Jo Goodman

by My Reckless Heart

  "Sit."

  Her head snapped back at the tone as much as the command. "I beg your pardon?" It was a stupid thing to say, given that her reaction clearly told him he had been heard. Jonna didn't wait for him to point that out. She sat.

  "Good," he said. "Now I have something to tell you." Decker leaned back in his chair, his posture casual as he crossed his long legs at the ankles. "I told you I could take it, Miss Remington. I have no intention of mounting a blistering defense on my behalf. Is that why you were going to run off? Because you thought I meant to argue with you?"

  It was, though Jonna didn't like to admit it. "I'm weary of arguments today," she said.

  "Jack Quincy told me once that I could sooner turn back a prevailing wind than make you change your opinion. I've always found his counsel to be sound. It certainly seems to hold true for your opinion of me." He pointed to the plate she had pushed away. "Now eat something, then tell me who was brave enough to beard the lioness."

  Feeling his eyes on her, Jonna was flooded with an unfamiliar sense of calm. He sat there across from her, unruffled and unrattled by anything she had said. To be that certain of oneself, she thought wistfully, and knew she envied this about him as well. Her eyes dropped away from his untroubled gaze and went to her plate. She picked up her fork and continued eating, surprised to find that she was hungry after all.

  "Did Jack really say that about me?" she asked when she had finished most of what was on her plate.

  "Would you believe me?"

  "Yes," she said without hesitation. "Yes, I would."

  "They were Jack's words as near as I can remember them," he confirmed.

  She thought about that. "A blistering defense would serve no purpose, would it?"

  One corner of his mouth kicked up in a grin. "None."

  Tess arrived to clear the table and bring cherry cobbler and coffee. The dishes rattled in her hands as she removed them. She was aware that her presence, where it had been welcomed before as an interruption, was now an intrusion. There was waiting in the silence, and Tess bobbed her curtsy and hurried from the room as quickly as she could.

  The moment to laugh had passed, but Jonna wished it could have been otherwise. She poured a small measure of milk in her cup. "Would you prefer liqueur with your coffee?" she asked. "There's some in the sideboard."

  "No, nothing. Thank you." He drank his coffee black. "Tell me about all the arguing today," he said.

  She found she did want to talk about it. "Most of it was the usual sort of thing that goes on every day. Mr. Edwards wanted another price for his shipment of finished goods, one that was totally unacceptable to me. He thought he could get a better price with the Sheridan Line, then he remembered that Grant wasn't likely to undercut me. That frustrated him, and he started complaining that we controlled all the shipping. I told him to go to Garnet or Canning if he didn't like my prices. In the end he knew he was getting a fair deal from me, but I heartily disliked having to prove it to him."

  Decker imagined that some days she was energized by the challenge. Today, he could tell, had been different. "And then?" he prompted.

  So Jonna recounted the squabbles and haggling she had been through. Even leaving out her quarrel with Grant, she found herself unburdened at the end.

  Decker listened without comment. His posture was at odds with his formal surroundings. Loose and relaxed, his eyes lazily hooded, he was a study in contrasts to the rigid high-backed chair he sat in. He held his coffee cup in front of him, never once replacing it in the saucer, while he heard Jonna out.

  He wondered if she would tell him everything. The odds were against it. She spoke soberly about her day, as if each decision she'd made had the same magnitude of consequence for Remington Shipping. She used few gestures as she talked; mostly her slender hands rested quietly in her lap. Her voice was cool and steady, and her spine remained as inflexible as the chair under her.

  But then there were her eyes. Even down the length of the table they had the power to arrest Decker's attention. In their darkening violet depths he glimpsed her passion.

  "There you have it," she said, coming to a close. She picked up her cup, a bit uncomfortable with the way Decker was staring at her. His lazy regard unnerved her as a more direct approach would not. Jonna found herself brushing back a loose tendril of hair that had fallen across her cheek. She tried to make it a casual gesture, but it felt very much like a vain one. It was out of character for her, and that added to her discomfort. "Would you like something else, Captain?" she asked. "More coffee? A drink?"

