Jo Goodman (36 page)

Though there was no pressure from Grant's hand, Jonna felt as if her throat were closing. "Please let me go," she whispered.

He didn't respond to her request. "May I kiss the bride?"

The question wasn't asked out of courtesy. Jonna heard it more as a warning that required no answer from her. She tried to avert her head, but Grant's fingers tightened immediately. His grip wasn't painful, only insistent. Her mouth flattened.

Grant's lips were faintly damp from his drink. She could smell scotch on his breath as his mouth touched the corner of hers. Jonna's hands came up between them, and she pushed at his shoulders. The effort unbalanced her. Grant's free arm came around her waist. In other circumstances she would have been grateful for the help, but Jonna was not so naive that she couldn't divine his purpose was to secure her, not to offer support.

Grant's mouth moved across hers. The edge of his tongue sought entry between her lips. Jonna's fingers tightened on his jacket, but this was her only response. She was rigid in his arms.

From the doorway a throat was cleared. Jonna was certain Grant heard the sound as well, but he didn't lift his head. His shoulder kept her from seeing who stood there, and Grant's mouth on hers kept her from appealing for help.

Decker Thorne laid his hand over the butler's forearm. "I don't believe clearing your throat again will get their attention." His tone was quiet, his manner calm. There was nothing about his appearance to suggest he was unsettled by what he was witnessing. "Some other action seems to be necessary." Even as he was speaking he saw Grant start to straighten and pull away from Jonna. "There," Decker said lightly. "It only required a few words."

The butler's narrow face became severely pinched with disapproval. His apology was to his employer, not their guest. "I'm sorry, Mr. Sheridan, but he insisted on coming in here without announcement."

"It's all right, Emmerth. You can go. Don't bother having my carriage ready. I'm sure Captain Thorne is here to collect his wife."

The butler inclined his head once, then backed out of the room, closing the doors behind him.

Grant's hand had fallen away from Jonna's throat, but his other arm still curved around her waist. "I understand congratulations are in order," he said casually. "May I offer mine?"

"As long as you don't kiss me."

For a moment Grant Sheridan was speechless, then his dark eyes saluted Decker and he smiled appreciatively. "I see you understand that's all it was."

"Of course," Decker said. "If I suspected otherwise I'd have to demand satisfaction. I'm not adept at pistols. You?"

"Expert."

Decker nodded. "That's what I thought. Swords?"

"Never lifted one."

"Neither have I. What about bare knuckles?"

Grant knew Decker was thinking of the roundhouse punch that had laid him out cold. "I can hold my own if I'm not blindsided." His smile deepened, but did not reach his eyes. "It's all moot, isn't it? There's no reason to demand satisfaction where no offense has been given."

Decker's cool blue gaze shifted to Jonna. "Is he right?" he asked. "Has there been offense?"

Jonna found she had no voice. Nothing that had happened these last few minutes seemed quite real to her. Not able to meet Decker's gaze directly, she shook her head.

It was Grant who admonished her for this poor response. "Oh, Jonna. You'll have to do better than that. I would be forced to champion you myself were I confronted with that wounded look in your eyes. A more encouraging defense, please."

Jonna raised her eyes. Tears threatened, but she held them back and spoke past the dry, stinging ache in her throat. "Grant was only wishing me well."

Decker studied her pale features a moment longer. His own expression was closed. "You're ready to leave?" he asked.

"Yes."

"Very well." Decker held out his hand, palm up. When Jonna didn't take even a single step toward him one of Decker's eyebrows arched in question. He glanced at Grant. "Perhaps if you removed your arm from my wife's waist?"

"If I remove my arm," Grant said, "Jonna will most likely fall on her face. You were unaware that she twisted her ankle?"

Decker showed his first real emotion since entering the room. A measure of coolness left his eyes. "Jonna?"

"I'm afraid it's true. I did not have my land legs after all." She rested one hand on the divan again and then looked to Grant. "I'll be fine now."

Grant let his hand fall away. "Of course." He held both hands up in a gesture of innocence. "Steady as she goes."

Mustering the remnants of her dignity, Jonna hobbled forward. She placed her hand in Decker's and felt his warm grip close over hers. It was as if she was being extended a lifeline, and she could not hide the relief she experienced when his arm came around to support her.

"Do you have a coat?" Decker asked.

Grant intervened. "I'll get it."

Jonna was only quiet until Grant's footfalls had receded in the hallway. "Let's not wait here," she said. "I want to go to the front door."

Decker didn't question her request. He escorted her into the entrance hall. Grant was there momentarily with Jonna's coat. He held out the garnet velvet cloak for her to slip into, but Decker politely took it from him. Grant smiled blandly and opened the door for them. No pleasantries were exchanged now. By mutual, though silent, agreement, the farce that had been played out in the parlor had ended.

From the doorstep Grant watched Decker help Jonna into their carriage. No matter how much Grant willed it to happen, she did not at any time glance back at the house. "It doesn't matter," he said under his breath. "It's not over until I say it is."

* * *

Decker's silence was unnerving. The anticipation of what he
would
say was more terrible than anything he might have said in that moment. Would he be angry? she wondered. Cutting? Sarcastic? She had disobeyed him. Did he want revenge? Perhaps that was too strong a word, she thought. He might only demand satisfaction.

Jonna blushed. She felt Decker's eyes on her, but he didn't ask any questions and she couldn't explain the wayward thought that had raised a flush in her cheeks. She stared out the window instead and prayed he would say something sooner rather than later.

Mrs. Davis had the staff more than halfway to making the adjoining bedrooms in the east wing ready. It was to this new room that Jonna was shown. Decker deposited her on the unmade bed with the same regard he would have given his carpetbag.

