Jo Goodman (38 page)

"I understood that was settled." He paused a beat. "It is, isn't it? There's nothing more you want to tell me about last night. Nothing else about that kiss I observed."

Jonna felt as if her throat was closing. "No," she said quickly, swallowing hard. "There's nothing."

The doors to the library opened, and Virginia entered with Jonna's tea. The interruption was as timely as Jonna hoped it would be. The minute the maid spent fiddling with the service and pouring her tea was an opportunity for Jonna to compose herself.

"I don't like the idea of you working for another line," Jonna said when she and Decker were alone again. "I wish you had discussed it with me."

Decker pretended to consider her words. "And in exchange?" he asked. "What are you prepared to discuss with me?"

Jonna was silent.

"How about your whereabouts this afternoon and evening? I expected to find you home when I got here. Jack said you left your office this morning."

"That's true," Jonna said. "And I came home and I left again. Didn't Mrs. Davis tell you? I went to the shipyards."

"No, she didn't mention that." A smile edged his mouth, but it didn't reach his eyes. "Was that the story she had agreed to tell for you?"

"I beg your pardon?"

"It's no good being indignant. Not when you're already caught out in the lie." He held up one hand to stop her from digging the hole any deeper. "Mrs. Davis didn't tell me you were at the shipyards because before she had a chance to do so I told her that was where I had been. Our paths should have crossed somewhere today, Jonna. You know very well they didn't."

It was the last thing she'd expected to hear. What business had taken Decker to the shipyards? Had he really been there or was he bluffing, hoping that she would confirm his suspicions? "I visited several different sites," she said. "The Garnet yards. Landon's. All part of the research for outfitting
Huntress.
Perhaps that's how we missed each other."

Decker's gaze didn't waver. His eyes bored into hers. "Were you with Sheridan?"

"No!" Jonna's cup rattled in the saucer as she set it aside. "No," she said more softly. "I didn't see him at all. I wasn't with him." She was struck suddenly by how much she wanted Decker to believe her. "I know what you think you saw last night at Grant's home. Indeed, I don't know how you could help but think the worst of me. I don't regret my decision to tell Grant about our marriage, but I regret that I went there without you. I told you last night that you were right, Decker. I didn't make that admission lightly, and I haven't changed my mind about it. I didn't go behind your back to meet him today."

There was no mistaking the earnestness in her voice. If she wasn't telling the truth, Decker thought, then at the very least she thought it was important for him to think she was. "I believe you," he said at last. "About Sheridan. What I won't accept is that you were at the shipyards."

Before Jonna could reply, Decker was on his feet. He was going to walk out, she realized. He was going to leave her alone again. Perhaps only for this evening. Perhaps for the rest of her life. Something akin to panic turned her stomach over. She didn't have time to consider what that reaction meant, she only knew she had to do something about it. She stood suddenly. Behind his retreating back she raised her arm to reach out to him. "I wasn't at the shipyards," she said in a rush.

Decker paused, then slowly turned. He'd missed Jonna's outstretched hand but not the way her slender frame seemed to lean toward him or her eyes appealed to him. She did not look so different than she had on
Huntress's
listing deck, waiting for him to take her by the hand. Then, as now, she hadn't been able to ask for help, but she had left no doubt it was what she wanted.

"You're not going to tell me where you were," he said quietly. "Are you?"

Her mouth was cotton dry. "I can't." She saw him hesitate. For once the calm she associated with him did not seem to be so effortless. "I can't," she repeated hollowly.

Decker was convinced that she believed what she was saying. Wherever she had been, whatever she had done, she was certain she couldn't trust him with it. "Very well," he said. "But know that you're alone by choice, Jonna."

This time she had no words to call him back.

* * *

Lying on her side in bed, Jonna watched the flicker of light coming from under Decker's door. The door to their shared dressing room stood open on her side, making it seem that Decker wasn't so very far away this time.

Separate rooms had been a necessity, she reminded herself, but the thought was cold comfort. She had begun applying herself to the problem her marriage presented while still aboard
Huntress.
The demands of running a station for the Underground meant that her escort was sometimes required in the middle of the night. How could she share a bed with Decker under those circumstances?

It had occurred to her that she could pass on the duties of conducting to Mrs. Davis or close her station altogether. Neither of those ideas was palatable. Nor was sleeping alone.

She considered telling Decker about her involvement with the Underground Railroad, but the consequences were enormous if he couldn't keep the trust. It was not that Jonna had anything to fear from Boston's authorities. In many circles, especially those that Grant Sheridan frequented, she would be applauded for her activities. But in the South, where she traded, Remington ships would no longer be in demand. Their holds would be empty or their cargoes left to rot; or, worse yet, fire would destroy a ship in the harbor.

Jonna knew all those things could happen. They had happened to Grant as soon as he became vocal about abolition. She admired him for not backing down or taking the quieter, more secretive approach she had, but she also did not know how his business survived. He had lost two ships to sabotage, one in Charleston, another at sea. In both instances the crews had survived, but later many of the men went elsewhere for jobs. When Jonna questioned him about it, he had been rather philosophical about the loss of the ships and the men, but he hadn't taken it lightly. Ultimately Grant's response had been to change the focus of his trade from points south to the Far East. Occasional business still took his ships to Charleston, but he was often on board, almost as if he was daring saboteurs to make trouble while he was present.

Jonna did not think she was as brave as all that. Grant may have found a way for Sheridan Shipping to manage against the odds, but she wasn't sure she could do the same for Remington. Keeping the line running was vital to the welfare of hundreds of people, not just the scores of young women who had passed through her station.

Jonna's eyes were drawn again to the flickering strip of light under Decker's door. It was an enormous trust she would be placing in his hands if she told him what she had been about or what she was about to do. She could lose more than Remington Shipping, she thought. She could lose herself.

