"You're maddening. Do you know that? Absolutely maddening."
"If you want to be mad at someone, try being mad at yourself. You're fortunate that the blow you gave Captain Thorne only set back his recovery instead of killing him. In his condition he was in no way prepared to fight you."
"That's not how I remember it."
Jonna ignored that. She pressed her fingertips to her temples, closed her eyes, and began massaging away the first hint of a headache. "I can't discuss this any longer, Grant. You're not wearing me down. You're wearing me out. There's a difference, you know."
He crossed the room again and this time rounded her desk. Pushing aside the ledger, he sat on the edge. "Jonna," he said quietly, persuasively. "Jonna. You must listen to me. For appearance's sake, if not for reason's, you should put Thorne up somewhere else. I'll take care of the arrangements and pay for them. That should show you I'm willing to make amends for my behavior that morning. Think what you're doing, Jonna, by having him live in your home. You're my fiancée. Surely you can see it isn't right."
Jonna's hands dropped to her lap. She leaned back. The soft leather upholstery cushioned her head. She opened her eyes and stared at him. "Saying it often doesn't make it so, Grant," she said tiredly. "I've never said I would marry you. Don't press that point on top of the other."
He said nothing for a long minute, then reached for her wrists. Taking them in one of his large hands, he easily pulled Jonna to her feet. She came without resistance to stand between his splayed and outstretched legs. For Grant it was something of a surprise and a disappointment. Overpowering her would have made the moment sweeter. He let go of her wrists and placed his palms on either side of her face. She was watching him intently now, the centers of her violet eyes darkening.
He bent his head and kissed her. Long and thoroughly. There was no consideration for her lack of response. In his own time, he set her from him carefully, with more thoughtfulness than he had shown in taking her. "I'll concede victory to you on the matter of Thorne," he said quietly. "But not on the matter of the other. You will be my wife."
* * *
It was after eight o'clock when Jonna arrived home. The long day in Remington Shipping's offices had been largely unproductive. Grant Sheridan's departure had in no way meant she could return to business as usual. Not with the imprint of his mouth on hers. Not when he left her feeling uncertain and unsettled.
It was the first time he had kissed her on the mouth. He had taken her hand before and pressed it to his lips. He had unbuttoned her glove and kissed the back of her wrist. He had touched her cheek briefly in greeting when they were in the privacy of her salon or his carriage, but he had never asked for nor taken a more intimate liberty. Until now. She wondered at it, wondered at his timing.
Before this morning all she had wondered about was the kiss. At least the dreaded anticipation of that was behind her.
Jonna slowly removed her damp coat and hat and handed them to Mrs. Davis.
"Is everything all right, Miss Remington?" the housekeeper asked, her brow furrowed.
"What? Oh, yes. Nothing's wrong." Realizing her thoughts were still back at her office, Jonna made an effort to come to the present. "I think I'd like to have dinner in my room," she said. When she saw the housekeeper frown she asked, "Is there some problem with that?"
Mrs. Davis quickly shook her head. "No, not at all..." She glanced down the hall toward the dining room. The crease between her brows deepened.
"Mrs. Davis?"
"It's just that Captain Thorne dressed for dinner this evening," the housekeeper said in a rush. "He's waiting for you in the dining room. It was supposed to be a surprise." Her worried expression remained unchanged. "And now I've given it away."
Jonna was not able to school her reaction. It was still a surprise. "Should he be up?" she asked. "What did the doctor say?"
"Dr. Hardy hasn't been here today. As for Captain Thorne, well, there's really no telling him one way or the other what he should do. He has his mind quite made up on the matter."
Just like someone else she knew. Unbidden, her fingers came up to lightly touch her lips. She wished the kiss had gone on longer, wished she knew if time and familiarity would have made her more responsive. Jonna's hand dropped away slowly, and she became aware that the housekeeper was waiting for some answer from her. "I'll join the captain, then," she said. "He is a guest, after all."
