Jo Goodman (42 page)

Jonna sat in the leather chair behind her desk. "Is this because I won't tell you where I was last night?" she asked.

"No, but your disappearance made it all the more clear to me that you've never taken the attempts on your life seriously."

"They weren't attempts on my life. They were accidents." Even to her own ears she didn't sound particularly convincing. It was because she was remembering the pair of hands at the small of her back pushing her into freezing Boston Harbor. "At the most they were meant to frighten me. The horse veered away, and I had a lot of time to get out of the warehouse. Anyone might have rescued me from the harbor. It just happened to have been you."

A stillness settled over Decker. He stared at Jonna, his blue eyes boring into hers as he considered what she had just said. "I wasn't there when the horse got away from its owner. And Jeremy Dodd carried you out of the warehouse. The only rescue I made was when you took a tumble off the wharf." He saw her draw in her lower lip, but it was as if her entire body flinched from the truth he was about to toss at her. He swore under his breath. "You were pushed."

Jonna spoke quickly. "There were so many people, Decker. They were all crowding around. I can't be certain what happened."

"I don't believe you." He got to his feet. "You know. You've always known, and you've kept it to yourself, even when I brought my suspicions to your attention. For God's sake, Jonna, why wouldn't you tell anyone?"

"Who is it I should have trusted?" she asked quietly. "You?"

He felt as if she had struck him, and for once he didn't hide behind a careless smile or frost-colored eyes.

"I'm sorry," she said. "But it was true then. It's not true now. Some weeks after it happened I started to tell Jack. There was an interruption, I think. It may even have been the night you were jailed. I've always been glad I never told him."

"You could suspect Jack?" Decker found that hard to believe.

"No."

"But you didn't know who he might tell. Me, for instance."

Jonna nodded hesitantly.

"I see," he said.

"No, I don't think you do. At least not all of it. My reluctance had to do with the very discussion we're having now. I didn't want someone a half-step behind me, Decker. Or living in my pockets. If I had spoken to Jack this business of protecting me would have simply happened sooner. He would have constantly been at my side. I wouldn't have had a moment's peace, and I would have worried him beyond reason. It may have been Grant or Mrs. Davis—or even you—that he set on my heels. It seemed best not to provoke him to do that. You were determined enough without any encouragement from me."

"I'm still determined," he said. "I don't want you hurt."

"And I don't want to
be
hurt. I'm not careless, in spite of what you might think. You can't put me on a ship and carry me off every time you perceive some danger. There must be a compromise, Decker."

"Do you have a suggestion?"

"My secretary is as capable of protecting me as Mr. Poling," she said. "During my work hours he's all that I need."

"Mr. Poling was temporary at best. I was thinking of someone younger."

"Don't suggest yourself," she warned him. "I won't get any work done." Jonna saw his mouth twitch, and she pointed a finger at him. "And not for the reason you're thinking. I'd be plotting ways to kill you if you were constantly underfoot. Even on board
Huntress
you had the good sense not to spend all your time in my cabin."

Decker's eyes dropped to her lips. The dimple was hovering at the corner of her mouth. "What about that young ruffian Dodd?"

"Jeremy?"

"Yes. He proved his worth at the warehouse. Would you accept him?"

Jonna's faint frown betrayed a small measure of her disappointment.

"What's wrong?"

"You might have protested a bit, you know. Offered yourself in spite of my wishes. You came up with his name very quickly. Just because I don't want you underfoot doesn't mean that you shouldn't want to be there."

Decker was laughing as he came around the desk. He pulled her out of her chair effortlessly. "You have a most peculiar mind," he told her.

"Thank you."

"I have no finer aspiration in life than to serve as your footstool."

"And I used to think you had no ambition," she whispered.

He was still laughing as his mouth came down on hers. Decker lifted her, turned, and set her on the edge of the desk. His hands raised her skirt so he could stand more intimately between her legs. His lips moved over hers, touching the corners, running his tongue along the fullness of her lower lip. Her arms were around his neck, and she raised herself up just enough so that he could feel the outlines of her breasts against his chest.

He deepened the kiss. His hands stroked her back, her sides. He wished she wasn't wearing a corset and six petticoats and a pair of lace-edged drawers. He wished he had thought to lock the door or tell her secretary that they weren't to be disturbed. He wished he had just kept her home.

Decker pulled back slowly and stared at the smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. He wasn't proof against that. He kissed her softly. Paused. Kissed her again. Her mouth moved under his dreamily.

She murmured something against his lips. He didn't know what she said, he only knew he liked the sound of it. Her faint hum of pleasure stirred him deeply. His hands lifted away from her waist and framed her face. He touched his forehead to hers. His voice was husky. "I think I'm keeping you from your work."

"Mmm."

"I know that agitates you."

She nodded.

He kissed her lightly. "I'm going. I'll send Jeremy to take Mr. Poling's post. He'll be here at six to collect you, but don't leave without me."

"All right."

Decker's fingers slid away from her face. "Think about your blueprints," he said.

Bemused, she watched him go. "Now, how am I going to do that?"

* * *

Grant Sheridan could see there was a lot of activity on board
Huntress
even before he strode up the gangplank. Men were resetting repaired canvas and scrubbing the hull and decks. Oil was being applied to the rails and the great wheel. The sun and salt damaged wood soaked it up so that it gleamed under the polishing cloths.

No one paid him much attention until he was forced to dodge a bucket of water tossed negligently in his direction. It was his cursing more than his quick sidestep that caused the work to pause.

Mr. Leeds approached. "Can I help you, Mr. Sheridan?"

