her wavy, waist-length locks over her shoulder then went in search of the stairs to the observation deck. Standing at the railing, she watched the steamboat begin its long trip up the Hudson River through the Erie Canal, along the Mohawk River to the Great Lakes. When she got to Chicago, though, she didn’t know what she would do. Her passage, food, and lodging from France to this point had taken all but fifty dollars. And she needed that to live on until she could find a job to earn enough money for the final leg of her trip to New Orleans.

After she’d been in the chilly wind for twenty minutes, Blythe decided to return to her cabin. On the way, she met a blonde woman coming up the stairs. With renewed determination to overcome her shyness, Blythe smiled and greeted the woman.

The woman, a bit taller than Blythe, studied her with a suspicious look in her blue eyes. “Good afternoon.”

“My name is Blythe Bouvier,” she said. “Are you going far on this trip?”

“To the end of the line.”

“So am I. Maybe we could become better acquainted. Having a friend on board would certainly pass a lot of time.”

“Maybe,” the woman said. “Would you please excuse me? I’m looking for someone.”

“I’m sorry,” Blythe apologized, stepping out of the woman’s way. “I hope to see you again when we both have time to chat.”

“Yes, of course. Good afternoon.”

Disappointed that she’d been unsuccessful in beginning a friendship for the second time, Blythe pouted as she wandered to her cabin.

***

Ethan paced his office. Naomi was probably furious because he hadn’t joined her, but he had to think of a new way to deal with her first. Unfortunately, dealing with women had never been his strong suit. They played games he considered demeaning to a man’s mentality, and he would never understand how they could think a man didn’t know what they were doing.

“What should I do, Angel?” he asked aloud as he wandered back to his desk. Sitting down behind it, he picked up a pen and drummed it on his paperweight while staring at the portrait across from him. “I need Naomi, but she doesn’t seem to be happy with me—not completely happy, anyway. If I could read her as well as I can read another man’s poker hand just by looking at his face, my problems would be over.”

Stalking across the room to the credenza, he splashed some rye into a glass. He downed it quickly then poured more and returned to his desk. After taking a sip, he gazed up at the portrait. When he started to take another swig, he stopped short and stared at the painting. It looked more real than ever, as though “Angel” would walk right out of the picture, and her sunset-red hair seemed to bounce around her face. Closing his eyes, he jerked his head in an attempt to clear his mind then returned his gaze to the painting. Angel smiled down at him shyly as she always did.

Then a vague, unexpected memory flashed across his mind, and he dropped his glass to the carpeted floor. Moving quickly, he cleaned up the spill with a towel by his wash basin. Now he understood why Angel’s hair seemed to move. It had—on a young woman aboard his ship! He was sure of it. Where had he seen her, anyway?

It didn’t really matter. If she was on board, he would find her. The steamboat wasn’t so large that he could go throughout the entire trip without seeing her again. Sooner or later, he would run into her. In the meantime, he would search for her everywhere. He had to know what the face in the midst of those beautiful tresses looked like.

Going to the observation deck, Ethan looked for the redhead. When he didn’t find her there, he started to leave but stopped at the sound of a woman’s voice nearby.

“Where have you been, darling?” Naomi asked as she approached him. “You said you’d meet me, but you didn’t.”

“Something came up and I couldn’t,” he admitted. “Have you seen a red-haired woman aboard, Naomi? Not red red, but blonde red. It’s very important that I find her.”

“As a matter of fact, no. Should I relay a message if I do?”

“Have her wait for me outside my office then come find me.”

“Your office?” she repeated.

In that instant, Ethan realized his error. Naomi knew he never let anyone other than the captain in the cabin. To cover his error, he said, “That’s right. What I have to say is very important and a bit personal, and I don’t want any interruptions. And I don’t want anybody overhearing us.”

“Do you know this woman?”

“She reminds me of somebody, and I want to see if they’re related. I really am in a hurry, Naomi. If you see a redhead about so tall, …” He held his hand level with his shoulder. “… have her wait for me by my office then come find me.”