Decker came to his feet as Jonna opened the pocket doors to the dining room. He made a slight bow and crossed over to close the doors behind her. His light step hardly made a sound on the hardwood floor.
"Captain," Jonna said in acknowledgment.
"Miss Remington."
"You're looking well," she said, surveying him from head to toe. She was vaguely aware that her scrutiny, bold as it was, could have been interpreted as improper. It was justified in her own mind because she had some stake in his good health, or the lack of it.
Amusement brightened Decker's blue eyes. "Are you going to make a bid on me?" he asked. "Shall I show you my teeth?"
"Don't be vulgar."
Rather than being offended by her reprimand, his grin merely deepened. He offered her his elbow. "Allow me, Miss Remington."
Jonna's mouth flattened slightly at his air of gallantry, but she laid a hand lightly on his arm and allowed him to escort her to the table. He held out the chair at the head, seated her, then returned to his place at the other end.
The hearty meal of thinly carved roast beef, baby carrots, and buttered potatoes was served by a young black woman under the watchful eye of Mrs. Davis. Jonna noticed the maid's trembling hands as she held out the platter of meat. "You're doing fine," she said gently.
The young maid said nothing, but in her dark eyes there was instant relief as well as gratitude for the encouragement.
Decker watched this exchange with interest. When the maid came around to him and offered the platter he told her, "Mrs. Davis isn't watching you. She's watching me." His voice, though it was lowered in a confidential tone, was perfectly audible to everyone in the room. "She's afraid I'll steal the silver."
The maid's sloe eyes widened, and she swallowed visibly. It was the very thing she had been warned about. "Yes, sir. I count it myself." She jumped back in alarm as Mrs. Davis called her name sharply. The platter bobbled, but Decker helped her keep her grip on it. As soon as he had served himself, the maid hurried out of the room with the housekeeper only a narrow step behind her.
Decker looked down the length of the table at Jonna, fully expecting her to be scolding him with her sharp glance if not her sharp tongue. Instead, she seemed to be concentrating hard, perhaps too hard, on cutting her meat. Was that a glimmer of a smile he saw her fighting back? He thought he spied the shadow of a dimple at the corner of her mouth.
"I sent Mr. Daniels to the harbor today," Decker said conversationally. "I wanted my clothes from Huntress."
Jonna looked up politely and nodded. She had noticed as soon as she walked in the room that Decker had not borrowed the clothes he was wearing from her father's armoire. The shirt and jacket fit him too well, and the trousers were trim around his waist. These clothes were tailored in London. Jonna recognized the precise workmanship because Grant also had his suits made for him there. She was struck by the odd thought that their clothing may have been cut from the same cloth. She wondered about the men.
"It was good of Mr. Daniels to go," he said.
"I'm sure he thought it was what I would have wanted him to do," Jonna said. It was a subtle message that her orders were being followed, not his.
"And wasn't it?"
Jonna didn't answer the question directly, but asked one of her own. "Has Dr. Hardy given you leave to be out of bed?"
"He didn't say I couldn't."
Raising one brow, Jonna gave him a knowing look. "Mrs. Davis said the doctor wasn't here today."
"Then you already knew the answer to your question. I think you were trying to trap me in a lie, Miss
Remington."
"What I was trying to do was make certain you're well enough to be down here. I wouldn't think you'd want to prolong your recovery."
Decker considered that. He let his eyes wander about the room, making a point to take in the superbly carved mahogany sideboard, the expensive damask drapes, the crystal vase, and the silver candlesticks clustered at the center of the table. When his eyes finally rested on Jonna's face again he said carelessly, "Why not? I find I quite like it here." He regarded her steadily, his expression going from straight-faced to curious. "Are you going to throw something at me?"
Jonna blinked. She realized she was holding her breath and her hands were clenching and unclenching around the napkin in her lap. Her smile was too sweet to be sincere. "Do you think you deserve it, Captain Thorne?"
