“What!” gasped Mr. Bennett. “Why, this is astounding! We thought we had missed you in New Orleans. Well, well, this is a surprise! Please, sit down. Rebecca, my dear, what do you think of this? Isn’t it amazing?”

She could not look at him. Surely he must see how flushed her cheeks were.

“Yes,” she murmured, “amazing.”

“I am very sorry that I was unable to meet you in New Orleans, but I was unavoidably detained. You will forgive me, I hope?” He said the words to her father, but Rebecca had the distinct impression that they were directed at her.

“Of course, of course, think no more of it. Gentlemen, can you believe it? This is the very man I was on my way to meet. Allow me to introduce my friends, Mr. Sebastian.”

The other gentlemen were delighted to make his acquaintance, except for Latimer, who seemed to shake hands with him only because the occasion required it. Rebecca could sense an undercurrent between the two men that she didn’t understand.

“And of course, my daughter Rebecca.”

“My pleasure, Miss Bennett. I believe we almost met, earlier. I must thank you for saving my hat. I’m rather fond of it, you see. Good hats are hard to come by.” His voice held more than a touch of amusement, but she knew somehow that he was not mocking her, but rather trying to put her at ease.

However, she was not at ease, not the least bit. Her tongue was stuck to the roof of her mouth. She could say nothing, could not even look up.

“Hats? Yes, indeed, good hats are hard to come by. I must confess,” said her father, “that I was expecting a much older gentleman, sir.”

“And I must confess,” said Mr. Sebastian, “that I was expecting a much younger daughter, Mr. Bennett. Your letters spoke of a daughter, of course, but I rather expected freckles and braids, not a beautiful young lady.”

The man had paid her a compliment. Was she supposed to thank him? Her father saved her from having to reply.

“Then we are both surprised, are we not?”

“Indeed we are, sir. I trust your journey was a happy one, Miss Bennett?”

Now she must reply. “Yes, thank you,” she murmured, staring at her lap.

“And how did you like New Orleans?” he asked.

Slowly she raised her face to his. The connection between them was undeniable as their eyes met.

But looking him in the eyes somehow made her less anxious. She found something there that welcomed her.

“Actually, Mr. Sebastian, I saw so very little of it that I cannot give you an objective opinion.”

He smiled, his eyes twinkling. “Perhaps we could have remedied that if I had known you wished to see more of the city before leaving for Natchez. One day, I would like to show you what you missed.”

A shiver went through her, which was not caused by the breeze from the river. Somehow she believed him. She lowered her gaze again.

But he was not so easily daunted. He tried several times to draw her out, to get her to speak to him, to look at him, but she could not. She was quite unable to account for it, but the man upset her extremely.

Not the way Latimer did, to be sure. Nonetheless, she was almost beside herself with feeling, and it confused her down to her toes.

She was not an overly shy person, generally, but this man made her feel conscious of herself in ways she had never felt before.

He paid her flattering little attentions, like passing the sugar for her tea as soon as it was poured, and handing her the salt cellar before she hardly knew herself that she wanted it.

It made her feel wonderful, but also uncomfortable. This was nothing like what she had felt for Samuel. It was all so new and strange to her. She needed time to think about these new sensations.

She was almost glad when supper was over and the gentlemen talked about going to the bar for a game of poker. Mr. Sebastian was pressed to join them for another whiskey. He gave her a long look before accepting the invitation.

Rebecca excused herself and retreated to her cabin.

But she didn’t stay there long. Her cabin was still warm from the afternoon heat, and besides, she was so restless that she nearly wore out the carpet, pacing back and forth.

Fresh air was what she needed, she decided, so she left her cabin and went to stroll on deck.

Waves lapped against the steamboat as it pushed gently but firmly upriver. The bow of the boat speared into the current, causing little crested waves on either side to rise and splash with rhythmic repetition.

Fireflies lit up the night, dancing like sprites over the silvery, moonlit river.

The breeze from the water was soothingly cool. Soon she was lulled into a dreamy reverie, broken only by the occasional bangs and clunks as the boat encountered drifting pieces of wood.

For a long time she stood, leaning on the rail, feeling the soft spring breeze on her face, gazing at the water and the reflections cast by the lights of the boat and the full moon riding on the horizon.

“It’s a beautiful night, isn’t it?”

She turned quickly and saw Mr. Sebastian standing at her side. Her heart did somersaults.

“Yes . . . lovely.”

“I’m glad to see you don’t care to be confined to your cabin. Shows an adventurous spirit.”

Was he paying her another compliment? “It was too warm,” she replied.

He leaned against the rail and stared out over the water. “Look.” He pointed upriver. “There’s another steamboat headed this way.”

She looked in the direction he pointed, but could only see what looked like a tiny pinpoint of light in the darkness far upriver.