***

Blythe spent most of the next two days in her cabin. During this time, the riverboat was pulled through a series of locks by ropes attached to mules on land. It was a slow process, but one which gave her plenty of time to contemplate her life after reaching Chicago. It also meant that she could avoid the intimidating man she’d passed the first day aboard. He was quite a bit taller than the average man and she could tell by how his clothes fit him that he was quite muscular. His dark features didn’t make him any less menacing.

Apparently, he’d been searching for her as long as she’d been hiding from him. One lady had even pointed him out from a distance and mentioned that he’d asked her if she knew where he could find a lovely redhead. After learning that, Blythe always tied back her hair, donned a bonnet, and hid her hair under her light-weight coat before she left the cabin for meals. And at every meal, she sat at a corner dining room table away from the crystal chandeliers so she wouldn’t be noticed.

Her third evening on board, she almost panicked when the man entered with the blonde and neared her table. When the woman sat down facing her and the man took the chair across from the woman, Blythe sighed in relief. With his back to her, she could safely escape at the right time. All she had to do was keep her head bent as she left the dining room.

To her dismay, though, they sat not far from her, and she could hear their conversation.

“When are you coming back to our suite at night, Ethan?” Naomi asked.

They’re suite? Blythe thought in shock. Were they married? At least, now she knew the man’s name. Ethan.

“I’ve been playing poker the last couple of nights, and it’s late by the time I’m done.”

“You must be winning quite a bit. You always quit after three hands if you’re losing.”

“Actually, I blew a small fortune,” he admitted, combing his fingers through his thick hair. “I can’t seem to concentrate on the cards.”

“How much is a small fortune?”

“Five hundred fifty dollars.”

“You lost $550 in two nights of gambling?” she shrieked.

The man glanced around, and Blythe bowed her head over her food so he wouldn’t notice her. Ethan scolded the woman in a firm yet quiet tone. “Not so loud, Naomi. The whole damned boat doesn’t have to know my business. Besides, that money is mine, not yours. You have no say in how I spend it. When I finished playing, I went to my office. I fell asleep there both nights, and I might do the same damned thing tonight.”

“Why? Aren’t you interested in sleeping with me anymore?”

The anger in his tone caused Blythe some concern. “At this point, I don’t know what the hell I’m interested in. The only interest on my mind right now is finding that redhead—or I might lose my mind instead of my money.”

“Are you positive that you didn’t just imagine seeing her?”

Blythe could have sworn that Naomi was looking straight at her. Then Ethan looked in her direction again.

When he looked back to his companion, he said, “She’s here, all right. I’ve talked to people who’ve seen her. I’m going to find her, Naomi, and I don’t care if I die doing it. At least, I’ll die knowing I tried like hell. I don’t understand how she disappeared like that. After the night we cast off, nobody’s even seen her. For God’s sake, what’d she do? Jump overboard?”

Using all of her willpower, Blythe kept silent. He was undeniably looking for her, because a couple of other passengers said something about the owner of the boat wanting to meet her. Somehow she needed to get away from here as soon as she finished her meal.

“Maybe she’s seasick,” Naomi suggested. “Maybe she doesn’t want to come out of her cabin.”

“That’s a possibility, I suppose,” he agreed, his voice rising in excitement. “I’ll go from cabin to cabin. When I find her, I’ll see if I can do anything for her.”

Oh, no! Now he was declaring that he would look in each cabin. How could she ever escape this intimidating man when he was do determined?

“You’re acting like a little boy with his first case of puppy-love,” Naomi said. “And you’re fooling yourself if you don’t think I know what this is all about. It’s that portrait I made you get rid of. You were so attached to it that you’ve gone to unrealistic extremes just because you think you saw a woman with red hair.”

“I definitely saw her, Naomi,” he insisted. “She even spoke to me. I was so deep in thought, though, I didn’t pay enough attention to her. If I had, I would have stopped her then and there.”

“If that’s the case, why haven’t you found her?”

“I don’t know what she looks like, except she’s rather small and has golden red hair. I know she’s here somewhere.”

“I don’t understand this. The woman’s probably married. Why are you going to so much trouble to find her?”

