Jo Goodman (41 page)

From his window Decker watched Jonna walk toward her waiting carriage. Just before she stepped inside she turned to the house and looked up in the direction of his room. She had no reason to suppose that he was standing there, but he thought her expression seemed hopeful. Bright morning sunshine glanced off each of the windows, making virtual mirrors of them. Decker doubted she could see him clearly, yet the smile she offered up was simply radiant.

He should have kept her here, he thought, in his room, in his bed, and made love to her again. He hadn't, not after the enormous generosity of her gift. Loving her just then would have seemed like a payment of sorts for
Huntress,
as if their being together were purely a business arrangement. The last thing Decker wanted to do was reinforce that notion in Jonna's mind. She might have finally concluded that he loved her, but he doubted that she was confident about it or even that she understood what it meant.

What she was, was frightened. On that point she had been clear. What she didn't suspect was that she wasn't alone.

Decker's fingers curled around the earring in his jacket pocket. It had been his talisman since the age of four, a connection to a family he could barely remember. Jonna told him once that he commanded his good fortune, but Decker was never as certain of it as she had been.

He took out the earring and examined it in the heart of his palm. Years of careful, almost reverent, handling had kept the pearl stud lustrous. The engraving was still visible on the gold drop. This earring had led him to Colin and Colin had led him to Jonna. He hadn't commanded his fortune at all, merely followed it.

Decker's fingers closed over the earring. He was returning it to his pocket when the door behind him opened. He let it fall. It slid down the outside of his pocket, not in it, and dropped between the brocade cushion and the arm of the chair beside him.

Rachael hesitated on the threshold when she saw the bedchamber was still occupied. Her arms tightened protectively on the stack of fresh bed linens she was carrying.

Decker took a step toward her, stopping only when he saw her flinch. He pointed to the linens. "May I take those for you?"

She shook her head vigorously.

He waved her in with a gentle gesture and stepped aside. He watched her, bemused, as she gave him a wide berth on her way to the bed. "Rachael?" he said her name quietly, a question in his tone. Her pause was slight, but visible, and he knew that she heard him even though she didn't look in his direction. "That's what you're called here? Is that right?"

She didn't answer.

Decker went to the foot of the bed and stood. Rachael's movements were rather stiff as she dropped the clean linens and began stripping the old ones. "You understand me, don't you?"

There was another hesitation on her part, but no concrete answer. Not glancing once toward him, she dragged the sheets across the bed and tossed them on the floor.

Decker gave her another moment before he stopped her. Coming around the bed, he laid one hand across her narrow forearm. He felt her tremble, but he had no patience for it. He meant her no harm and given the nature of his previous encounter with her, she had no reason to think he did. "Do you understand me?" he repeated.

Rachael's eyes darted frantically toward the door to the hall, then to the one leading to the dressing room.

"If you think I mean to hurt you, then why come in here at all?"

This time she glanced at the window.

"You thought I'd left already," Decker said. "Is that it?" He realized she must have known that Jonna was gone and had assumed he'd accompanied his wife to the harbor. He let her go, and she immediately stepped outside the circle of his reach. He regarded her curiously. Eventually his eyes dropped to her disfigured hand. "Let me see."

Rachael raised it reluctantly. She shivered when Decker's fingers closed gently around her wrist. Her eyes were wary.

Decker examined her hand. The ball of flesh that had been bitten away had healed well. "Can you move your thumb?"

She wiggled it stiffly, showing him her limited range of motion. Her thumb had a tendency to lie against the underside of her fingers and curl into her palm. When Decker let her go she pulled back her hand quickly, cradling it against her breast as if nursing a fresh injury.

Decker was convinced now that she understood him. He wondered at her command of the language. "Did they teach you English here?" he asked.

She hesitated again but finally nodded.

"You've done well to understand as much as you do. It wasn't so long ago that you escaped the slave ship."

Unclear as to whether some reply was expected of her, Rachael looked away.

"Salamander.
" Decker saw her suck in her breath, and he knew he had remembered the name of the slaver correctly. Clearly she hadn't forgotten. "You didn't speak then either as I recall, but no one ever suggested that you couldn't. In fact, I had the impression that no one could understand you. What's happened to your voice, I wonder."

Rachael simply stared at him.

It seemed to Decker there was little point in continuing this one-sided conversation. He pointed to the bed. Before he could direct her to continue with her work, Rachael sat down on the edge of the mattress and began to raise her skirt.

"What are you doing?" The words were clipped and harsh. Decker actually stepped away from the bed. "Put your skirt down."

Bewildered and more than a little frightened, Rachael covered her slim legs again. She sucked in her lower lip, her dark eyes wide as she waited further instruction.

Decker wondered if he could possibly have misunderstood what had just happened. Had she really been prepared to offer herself to him? Where had she learned to expect that from a man? Her large eyes, small, oval face, and delicate frame, gave her a childlike appearance. The fact that she didn't speak only reinforced the suggestion of youth. "How old are you, Rachael?" he asked quietly. "Fifteen? Sixteen?"

She didn't respond.

Decker held up his hands, counting off on his fingers and pointing to her. It occurred to him that she might not know her age, but when he had clicked off seventeen and was on the point of quitting, she stopped him. He wondered if she could possibly be right.

"I've changed my mind," he said. Watching her closely, Decker gestured to the bed again.

She blinked once. Something akin to disappointment registered briefly in her expression, then faded as she became resigned to the inevitable. Rachael began to raise her skirt again, inching it up over her legs. Almost simultaneously she began to lie back.