* * *

Decker sat facing the fireplace, his long legs stretched out in front of him. He had never fully readied himself for bed. His shirt was unbuttoned and his feet were bare, but that was as far as he had gotten. Servants had turned down his bed and laid a nightshirt and dressing gown at the foot of it, but climbing into that bed alone was not appealing.

The papers in his hands rustled as he leafed through them a second time. He sighed, not certain what he was looking for or what he had expected to find. Jonna's ill-advised meeting with Grant had offered Decker a perfect pretext for visiting Sheridan at his offices. Grant was properly suspicious, Decker recalled, but suspicious of all the wrong things. It apparently hadn't occurred to Sheridan that he needed to be less concerned about facing Decker than about leaving him alone.

Sheridan's desk had been locked, but it had presented no challenge to Decker. While Sheridan had been called away briefly to the outer office and then to his warehouse, Decker had rifled the drawers. There was no time to read papers in the office and no possibility that ledgers wouldn't be missed, so he had opted for taking a sampling of correspondence. Less clear in Decker's mind was what he might find or even what he hoped to find. He could acknowledge his judgment about Sheridan was clouded by the man's interest in Jonna. He also knew he couldn't allow that to continue.

If Grant Sheridan was the one person who could help Falconer, then Decker had to find some way to answer his own misgivings.

Stacking the correspondence neatly, Decker placed it upside down on the table beside him. He turned down the lamp until the flame sputtered and was finally extinguished. The fireplace provided his bedchamber's sole illumination. Heat bathed his bare feet and the backs of his hands. He closed his eyes and considered sleeping where he sat. It was not so different than being strapped to a chair at the helm of
Huntress.
It didn't matter that there was no storm visible on the horizon. There was always one brewing when he thought of Jonna Remington.

Behind him the door opened. Decker didn't stir. Had she come to beard the lion in his den or simply to murder him in his sleep? Either was a possibility, and Decker gave no favor to one over the other.

Jonna padded lightly across Decker's room. The floor was cool on her bare feet until she reached the half circle of heat and light in front of the fireplace. She surveyed his quiet, youthful features and wished he had gone to bed before falling asleep. She would have crawled in beside him and laid her head close to his, perhaps even shared his pillow. She would have watched him sleep and drawn a measure of peace from his even breathing and unguarded calm. She might even have risked laying one hand on his chest before she fell asleep herself.

It was out of the question now. There was no room for her.

Jonna glanced at the door. She hadn't closed it in the event she required a quick exit. She resisted going toward it. Heat licked the backs of her legs pleasantly. Crossing Decker's room again seemed like a retreat. It was not in the least appealing even when common sense prompted her.

Instead she knelt beside his outstretched legs and faced the fire. Her shoulder nudged his knee. That small movement stilled Jonna. She waited, wondering if he had felt the intrusion, wondering if he would acknowledge it. In time, when there was no reaction, her head grew heavy. There was no more natural response than to lay her head against his thigh.

Decker looked down at the top of Jonna's head. The deep, rich highlights in her hair surfaced from under the fire's glow. There were shades of coffee and licorice and ebony, and the flames lent it the iridescent luster of a black pearl. He picked up a thick strand and massaged the curling end between his thumb and forefinger. There was no texture so fine as that of a woman's hair.

With some effort he let his hand fall away.

"Don't stop," Jonna said.

Decker's fingers hovered just above the nape of her neck. When he hesitated she raised her head and twisted part way around to see him. Her movement brought his palm against her cheek.

"Please," she said. "I don't want you to stop touching me."

"All right," he said quietly. When he came to his feet he brought her with him. Jonna stood naturally in the circle of his arms, her face lifted toward his. He was not smiling; his blue eyes were intent on hers.

"I won't change my mind," she whispered. "You said from now on it would be my choice. Well,
this
is my choice." Rising on tiptoe, Jonna placed her hands on Decker's shoulders; then she kissed him full on the mouth.

Decker's embrace tightened. Slight pressure at the small of her back brought her flush against him. He was aware of the tiny ripple in her middle as her abdomen contracted with the pull of an indrawn breath. He could make out the outline of her taut breasts, and feel the pleasant abrasiveness of her nipples as they scraped his chest. His hands moved lower, cupping her buttocks. She fit herself in the seat of his palms, her stance widened, and then she was cradling his erection with her thighs.

Jonna's fingers tightened on Decker's shoulders. She held herself steady as the very air around her seemed to shift. She kissed the corner of his mouth, then drew in his lower lip. She teased him with her teeth and tongue, and found herself pleasured by the play. His mouth moved under hers, in response to her overtures. His breath was warm and hinted at the sweetness of peppermint. She would taste of tea, she realized, and wished she had taken sugar with her drink. Decker deserved something more than the tart edge of her tongue.

The shape of her smile was pressed against his lips. He lifted his head and looked at her. The centers of her eyes were dark and wide, and a trace of her secretive little smile was left on her mouth. He didn't ask what she was thinking. He let her fingers thread together behind his neck and pull him close for another kiss.

She held his face still. Her lips were firm on his, her tongue pressed for entry. She felt his slight shudder when she deepened the kiss. Jonna only knew what she had been taught by him, and now she left no doubt that she had paid attention. When his hands tightened on her bottom she rubbed herself intimately against him. Her entire body provided a sweet caress. Decker felt the loss as a wrenching in his gut when she pulled away from him.

Jonna took his hand and led him to the bed. Her fingers slid along the opening of his shirt, and she pushed it off his shoulders. She kissed the warm skin of his chest and let the shirt fall to the floor. Her dressing gown followed almost immediately. Jonna pushed at the waistband of his trousers while he raised the hem of her nightshift. He stepped out of his clothes, and she ducked under hers.