“For God’s sake, Naomi. All I want to do is meet her—to apologize for being so rude when she spoke to me.”

At that moment, the waiter appeared with a large tray of food and set it on the edge of the table.

Now was the time to leave. While the waiter set the plates before the couple, Blythe made sure her locks were hidden and tilted her head down as she passed them. Since they just now got their food, she could roam around the sternwheeler for a while without being noticed.

Deep in thought, Blythe wandered to the observation deck. Why had she ever boarded the River Goddess? The letter, of course. If it hadn’t been buried in that old, decrepit trunk in her grandmother’s attic, she wouldn’t be here. She never would have taken the remainder of her inheritance. She never would have left France for the long journey to the United States just to see if the riverboat was still in existence.

But was it only the letter? All of her life she’d felt as though her past was incomplete. Her mother had told her all about her side of the family, but her father had said almost nothing. When they both died in a carriage accident, her entire world had crumbled around her.

A man had appeared at her grandmother Vincent’s door about a month after Gertrude and Jack Bouvier’s deaths. His name was Henri Bouvier, he had explained, Jack’s uncle. He had come from France to collect his niece and nephews. At eleven, she hadn’t wanted to leave Ferne Vincent. But the old woman was rapidly losing her sight and was unable to care for a young girl and two boys, nine and seven. Apparently, Ferne’s sister had notified Blythe’s French grandmother of Jack’s death and Ferne’s inability to care for the children. So, Blythe had gone without complaint, only to lose both of her brothers as well when she was seventeen. That was over three years ago, and she still missed them desperately. They’d been her last link to a country and time she had loved.

When she lifted her hand to brush away a tear, she knocked the bonnet from her head. It felt good to have the gentle April breeze kiss a loosened tendril. Releasing the yellow velvet ribbon, she tossed her hair around her shoulders.

“Good evening, miss,” a man said from behind her.

Startled, she spun to face him. She let a shy smile play on her lips as she greeted him. “Hello.”

“I hope you don’t mind my saying so,” he offered, returning her smile, “but you have beautiful hair.”

“Thank you. My name is Blythe Bouvier.” Extending her right hand for him to shake, she stiffened when he lifted it to kiss the back softly.

“Herbert Moody. I’m pleased to make your acquaintance. Are you the redhead the owner of the River Goddess is looking for?”

Blythe tensed even more at the mention of the large man from whom she’d been hiding. “Apparently. But I’ve been avoiding him, so I’m not sure.”

“That must mean you don’t want to meet him.”

“I tried the first day on board,” she replied, “and he was quite rude. I’d rather not encounter him again.”

“Are you married?”

“No, Mr. Moody, I’m not. Why do you ask?”

“Because he followed me in this direction, and I think you’ve been found. If you’d like, I could help dissuade him from continuing his search.”

Her heart skipped a beat, but she wasn’t sure if it was because he’d followed her or because she had an ally to help her evade him. “I would appreciate that. But how?”

“Like this.”

Before she could react, he embraced her and ground his lips against hers. Dropping her ribbon, Blythe tried to push him away, but her struggles only increased the demand of his embrace. This isn’t what she wanted! In fact, she hated what was happening. She needed to stop this man. But he wouldn’t release her no matter how much she struggled.

Enraged, Ethan rushed toward the couple. No man could treat a woman like that—not with him around. Without warning, he tore the man from the woman and spun him with such force that he revolved twice. Ethan balled his hand into a fist and caught the man squarely in the nose. Cartilage crunched beneath the blow; blood spurted in only a moment.

Herbert cried out and clasped his nose with both hands, but Ethan refused to let his defense of the woman’s virtue end with a single, well-placed blow. Instead, he punched Herbert in the stomach. The smaller man doubled over as air gushed from his mouth. Pulling him upright by the hair, Ethan was about to strike again when he caught a flash of red out of the corner of his eye. Glancing around, he saw that she was gone again.

“Damn!” he exclaimed. “She disappeared. Is she your wife?”

“N-no,” Herbert stammered.