“How can you tell it’s a steamboat?” she asked, her shyness slowly beginning to fade underneath the growing excitement caused by the close proximity to this fascinating man.

He shrugged. “Just instinct. I’ve lived on this river for enough years to know when there is a steamboat coming. When the boats are the only available sensible transportation for getting from here to there, you learn to recognize the signs.”

She stole sidelong glances at him, noticing how the lights reflecting off the water caused dancing sparks in his dark eyes. It was an appealing effect.

“I don’t believe you.”

He turned and stared at her in surprise. “What?”

Her self-consciousness was fading quite away, replaced by a heady intoxication.

She repeated, “I don’t believe you. It’s probably a light on shore somewhere.”

He smiled, showing perfect teeth. “You think so? Well, then, would you care to place a small wager on that?”

“A wager? Let me think. Since you are a foreigner, Mr. Sebastian, you cannot possibly know this river like you say you do. Therefore the odds should be pretty heavily in my favor, shouldn’t they?”

He grinned. “I learned a long time ago, Miss Bennett, not to judge a book by its cover. Do not underestimate my resolve.”

She grinned back. “All right, what shall we wager? As long as it isn’t money. Papa keeps all the money, and I haven’t a cent. On the other hand, I could use some pin money of my own. How much did you have in mind to wager?”

“You seem pretty sure of yourself,” he mused. “Maybe I shouldn’t bet with you after all.”

“What? Are you afraid that you may be wrong? Come, come, Mr. Sebastian, you’re the one who has lived on this river for years. I’m the newcomer. Why back down from a wager you’re sure to win?” Her eyes twinkled. She was enjoying this!

His eyes danced over her face. “Very well, then, let’s see. If I win, we dispense with the formalities and you must call me Oliver. And if you win, you must still call me Oliver.”

She pretended to consider this for a moment, then shook her head. “No, no, that will not do. What sort of a wager is that, Oliver? No, we must think of something else.”

He laughed playfully, as if enjoying her particular brand of humor. “All right, Miss Bennett—”

“What! Call me Rebecca, after all, we are on a first-name basis.”

“Very well, Miss—er, Rebecca. How about this? If I win, you must have a drink with me.”

“Oh, but I don’t drink whiskey,” she protested quickly.

“Not old enough?” he teased.

“Of course I’m old enough, I’m twenty!”

“I have you beaten by ten years. I’m thirty.” He grinned. “Now, back to the wager.”

“Yes, by all means . . . but no whiskey!”

“Well, then, how about champagne? You do drink champagne?”

She meant to say of course! but told the truth instead. “I’ve never had champagne.”

“Then that’s my wager. If I win, you join me for a glass of champagne.”

“And if I win?”

He smiled. “You won’t.”

“Really!”

“But to show you what a good sport I am, if you win, you shall name your wager.”

“Anything?”

“Anything.”

“Now that’s the sort of wager I like,” she replied mischievously. What was happening to her? She was enjoying this little flirtation!

“I can almost taste the champagne now . . . ” he teased.

But she refused to be baited. Instead she demanded that he show her once again exactly which light he was referring to, so that there would be no mistake.

They watched in anticipation as the light drew nearer and nearer, and grew bigger and bigger. It was becoming apparent that if it was simply a light on shore, as she thought, then it was an awfully bright light.

“Let’s call off the bet,” he said suddenly.

“Why? Afraid you’ll lose?”

“In the ridiculous event that you do win, I’m curious as to what sort of punishment for me you have in mind?”

“What makes you think I would punish you?” she asked.

“Oh, to bring me down a notch, for being so presumptuous as to know a steamboat when I see one. Besides, anyone who has never tasted champagne has no real conception of pleasure.”

Her reply was interrupted just then when the Sentinel’s whistle blew three short, sharp blasts.

“Listen!”

From a distance upriver came an answering three blasts from another steamboat. The rumble underneath her feet as the big boat slowed made her grab for the rail. Excitement began to rise within her.

“Guess I’d better go tell the bartender to put that bottle of champagne on ice,” he said.

“You haven’t won yet,” she reminded him, but he was gone.

She stared with fascination as the light up ahead turned slowly into one huge spotlight and several smaller lights, revealing another steamboat nearly as large as the Sentinel.

Several passengers crowded to the rail as the other boat came into shouting distance, and people on both boats began to wave and yell back and forth.

The boats passed with only a scant few feet between them. A gentleman on the other steamboat tipped his hat to Rebecca and shyly she waved her hand. There were several remarks passed back and forth to do with weather, destinations, and the condition of the river, along with a few bawdy jokes that made Rebecca blush.

Then almost as suddenly as it had appeared, the other boat disappeared into the night.

“You missed it,” Rebecca said as Oliver joined her again at the railing.