"I suppose it depends on what you have under the table." He quickly surveyed the silver and china pieces in front of her. Everything seemed to be accounted for. "It must be a napkin. I don't think you'll get much satisfaction from pitching it at me, but yes, it's about what my comment deserves." He watched her visibly restrain herself and kept his own smile in check. There was no point goading her until he got a water goblet thrown at his head. Even if he managed to duck the glass, he'd surely get wet. There was no dignity in that. He was satisfied when she picked up her fork and began eating.
Decker also applied himself to his meal. The roast beef was rare, basted in its own juices, and had been making his mouth water since he'd smelled it being prepared hours earlier. If he was being strictly honest with himself it was more than Jonna's company he had sought this evening. He was tired of the sickroom fare the doctor had ordered for him. In the last few days he had pressed Tess and one of her equally nervous friends into bringing him something more substantial from the cook's larder. But they were rightly afraid to be caught out and lose their positions in the house. It wouldn't be easy for them to find other work, even in Boston where there was considerable tolerance for freeborn blacks and fugitive slaves.
"I noticed you have a number of Negro servants working for you," Decker said.
Jonna wondered at what thoughts had taken him to that observation. Just then young Tess parted the doors and stepped in to offer more food. Had Decker heard her approach? Jonna refused to talk about the servants in front of them as if they were deaf to what was being said. She waited until Tess quietly left again before she answered. "Five or six, I think. I have as many white servants. You'd have to ask Mrs. Davis. She hires them. I leave the running of the house up to her."
"They're all free men and women, I assume," he said idly.
That comment brought Jonna's sharp-eyed glance. "I should hope so, Captain Thorne. I don't hold with abolitionist talk if that's what you're getting at."
"I wasn't aware I was getting at anything," he said. "It was merely an observation. But since you mentioned it, Boston is quite a stronghold in the abolitionist movement. It wouldn't be surprising if you shared some of those beliefs."
She made a small dismissive motion with her hand. "You're speaking of people like William Lloyd Garrison and his following. Grant thinks he has a level head, but I think Garrison is a fanatic. I take a more tempered view."
"And that is?"
"I don't agree with slavery, but I also don't agree with legislating morality—and that's what Garrison and those like him want. If they can't get it done legally, then they're not above using illegal means. What do they call it? The Underground Road?"
"I think it's the Underground Railroad now," Decker said.
Jonna nodded. "Yes, I believe you're right. Conductors. Stations. Passengers. They can dress it up any way they like, it's all against the law. This country still recognizes slave states and even allows territories to enter the Union under those conditions. Short of taking up arms, I don't see that there is any way to stop it. Remington Shipping does a lot of business in Southern ports, as you well know. I suppose I could make a stand and only take on cotton that's been picked by freeborn men and women, but we'd be out of business in two years, perhaps sooner. It's not prudent to bite the hand that feeds you, Captain. Remember that."
Decker's keen blue eyes narrowed. He was thoughtful. "I wonder if your thinking is perhaps dictated more by your business sense than it is by moral imperative."
Jonna's response was unhesitating. "Business is a moral imperative."
"I see," he drawled.
"I doubt it."
Decker gave her an arch look. "Oh?" he asked softly. "What do you mean by that?"
Jonna opened her mouth to speak, then closed it, thinking better of what she had been about to say. Decker Thorne was her guest. She would not insult him. "Nothing," she said. "It's of no consequence."
But Decker knew it was. He had been treated with nothing but respect since he had been in her home, yet Decker had always known that Jonna Remington didn't respect him. It hadn't been that way at first. When he'd come to the United States and presented himself at Remington Shipping, looking for work, she had not regarded him differently than any of the other men working for her. In fact, he thought, she hadn't noticed him much at all.
That was as he'd wanted it to be. No favors. No additional expectations. He'd been determined to make his own way. It was the last thing he'd told his brother when he'd left London three years ago.