“I thought not. You’d better at least know her name.”

“I do.”

When Herbert didn’t continue, Ethan prompted irately, “What the hell is it?”

“I … I don’t remember. She introduced herself, but I don’t remember.”

“Go down to the lower deck and have the doctor check you. While you’re doing that, you’d better remember her name. When the doc is done, come to my office. I’ll be waiting for you. And don’t forget again. By the way, what’s your name?”

“Herbert Moody.”

“If you don’t meet me, Moody, I’ll come and get you. Understood?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Get the hell out of my sight—before I hit you again.”

As the brown-haired man hurried away, Ethan glanced down at the deck to see if blood was on it. The bonnet the woman dropped was gone, but her ribbon lay on the deck. And there were red spots on the yellow material. Stooping down, he picked it up then rose and stroked the soft fabric with a tender touch. Naomi was wrong; he hadn’t imagined the redhead. She was real—at least, the ribbon from her hair was. But where had she gone? He had to find her, but first he had to tell Moody to leave the riverboat when they docked the next morning. And Ethan would be standing at the gangplank to see that Moody got off, not to mention that the redhead stayed on.

TWO

Blythe lifted her skirts and ran down the steps, not glancing over her shoulder until she reached the bottom. To her relief, she was alone, although she could vaguely hear the large man’s irate voice. Unable to understand the words, she raced toward her cabin.

When Herbert forced his kiss on her, Blythe thought she’d never been so frightened. But when she saw the rage in the large man’s face, the violence he exhibited, she’d been so terrified that she fled. The last thing she wanted was to be on the receiving end of his physical outburst.

After only a couple seconds’ delay, she hurried to her cabin, absently apologizing to the three people she bumped into on the way. As soon as she was in her room, she locked the door and collapsed against it.

Within seconds there was a knock, and she jerked away from the door. Her heart pounded. He had followed her! If she didn’t answer, maybe he would go look for her somewhere else.

The person knocked again, this time followed by a woman’s voice. “Are you all right in there?”

Sighing in relief, Blythe opened her door to admit the blonde then checked the hall. His face set in rage, Ethan strode in her direction as he stared at something in his hand. Blythe closed the door and slid the lock into place then leaned against it again. Her body weakened by the fear, Blythe turned toward her guest. To her surprise, the woman she’d admitted was the same one eating dinner with Ethan. Now she was concerned that Naomi would tell Ethan where to find her.

“What can I do for you, ma’am?” Blythe asked, struggling to regain her composure.

“From the looks of you,” Naomi replied, “I should be asking that. You’re white as a ghost. What happened?”

“It’s nothing to bother you with,” Blythe said as she moved to sit on her bed. “I’m just a little shaken.”

“Would you like to tell me about it?”

Filled with suspicion, Blythe stared at her. This woman had just been eating with the man who had rescued her from Herbert. Rescued her? Is that really what had happened? It didn’t matter, though, because she had no desire to be around such a violent person.

“Maybe,” the blonde said, “I should start by saying I’m sorry for the way I acted the other day. My name is Naomi Lucas. I’m afraid I don’t remember yours.”

“Blythe Bouvier.”

“Do you want to tell me why you’re so shaken, Blythe? Maybe I can help.”

Although leery of the woman, Blythe wanted to explain. From the way Naomi talked to Ethan at dinner, maybe she wouldn’t tell him. Maybe she preferred to have him all to herself.

Unable to resist, Blythe unburdened herself. “From what I understand, the owner of the steamboat has been looking for me. I avoided him for as long as I could, but he found me tonight. At least, I believe it was him. A man offered to help me when he heard my problem, so I agreed. I didn’t know he was going to kiss me.”

“And you didn’t want him to, so he forced his attentions on you. It must have scared you pretty badly from the way you were running through the boat.”

Blythe shuddered at the memory. “It did, but I was more afraid of the man I think is the owner. He reacted so violently! I never want to see him again. I’m terrified that he’ll attack me next.”

“Are you sure it was the owner?”