Decker held up a hand. "Stop. God, I'm sorry, but I had to be sure there was no mistake." She really had been offering herself to him, not willingly, but at what she thought was his command. Had it happened before in this house? Jonna only employed two men. There was a groundskeeper and a carriage driver. They also took care of house maintenance and the heavier duties Mrs. Davis and her female staff could not accomplish. There were few men who came calling. Decker supposed that with the exception of regular deliveries that were made to the house, Jack Quincy was the most frequent visitor.

He would never believe Jack had used his authority in Jonna's home to press his attentions on one of her servants. Decker ran his fingers through his hair. He felt Rachael's eyes on him. She was worried now, fearful that she had displeased him again. He had no idea what to say to calm her.

Decker sighed. "Go on about your business," he said finally. "I'm going to go about mine." He started for the door and then turned. "I'd prefer you don't let on to anyone that you know me. May I have your promise on that?"

Rachael was still sitting on the edge of the bed, her heels hooked on the frame. Hugging her knees, she rocked slowly back and forth and considered Decker with a wary, sideways glance.

"Your promise, Rachael. It's important." He waited until he saw her nod faintly. "Thank you." Then he left.

Rachael didn't stop rocking until the door had closed behind him. She didn't rise from the bed until his footsteps had receded down the hallway. Her heartbeat assumed its normal rhythm when she followed his progress down the walk in front of the house. He didn't once glance back at the window to see if she was watching him, and she was glad for that. She did not want him to think of her, and in retrospect, she wished he had not been so kind. He deserved better than the trick she had played him and the betrayal she would serve him. They all did.

* * *

Jonna's driver was waiting for Decker when he reached the warehouse. "No trouble?" Decker asked him.

Mr. Poling tipped his chair forward from where he had been leaning it against the wall and came to his feet. "Not unless you count Miss Rem—, I mean Mrs. Thorne herself. She didn't like the notion that I was told to keep an eye on her."

Decker wasn't surprised. "I didn't mean for you to be blatant about it. You could have just kept the carriage nearby."

"I did that," Mr. Poling said. He lifted his hat, scratched his head thoughtfully, and then let the brim settle again. "Circled the warehouse a few times, went up and down the wharf—not far, mind you, just enough so my presence wouldn't be obvious—"

"Obviously
it was."

Mr. Poling shrugged sheepishly. "Suppose so. She must have seen me from her window. Next I knew she was flagging me down on the wharf. Invited me to come in and take myself a seat right here, so that's what I did. She was real pleasant about it, too."

Decker imagined that it meant she was saving her sharpest reprimands for him. "Very well, Mr. Poling. Pick her up directly at six, and no side excursions if I'm not accompanying her." It was hard for Decker to hide his amusement as the older man practically saluted him on the way out.

Jonna was leaning over her desk, studying a blueprint that took up most of the surface. A paperweight held down one curling corner, and two books and a china cup flattened the others. She was teetering slightly to one side as she rested most of her weight on her left leg. It was the only evidence that her twisted ankle was still giving her some discomfort.

Jonna gave the cross section in front of her full attention. Her brow was furrowed in concentration, her mouth flattened. She didn't look up until Decker's frame blocked the natural light from the window and threw a shadow across her work. Her expression didn't change in the least. "I suppose you have some explanation for your behavior," she said.

"I take it you're referring to Mr. Poling. I ran into him downstairs."

"I put him there so you would." She bent her head again and considered the blueprint. "You're in my light."

"My apologies." He stepped aside. His forefinger tapped the edge of the blueprint lightly. "Are those the changes for
Huntress?"

"No. It's an old clipper design I'm reconsidering." She only glanced at him. "And don't think I can be turned away from your high-handedness with my driver. I'm waiting for an explanation. Preferably a good one."

Completely at his ease, Decker dropped into the chair in front of her desk. There was nothing apologetic about his grin. "Do you know you have a dimple at the corner of your mouth?"

Jonna's mouth flattened further, temporarily deepening the dimple. "Your explanation," she said, refusing to look at him.

"You do," he said, ignoring her. Decker ducked his head and tilted it to one side to get a better view of the feature she was trying to hide. "It's wonderfully maddening. It appears when you're being your most disapproving self." He lifted his head and tipped the chair back on two legs, balancing it precariously as he continued to consider her. "Like now. It makes me want to kiss you."

Jonna's head jerked up. She attempted a sour, deprecating look, but it was difficult to achieve when heat was rushing to her face. "I wish you would be serious," she said.

"I am."

"Oh, very well." Jonna said the words as if they had been dragged out of her. She punctuated them with a small, impatient sigh. Straightening, she came around her desk and stood in front of him. When Decker tipped the chair forward she placed herself squarely in his lap, put her arms around him, and kissed him hard and full on the mouth.

At the moment she felt his surprise melt away in favor of a response, she pulled back, and gave him an arch look, satisfied that he was no longer so irritatingly amused. That smug, reckless smile of his had vanished. She kissed him once more, lightly this time, then stood and put the desk between them. "It's that grin of yours, Decker," she told him. "You goad me with it. You know you do. Sometimes I just want to slap it off your face."

He touched his cheek. His tone was dry. "I like this way better."

"Well, so do I," she said primly. "But I may resort to the other if you don't tell me about Mr. Poling."

Decker leaned forward and rested his forearms on his knees. He answered her now with the seriousness she had always deserved. "You're not going to like it no matter how it's said, so let me simply put it succinctly. You require protection, Jonna. That's all Mr. Poling's presence was meant to provide until I could get here."

"Protection," she said softly. "Oh, Decker, surely not."

"I'm set on this. I don't want to find out that you've narrowly escaped being trampled by a horse or have almost succumbed to smoke and fire in your own warehouse. I'd like to think someone at your side may prevent another incident, but I'll be satisfied with a rescue if it comes to that."