“Missed what? Don’t tell me,” he gasped, “another steamboat just went by?”

“You’re impossible!”

“And you’re a sore loser.” He smiled brilliantly. “Next time maybe you’ll listen to me.”

“You’re the one who wanted to bet.”

“Ah! But you see, I only bet on a sure thing. Just like I’m willing to bet that you’re going to love champagne.”

“Is that a sure thing, too?”

“I believe so, yes.”

“Then I am determined to hate it.”

He laughed brightly. “You are delightful!”

The way he said that made her knees turn to butter.

“Well, where is the abominable stuff?” she flushed.

“It’s on ice. Champagne should be served chilled.”

“In that case I shall take it warm, as I shall have all the more reason to despise it.”

“Can’t wait to taste the only real pleasure you’ve ever known, eh? Very well, then, come with me and we’ll fetch it now.”

“You mean . . . to the bar?”

“I believe that is usually where it is kept, yes.”

“But I can’t go in there.”

He stared at her. “And why not?”

“Because . . . it just isn’t proper, that’s why.”

“Proper? Oh. Well, in that case, wait here and I shall be right back.” He turned and walked down the deck and entered the bar.

She meant to stay there, truly she did, but finally her curiosity got the better of her.

Maybe just a tiny peek wouldn’t hurt. She had never been in a bar before. If she were determined to experience more of life, to spread her wings, then she must know about such things.

She moved over to the door and looked in through the glass window. The room was hazy with cigar smoke, and crowded. She saw Oliver talking to the bartender, and just over there was her father, engaged in a game of poker with Patten, Greenfield, and Latimer.

That was nothing new. He had occasionally played poker with his friends back in Savannah.

She was glad that Mr. Bennett was in such good spirits. He was even smoking his pipe, which he did only when he was relaxed. That pipe had been packed away in his trunk since leaving Savannah, so he must be feeling less anxious about the trip now that they had finally met Oliver Sebastian.

There were women in there, too, she noticed, but did not get a chance to examine them closely, as Oliver approached the door with a bottle in his hand.

She moved quickly back to her post at the rail, not wishing to be caught spying.

As Oliver came out of the bar, Rebecca saw that he was not alone. A very pretty red-haired woman was tugging at his arm, as if to invite him to come back inside, but Oliver gave her a crooked smile and shook his head.

The redhead sighed deeply, gave him a sad smile in return, and released him a bit reluctantly. Her gaze followed him as he walked over to Rebecca, then she gave another sigh before going back inside the bar.

“It’s not a vintage year,” he said, “but it’s the best I could do.”

He tore the wrapper off the neck and looked at her. “Since you’ve never had champagne, then I suppose you wouldn’t know the correct way to open a bottle?”

“No, how?”

“Like this!” he said, and shook the bottle vigorously.

Suddenly the cork popped off with a loud bang and she feared that the bottle had exploded, because the champagne inside spewed out in a tall, cascading fountain that showered them both. She felt it hit her in the face, and laughed with him at the unexpected champagne bath they received.

He held the bottle at arm’s length, and the fountain stopped, but now it was foaming from the neck and falling over his hand.

He took the bottle in his other hand and was about to shake off the champagne when she impulsively grabbed his wet hand and brought it to her lips, eager to have her first taste. She licked his fingers, and the bubbly liquid tickled her tongue.

When she looked up again, smiling with delight, he was staring hard at her.

“You shouldn’t have done that,” he said huskily.

“W—why not?”

“Because now you have the advantage over me. And that will never do.”

He gazed deeply into her eyes and she felt herself becoming a little dizzy as he came closer to her, grasped her by the back of the neck, and pulled her head toward him.

She thought . . . she was sure he was going to kiss her.

Her eyelids fluttered closed. Then to her utter astonishment she felt not his lips but his tongue as he licked a drop of champagne that had splashed right between her eyes.

“Now we are even,” he said, withdrawing his hand.

She was so amazed she could hardly breathe. The spot on her forehead tingled from his touch, sending little shivers all through her body.

“Damn me, I forgot glasses,” he said casually as if nothing had just happened.

“Glasses?” she repeated, dazed.

“Of course we could use my lady’s slipper.”

“My what?”

“Your slipper. Oh, it’s all the rage in Paris. The latest fashion, drinking champagne from a lady’s slipper. But I’ve never tried it myself. What do you think of such an idea?”

“I think it’s the most . . . ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard,” she lied.

He smiled at her. “Then I’ll just have to run back for a couple of glasses, won’t I?”

“Never mind the glasses. Let’s just drink from the bottle, shall we? I am anxious to have my first taste of the only real pleasure I have ever known,” she teased.

“You’ve already had that,” he said, and the smoldering look he gave her sent fresh, tantalizing shivers wracking through her body.