Blythe bowed her head in shame at the idea that she could be unjustly accusing the man, “Well, not positive. He’s much taller than most men and … Wait a minute! It was the man you dined with tonight. Is he the owner?”

“Yes,” Naomi mumbled.

“Do me a favor. Please?” Blythe asked, unable to keep the hysteria from her voice. “Tell him that I don’t want him looking for me? Tell him to leave me alone.”

“Actually, I’ve already tried, but he won’t listen. And I don’t think he’ll rest until he meets you.”

Panic rushed through her. She had to stop that from happening. But how? “You mean I’ll have to spend the whole trip in here to avoid him?”

“I could try again if you want. Maybe if I tell him what we talked about, he’ll change his mind.”

“Do you think it will help?” Blythe asked.

“It can’t hurt. Let me try.”

What choice did she have? Blythe wondered. It was foolhardy to think she would stay in her cabin and not have him find her—especially after she’d heard him tell Naomi that he would go from cabin to cabin in search of her.

***

Ethan stared at the portrait while he stroked the ribbon laying on the desk before him. “I wish I’d gotten a look at her face, Angel, but I was so desperate to defend her virtue that I didn’t have time before she disappeared again. That’s why I told Moody to meet me here. I have to see his reaction to your portrait. Naomi could see right away how obsessed I am with you. That’s why I couldn’t get rid of you when she told me to. That woman’s hair is so much like yours—the color, the length, the mass of curls. I have to know if her face looks like yours, too. I have to. It’s the only way to get her out of my mind, out of my body. No, out of my soul.

“What am I going to do, Angel? Every time I look at your portrait now, you seem to come alive. I have a feeling it’s because she’s the image of you, but I can’t be sure. I didn’t pay that much attention to her that first time. Moody should give me some idea if …”

Ethan nearly jumped from the chair at the solid knock on his door. Grabbing the blood-splattered ribbon, he stared at it anxiously. How would he react if Moody gave no sign of recognition?

“That must be him now. Oh, God, Angel. Can I really go through with this? Do I honestly want to know if she looks like you? She probably doesn’t, and I’d be devastated. On second thought, …”

The person outside his office knocked again, and Ethan strode to the door. When he reached for the handle, he stopped, stunned that his hand shook so badly. He knew he was nervous, but he didn’t realize how much until that moment. Opening the door, he admitted the smaller man into the room. Apparently, he had broken Moody’s nose, because the doctor had covered it with a make-shift splint and both eyes were already discolored.

“Don’t bother to sit down, Moody,” Ethan said as he closed the door then wandered across to the porthole. Just outside the paddlewheel splashed in the water. He’d intentionally chosen that small, stern cabin for his office because of the wheel. Whenever he wanted to think, he would watch it go around. And it never failed to calm him—except this time. After a heavy sigh, he added, “You won’t be here long.”

Standing near the door, Herbert exclaimed, “Oh, my God! She told me she was trying to avoid you. She said she wasn’t married. I had no idea. I swear it!”

Ethan spun to face at the man. The expression of horror on Moody’s face showed that he thought the young woman was Ethan’s wife. But if he knew the painting had been won, he might be more willing to discuss her.

“She isn’t my wife,” Ethan admitted, “but …”  

“Then why do you have her painting here? Why did you break my nose? Is she your sister or something?”

“Yes.” The lie came easily. “My half-sister, really. My mother asked me to find her—because my step-father left a long time ago and took the child with. But first, I have to see if it’s the same person. What’s her name?”

“Miss Bouvier, but I couldn’t remember her first name. It’s unusual, one I’ve never heard before. That’s all I can tell you, mister. Honest.”

“Bouvier is good enough. She’s definitely my sister. If you run into her again before tomorrow morning, you’d sure as hell better apologize—sincerely. And if you do, don’t tell her why I’m looking for her. I should break the news myself. Don’t even mention my name.”

“That should be easy,” Herbert said sarcastically, “since you didn’t tell me it.”

Uncontrollable rage exploded in Ethan again, as it did every time somebody spoke to him in that tone—or if he didn’t get his way. “Shut up, Moody. Or I’ll break something else. The boat docks tomorrow at ten-thirty, and you’re getting off.”