It had been Colin's idea that he seek out Jonna Remington and apply for a position with her company. Decker had had no experience with ships or sailing, but he had confidence in his ability to learn. What was more, he knew Colin had confidence in his ability as well.
Decker had introduced himself only as Pont Epine, taking the name that Marie Thibodeaux had christened him with when she was teaching him French. It was an awkward translation of his own name and eventually had been Anglicized to Ponty Pine.
It was as Ponty Pine that he had worked for Remington Shipping for the first six months. Then, in an innocent correspondence between his brother and his employer, his identity had been betrayed. Jonna Remington had summoned him to her office and had asked directly if he'd intended to make a fool of her.
Decker had never given any consideration to Jonna's feelings about his deception. Had he considered them at all, he would have concluded that she would have had no feelings. He was aware of the relationship that existed between the Remingtons and his brother. He knew that as a boy Colin had saved Jonna from drowning and so had been given every opportunity to advance his career in the aftermath of that rescue. He knew that Colin had made his fortune working for the Remingtons and that his brother's eventual return to London, his marriage to Mercedes Leyden, even his success in finding Decker, all could be tied to Remington Shipping.
What Decker hadn't anticipated was that Jonna Remington would dislike him so much for not being Colin.
She had never said as much, and Decker suspected she might never say it. Hell, he acknowledged to himself, she might not even know it.
So he goaded her from time to time. Tweaked her a little here and there, just to see if he could make her say the words aloud. She never did though, or at least she hadn't yet. Watching her now, her features very still and grave, the dark centers of her violet eyes giving away nothing, Decker was again struck by what a private person she was.
More than private, he thought. Alone. Lonely.
"I think it is important," he said, picking up the threads of their conversation. Silence had hovered over the table for too long. "What do you mean I don't understand that business is a moral imperative?"
Jonna set down her water goblet without drinking. "Do you really want to hear this, Captain Thorne? I promise you I will speak plainly."
"I can take it, Miss Remington."
Still, she hesitated. They were not in her office on the waterfront. Decker Thorne was not an employee here. He had saved her life and then come to her assistance only to be laid out cold for it. His recovery had been slow as a fever took him, and two days past the point where she had regained all her strength, he was still
fighting for his life. She was not unaware of the debt she owed him, yet, she wondered, had anything really changed?
His act of heroism on the wharf made no essential difference in the way she thought of him. In all likelihood that behavior was an aberration. For all she knew, Jack Quincy had pushed him into the water. What choice did he have then but to attempt a rescue?
Some part of her knew she was being unfair, but she wouldn't consider it now. It was far simpler to interpret his actions to fit her view of him than it was to change her view.
"Very well, Captain," Jonna said. "I have doubts that you know much about the morality of work. Until you came to Remington Shipping it's my understanding that you never worked in your life. I'm aware that you've been jailed for stealing and that you might well have been hanged for your crimes. I believe it was a lucky encounter with your brother that kept that from happening, and as I told you before, I think you know how to command good fortune."
Jonna paused, wondering if she should go on. Except for the smallest hint of a smile edging the corners of his mouth, Decker's features were passive. That flicker of amusement decided her. She wanted to wipe it off his face. "I like to know the people who work for me, and I suppose I know you no more or less than any of my other employees. What I do know I don't particularly trust. I don't think I need to count the silver or inventory the linens while you're in my home. My sense is that though you tease us with your criminal past from time to time, those days are behind you. By the same token, I don't believe you're a reformed man. You may not take from others any longer, but neither do you give anything. Your attitude, indeed, is quite as careless as your smile.
"Frankly, I find it irritating, but then, you know that. I'm very aware you do it for just that reason. I only regret that I can't seem to ignore it. It would be so much less amusing for you."
Jonna's appetite had fled. More than that, she was drained. Decker was simply studying her now, his expression carefully neutral. She had no idea what he was thinking, and perversely, she wished he would flash that reckless grin. She pushed her plate away, then came to her feet. "If you'll excuse me, Captain Thorne, I—"
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