"Can we hope that you'll remain here this time?" he asked. They were the first words he had spoken since leaving Grant's.

"I would be more comfortable downstairs until this room is ready."

"I'm sure you would." As he spoke two maids marched in carrying an armload of gowns. They stopped abruptly, uncertainty in their dark eyes. Decker motioned to them to go about their work. "But here you'll have supervision," he said. "Someone will bring you dinner. I'm having mine downstairs."

Jonna watched him go to the door. That was all? she wondered. He wasn't going to say anything else? "Decker?"

He paused on the threshold. "Yes?"

What was it she could say? What did she
want
to say? Apologizing occurred to her. So did thanking him. Both sentiments clogged her throat along with the tears she refused to shed. "Nothing," she said finally. "It's nothing."

He waited a moment longer, his eyes deliberately holding hers. Then he left.

It was only then that Jonna allowed herself the luxury of sobbing.

* * *

The next time Decker entered her chamber it was from the door that connected their dressing rooms. Mrs. Davis's small army of helpers had transformed the unused bedchambers into airy and appealing living quarters. Fresh linens and bedcovers had been brought in, and the draperies had been aired and replaced. All of Jonna's familiar things surrounded her again. The dressing table held her brushes and combs and ribbons. Delicate crystal bottles of perfume shared space with her small jars of creams. The chairs that flanked the fireplace were cream brocade now and the rocker was absent, but at the foot of her bed was a spacious trunk covered with a fringed ivory shawl.

It was Decker's thoughtfulness that added the vase of flowers on one bedside table and a small selection of books on the other.

Absent of the flowers and a few lacy flourishes, his own quarters were similarly appointed. The dressing room which joined the bedchambers held two large armoires. His contained less than a quarter of the clothing that filled Jonna's to capacity.

He closed the door behind him and leaned against it. On board
Huntress
it had been easier to ignore the things that separated them. In Jonna's home they were not so simple to dismiss—and it
was
her home. Marriage had not changed her thinking about his place in her life or in her bed. They might share a suite, but not a room. Clearly, she meant for him to remain a guest. His presence would be tolerated but not welcomed.

Jonna turned on her side. Her complexion was flushed with the warmth of sleep. Lamplight bathed her face. She stirred once, slipping her hand under her cheek, and her breath was drawn in by an abrupt little yawn.

Decker went to the fireplace and stoked the logs. He glanced at his hazy reflection in the windows. The drapes were open and frost had painted ice flowers on each pane of glass. When he set down the poker and turned around it was to find Jonna watching him.

"Mrs. Davis said you didn't eat dinner," he said. "I only came to ask if you needed anything before I retire. It was not my intention to wake you."

Jonna's eyes lifted to the mantel clock beyond Decker's shoulder. It was only a few minutes after ten. She could not remember falling asleep after she refused the dinner tray, but that had been hours earlier. "It's all right. And thank you, but no, I don't want anything."

Decker's quietly amused smile revealed itself as Jonna's stomach operated independently of her mind and rumbled with some force. "Would you like to reconsider?" he asked. "Mrs. Davis gave me a pot of hot cocoa."

Jonna pushed herself upright and somewhat self-consciously brushed a strand of dark hair away from her face. She was aware that her eyelids were still puffy from her self-pitying bout of crying and that her hair was disheveled. "I think I'd like cocoa," she said.

He nodded and disappeared into his room.

Jonna threw off the covers and scrambled out of bed. She ground her teeth as her injured foot struck the floor hard, but managed to swallow her groan. Plucking her brush off the dressing table, she made several hard passes through her hair, then glanced in the mirror, knuckled sleep from her eyes, and all but dove back into bed as she heard Decker passing through the dressing room.

He paused on entering her bedchamber. Observing her flushed features, the tight grimace of pain around her mouth, and her slightly labored breathing, he asked, "Are you well?"

She nodded with less than convincing assurance.

Decker's eyes narrowed on her face, then strayed to her hair. He glanced at the dressing table. His smile was wry. "I would have handed you your brush."

Jonna suddenly had a vision of
Huntress
with her sails taken up. Deflated in much the same way, her shoulders slumped. "It would have been kinder of you not to mention it."

"Possibly." He pushed the vase of flowers and table lamp to one side and set down the tray. Pouring her a cup of cocoa, he said, "I don't know that I'm feeling kindly toward you."

Jonna's fingers wrapped around the cup he handed her. He would say something now, she thought. He would take her to task for her badly thought-out visit to Grant's. She waited... and he said nothing. "You're leaving?" she asked as he headed toward the dressing room.

"Yes." He idly raked his dark hair with his hand. "Is there something you need?"

Your company.
The words tumbled through her mind, but tangled on her tongue. "I... I thought you might want to..."

"Yes?"

"Aren't you going to say anything about Grant?" she blurted.

Decker's brows lifted in a parody of thoughtfulness and surprise. "I can't think of even one thing I want to say about Grant Sheridan."

His calm was maddening. "You're deliberately misunderstanding me," she said.

"I'm not sure how. You've said several times that I have no right to interfere where you and Sheridan are concerned. You went to his home expressly against my wishes. What is it that you expect me to say now?"

She said it quickly before she couldn't say it all. "That I was wrong and you were right."

Decker's expression was implacable, but in his silence he seemed to be considering. "And is that true?" he asked after a moment.

"Yes." She nodded once to add weight to her statement. "Yes, it's true."

"Well, if you know that now, there doesn't seem much point in my repeating it. Let's just leave it there, shall we?"

Had their positions been reversed Jonna knew she would not have been so magnanimous. "All right," she said.

Decker hesitated briefly then started to go.

"There is one thing," Jonna said.