“I am not! I won’t get off until Detroit. That’s how far I paid to travel.”

“Despite what you did to my sister, I’ll reimburse part of your fare. But you will get off because I’ll be at the gangplank to see that you do. Now get the hell out of my sight and stay away from my sister. I’ll ask her if you followed my orders as soon as I’m finally reunited with her.”

“Before I go, I want to ask you a question.”

“You’re in no position to ask me anything.”

“I’m going to, anyway. You say that she’s your sister—you have the same mother. But you said that her father took her away when she was a child. If that’s true, how did you get her portrait?”

Ethan stared at Moody. How could he say he got it? More important, how could he extricate himself from this blunder? Supposedly, he hadn’t seen the woman in the picture since she was a child, yet he had the painting displayed in his office. Hopefully, his second lie would be a plausible explanation.

“The woman in the painting is our mother. When I saw the red hair, I had to know if it was my sister. That’s why I was looking for her. Now that you’ve identified her for me, I can reunite with her even sooner.”

Someone knocked, and both men shot their startled gazes toward the door. Angered by the interruption, Ethan shouted, “Who the hell is it?”

“Naomi,” she replied. “I need to talk to you.”

“We’re coming out now,” Ethan announced, grabbing Moody’s arm and steering him to the door. Once in the hall, Ethan released the man then locked his office door, warning, “Be ready at ten-thirty tomorrow, Moody. I’ll be waiting with your money. Until then, you’d be smart to stay out of my sight. Come with me, Naomi. We’ll talk on the observation deck.”

Laying Naomi’s hand in the crook of his elbow, Ethan escorted her toward the stairs. At the same time, he tucked the yellow ribbon into his jacket pocket. No matter how angry he became—and he was almost irate at the moment—he always treated women with respect and graciousness. But after his performance in front of Miss Bouvier that night, she was probably afraid of him.

 When they reached the deck, Ethan half-sat on the mahogany railing. His thigh rested on it while his left hand was stuffed into his jacket pocket. His thumb rubbed the soft velvet, occasionally hitting the hardened blood, as he spoke with Naomi. “What’s on your mind?”

“Blythe,” she answered.

“Blythe?” he repeated. “What are you talking about?”  

“The woman you’ve been looking for. I talked to her a while ago and found out her first name was Blythe. I don’t remember her last name, but it sounded French.”

“Bouvier,” he offered.

“That’s it. How did you know?”

“The man in my office told me. What did she say when you told her that I want to meet her?”

“The feeling isn’t mutual. She doesn’t want you looking for her.”

Startled, Ethan stared down at her. “Why not?”

“She’s afraid of you.”

“Why?” Shock replaced his anger. “I’ve never done anything to hurt her. I’ve only protected her, defended her honor. Surely, you told her that I could never hurt a woman.”

“You weren’t there, darling.”

Naomi took his right hand in both of hers and studied at it. Ethan let his gaze follow hers and saw his bruised knuckles in the fading sunlight. Naomi kissed them lightly.

“You didn’t see her, Ethan,” she said. “She was terrified, as white as a sheet. I’m surprised she didn’t swoon dead away. Even if I’d tried to explain, she never would have believed me—not in her condition. Maybe tomorrow or the next day. But tonight, she wouldn’t have listened.”

“Would you talk to her again tomorrow?” he asked in concern. “I don’t want her to be afraid of me when I first approach her.”

“I’ll try, but I can’t promise anything. You realize that, don’t you?”

Bowing his head in shame, he considered what must be going through Blythe’s mind and mumbled his reply. “Yes.”

“Will you be coming to our cabin tonight, darling?”

“I don’t see why not.”

But when they got to the suite, discomfort consumed Ethan. He couldn’t stay there. He couldn’t bear to be alone with Naomi anymore, despite how attached to her he’d become in the past eighteen months. Not being able to meet Blythe Bouvier was harder to bear than he thought it would be. Somehow he had to meet that redhead before he lost his mind, then he could resume a normal relationship with Naomi.