"I want to see Thorne."

"Mrs. Thorne isn't here," he said, shifting his weight from one leg to the other. "You can find her at—"

"Decker Thorne."

"Oh, you mean the captain." He wasn't intimidated by Grant's black glare. "He's below. Was in the cargo hold a while ago. He might be in his cabin. Do you want me to—"

Grant cut him off, striding away. "I'll find him."

Decker was sitting on the edge of his desk, leafing through his log when Grant came in. "Sheridan." He closed the log and set it aside. He didn't offer his hand.

"I've been thinking about what you said yesterday," Grant said. He opened his coat and reached inside his jacket. He pulled out a sheet torn from a newspaper and waved it in front of Decker. "Did you know about this when we spoke?"

"I don't know about it now," Decker said. "What is it?"

"The Liberator."

"Garrison's abolitionist paper?"

"That's right. It was distributed yesterday. I only had an opportunity to read through it a little while ago."

"And it brought you here?" Decker asked skeptically. "That
is
interesting." He held out his hand. "May I?"

Grant thrust it brusquely in Decker's direction. "He's been caught," he said, not waiting for Decker to scan the page. "Did you really think I wouldn't find out?"

Decker saw nothing to explain Grant's agitation on the side of the page he was looking at. He turned it over. Everything was made clear. "FALCONER CAPTURED." Beneath the caption in smaller letters was the heading: "Brave liberator of the oppressed is arrested for crimes against property."

Decker read through the article carefully before he gave it back to Grant. He managed to sound credibly unaffected by the news. "You think I knew this before I saw you? I assure you, I didn't. My offer to introduce you and your abolitionist friends to Falconer was made in good faith."

"At a price," Grant said. "Don't forget you wanted something for your efforts."

"I certainly haven't forgotten that. I'm the one out the money."

Grant's flat black eyes regarded Decker narrowly. "I'm thinking now that you never intended to deliver him. Perhaps you were only trying to make a fool of me."

"I never said I knew Falconer, just someone who says he does. That's as close as I'm ever likely to get to him." Decker shrugged. "I suppose it's a moot point. The paper says his name is Matthew Willet. Now everyone knows."

"And you really didn't?" Sheridan was still skeptical.

"I've never heard of Willet. Look, Sheridan, I'm sorry it didn't work out, but I did what I could. The man shielded himself. It's been months since Jonna mentioned that you had an interest in meeting Falconer. It took me time to make any connection at all to him. If I hadn't left for London the outcome might have been different."

"And now there's no money in it for you."

"Exactly."

"Is the money so important?" asked Grant. The question was put forth casually, but his eyes were intent.

"Money is always important."

"But Jonna's rich."

"Yes," Decker said. "She is. But it doesn't follow that what's hers is mine."

Sheridan frowned. "You mean she still holds all the purse strings?"

"That's exactly what I mean."

Laughter rumbled deep in Sheridan's chest. It exploded with a force that reverberated in the small cabin and brought tears to Grant's eyes. "Oh, that's rich," he said, trying to catch his breath. "If you'll pardon the expression." This sent him into a new paroxysm of laughter.

Decker sat on the edge of the desk, his arms crossed in front of him, and waited Grant out. "Right now, Sheridan," he said without inflection, "I can't even afford to have you laugh at my expense."

Grant sobered only marginally. "I did not suspect you were such a wit, Thorne."

Decker's shrug was careless. "I do what I can."

Sheridan smoothed the newspaper account, folded it, and replaced it in his pocket. "Did you know you weren't going to get anything when you married her?"

"I knew."

"But you thought she'd change her mind."

"Let's say I hoped."

Sheridan's smile held no humor. "You should have made a better deal before the marriage."

"I'm not the Yankee you are. Which is why I find myself needing funds now. I won't go to Jonna, so don't advise me in that direction."

"Tell me something, Thorne. Does Jonna know you were at my office yesterday?"

"Yes."

"I imagine she thought you came to settle the score. I don't think you were entirely convinced that the kiss we shared was completely an innocent one."

"I'm convinced unless you tell me otherwise." Decker regarded Sheridan dispassionately. "Are you telling me that?"

"No, not at all. A congratulatory salute, that's all it was. Had I known then that she had made such a shrewd marriage settlement, my wishes would have been warmer. I've always been impressed with Jonna's business sense." His grin was meant to needle Decker, but he could observe no outward effect. "So what reason did you give for coming to see me yesterday?"

"I told her I was looking for a job."

Sheridan's reaction was immediate. He almost choked on an indrawn breath. "With my line? She believed that?"

"I was convincing," Decker said calmly.

"You must have been." Sheridan's tone stopped just short of being admiring. "Then she doesn't know anything at all about this Falconer business?"

"No. You know what she thinks about Garrison and the others. They're all fanatics in her eyes."

"Yes, she's said that." He paused and added quietly, "I think she sees me in that same light sometimes."

Decker uncrossed his arms. His fingers curled around the edge of his desk. "Do you want to do something about Falconer?" he asked.

One of Sheridan's sand-colored brows kicked up. "What do you mean?"

"I mean the man's going to hang. You read the article. Garrison's probably right about the trial being a mere formality. The outcome is certain, and that's if Whitfield... Whitley..."

"Willet," Sheridan interjected.

"Willet makes it to trial," Decker finished. "Don't be surprised if you read a few weeks from now that he's been the victim of a lynching."

Sheridan nodded. "I know how seriously they'll take Falconer's crime. My own line's suffered because of the opinions I've expressed. I don't have the Charleston trade I used to, and I'm not likely to ever get it back."