***

Blythe spent a restless night, her pleasant dreams constantly disrupted by visions of the imposing man’s violent outburst. At dawn she rose to wander the paddle-wheeler. The owner probably wouldn’t be out that early.

To relax, she took a leisurely stroll on all three decks—until she caught a glimpse of a painting outside the public sitting room. She stopped abruptly to examine the picture. It depicted a flower garden with three couples enjoying a summer picnic. All were garbed in fashions from about fifty years previously, but one woman commanded her complete attention. That woman, smiling shyly, could have been herself if she had been alive at the time!

Was that painting the reason someone named Francois had written to her father about the River Goddess? What was the date on the letter again? She couldn’t remember exactly, but it had been written before her birth.

That woman. The likeness was incredible! If this was some painter’s imagination, he’d come remarkably close to reality. Curious, she glanced at the signature. Frank Bower. She didn’t know anybody with that name, but that really didn’t mean anything. She’d only been in the country for about a month, and she could only remember her best friend from her years before France.

As other passengers began to exit their cabins, Blythe returned to hers and opened a small box of her most prized possessions. First, she laid the antique gold locket on the bed then her mother’s wedding ring. With a sorrowful sigh, she traced the title of her younger brother Dan’s favorite book before laying it beside the locket and removing the pocket watch and fob that her other brother Ben had inherited from their father. Something represented every lost member of her family—as well as an unidentified member from years before her father’s birth. Now for the letter, written in French, laying on the bottom of the metal box.

Dear Jacques,

Now that he is gone, I must tell you that the man who raised you is not your father. You were born in New Orleans, Louisiana in the U.S.A. I only learned the truth recently—in the same letter I received announcing my brother’s death.

I must see you to explain everything and am praying you will come to America. I will be on a riverboat named the River Goddess.

Please come, Jack. (That is your Christian name, not Jacques as the woman who raised you calls you.) It’s vitally important.

Your true father,

Francois Bouvier

To that day, Blythe didn’t know if her father had found the River Goddess. Since he’d never mentioned a father other than Henri Bouvier, it was highly unlikely. In fact, she had been amazed that she’d found the riverboat so easily. After nearly a quarter of a century, the vessel should have been destroyed, since fires, explosions, and sinkings were so common. The River Goddess had survived, though, and she was aboard the same vessel where her phantom grandfather had worked.

As she toyed with her belongings, her mind reeled with questions about the painting. After replacing everything in the metal box, she took her diary, pen and ink from a bureau drawer and lay down on the bed. Once she found the next empty page, she lay her head on her arm and began to write in the small book:

APRIL 13. There’s a painting on the River Goddess that has a woman in it who looks just like me. It’s hard to believe she’s from someone’s imagination, because the resemblance is so close. The artist’s name is Bower, though; and I don’t know anybody by that name. Who could this Frank Bower be? And did he know the woman in the picture? More importantly, who is she?

Blythe closed her eyes and sighed.

Shocked to awaken in a sun-brightened room, Blythe scrambled from her bed to check the time on the pocket watch. The ink bottle toppled over, and she grabbed it up to avoid a disaster on the quilt. With that averted, she opened the pocket watch. Almost noon! She’d slept away nearly the entire morning.

And she was ravenous. Between her concern that the man would notice her at dinner the previous night and her mind on the painting that morning, she’d had very little to eat in twenty-four hours. Leaving her bonnet behind, she locked the cabin and went to the dining room. As she started in, however, another painting caught her attention.

The woman was in this picture, too! This time she and several others walking along a path down the middle of a green lawn. But there was a subtle difference in the painting. Ah, yes. The woman had gained some weight—not enough so that her face and arms were meatier, but enough to show in her stomach. That meant the woman must be …

“The likeness is incredible, isn’t it, Miss Bouvier,” a man with a deep voice said from behind her.

Startled, she spun to face him. Her eyes widened in horror when she saw the man who had assaulted Herbert. Struggling to maintain her composure, Blythe stepped to her left so she could pass him. He stepped to his right, blocking her retreat. Again, she tried to leave, and again, he prevented it.

She stared up at him, her heart racing with fear. Would he hurt her if she tried to get away from him again? Would he beat her like he had Herbert? It didn’t matter. She couldn’t stay here with this man. He was so much larger than she that he could probably carry her off without any difficulty—even if she kicked and screamed to get away.

Still, she forced the words from her mouth, her breathy voice cracking under her stress. “Excuse me please”

“Naomi said that you’re afraid of me, Miss Bouvier,” he admitted, ignoring her request, “and I don’t fault you.”

“Fault me?” she repeated in shock. “I’m not at fault—you are.”

“You’re right, of course. It was a bad choice of words. But I won’t hurt you. I could never hurt any woman, no matter how foreboding I appear to someone your size.”

Unable to respond, Blythe stared up at him. That was the second time he’d verbalized the same words she’d thought—first in connection with the incredible likeness between the woman in the painting and herself, and the second in describing his stature. But if her expression had changed, he gave no indication that he noticed.

“And I suppose the scar doesn’t help much now that I’m getting tan again. All I want to do is talk, Miss Bouvier. In fact,” he offered, thrusting his hands into his jacket pockets, “I’ll keep my hands right here the whole time. Maybe that way you won’t feel threatened.”

She examined him, unsure what to do. This man was much larger than any other she’d run across. If she denied him then tried to leave, he could easily stop her. And she might even make him as angry as he had been last night. Dreading the possibility of again witnessing his fury, she reluctantly agreed.

“I suppose talking won’t hurt. As long as you keep your hands in your pockets, you can’t very well do anything to me.”

“Thank you.” To her amazement, he gifted her with a crooked smile that melted her resolve in an instant. “Now about the painting. You yourself could have posed for it.”

Returning her gaze to the painting, she agreed. “I know, and there’s another one on board with the same woman in it.”

“If you look closely, you’ll find her in every picture—sometimes in the foreground and sometimes in the back, but always there.”

“I didn’t realize that,” she said. “Do you know who she is?”

“I have no idea. There’s one painting aboard that’s more detailed—a portrait of her. Would you like to see it?”

Excitement flooded through her, and she shot her gaze back to his face. “Oh, yes!”

Ethan smiled down at her. He seemed so nice right now that she found it difficult to stay angry with him. Nor did she feel any fear in this close proximity. Did she dare give him a chance to cajole her into liking him? No, she needed to remain wary.

“To be honest,” he said, “you might not be so eager when you hear that it’s hanging in my office, and I don’t allow others in there. Would you feel comfortable alone with me?”

Her lips dropped into a pout. “Probably not.” But she didn’t want him to see her vulnerability, so her drew up her courage to continue. Straightening her shoulders, she stood as tall and erect as she could. “I haven’t eaten much since this time yesterday, and I was on my way to the dining room. If you’ll excuse me …”

“That’s where I was going, too,” he said. “Why don’t we eat together? That way you can see if you’ll be comfortable with me.”

“I don’t know, Mr. …” she replied, leaving her sentence up in the air so he would realize that he hadn’t introduced himself.

“I’m sorry. Between Naomi and Moody I learned your name, but you still don’t know mine. It’s Ethan Lucas.”

An unexpected tug pulled at her heart, and she interrupted him. “Naomi?”

“Yes. She’s my …” He paused before continuing. “… wife.”

“Why did you hesitate, Mr. Lucas?”

“I was afraid you’d turn down my invitation if I told you. But Naomi isn’t feeling well, so she won’t care if we eat together. What do you say? Will you join me?”

The smile he graced on her melted her heart a little further, and she returned it shyly while his faded away. Then, as though he had a complete change of thought, Ethan grinned as he held his jacket out toward her, his hands still in the pockets. “You realize, don’t you, that I’ll have to take my hands out of these to eat.”

 “All right,” she agreed, dipping her head demurely, “as long as you just eat.”

“I promise.” With his hand still in his pocket, he extended his elbow. As she laid her shaking hand on his forearm, he smiled. “I also promise that the only thing I’ll bite is my food—not my lovely companion—so relax and get to know me a little.”