  Decker smiled slightly as he shook his head. "You've had a day of it, then," he said.

  Jonna nodded.

  "It must have been a relief to have Mr. Sheridan visit you in the middle of all of it." He saw her fingertips press whitely on her cup. "The eye of the storm, as it were."

  Anything but, Jonna thought miserably. If she had recounted her day accurately Decker would have known that Grant Sheridan was the storm. "How did you know Mr. Sheridan came to my office?" she asked.

  "Mr. Daniels told me," Decker said. "Remember? He went to get my clothes from the ship. I suppose he felt a need to explain his presence at the harbor in case you heard about it from someone else, so he stopped at your office."

  "While Mr. Sheridan was there."

  "Yes."

  The silence was drawn out while Jonna considered what it was that Mr. Daniels might have overheard and, more importantly, what he might have related to the captain. There was no clue from Decker himself. The slight smile and watchful blue eyes, even the single arched brow, only made him more inscrutable. He could be aware of everything or nothing, and he still would maintain that quietly amused expression.

  Decker decided to make it easy for her. "I'll be leaving tonight," he said. "Jack's been paying on the room I let, so I still have some place to go. He tells me that Huntress is scheduled to make a run to Charleston in two days. I'd like to be at the helm if you're agreeable."

  Jonna blinked, trying to take it in. "There's no reason for you to leave tonight," she said.

  "There's no reason for me to stay."

  "Are you quite recovered? I think I would prefer to hear from Dr. Hardy before you leave." She could hardly believe she was saying these things. His departure would ease the tension between her and Grant. She wondered again what he knew. Was this a gallant gesture on his part or a selfish one? He had mentioned Huntress. Was that behind his desire to leave? "You can go in the morning after Dr. Hardy examines you," she said.

  Decker's grin deepened. Jonna spoke as if she could actually stop him from leaving.

  "I won't let you take out Huntress if you go tonight," she told him.

  Decker sobered immediately and leaned forward in his chair. So she could keep him here. He wouldn't underestimate her again. "Do you always get your own way?" he asked.

  "Yes," she said simply. "I do."

  Decker considered that. His eyes fell on the dimple at the corner of her mouth. She was looking as pleased with herself as her aloof expression allowed. "Your fiancé must hate that. Sheridan seems like a man of similar mind."

  "No matter what you've heard to the contrary, Grant Sheridan and I are not engaged. As for wanting his own way, he's no different than any other man of my acquaintance."

  "Really? I thought I just gave in to your blackmail rather easily."

  Jonna shrugged. "That's because you have no backbone."

  Decker was aware he was slouching in his chair again. "Literally or figuratively?" he asked, idly curious.

  Her mouth flattened. "Both."

  He had no clear idea how he might have responded to that, but he was saved the effort of thinking about it by voices in the hallway. Even though it was muted by the closed pocket doors, Decker recognized Grant Sheridan's curt, commanding tone as he ordered Mrs. Davis to show him to the dining room.

  Jonna was on her feet and moving toward the doors when they opened. "Grant," she said in greeting, holding out her hands. "This
is a surprise."

  Sheridan all but ignored her, looking over her head to spear Decker with a sharp glance. There was no challenge in Decker's expression. He returned Sheridan's gaze, his own features remaining impassive. It was Grant who finally looked away. He took Jonna's extended hands in his. "I was on my way back from the meeting at Faneuil Hall," he said. "I thought I would stop and offer my apologies for this afternoon."

  If Grant had not been holding her hands Jonna would have touched her lips. Was he apologizing for the kiss? Their argument did not seem to warrant an apology. They were simply of two different minds on the matter of Decker Thorne's presence in her home. "Please, Grant, won't you sit down?" She looked over her shoulder at Decker. "Better yet, why don't we retire to the parlor? It's more comfortable there."

  Decker declined. "I'm away to bed," he told them. "I expect to be released by Dr. Hardy in the morning."

  Grant looked to Jonna for an explanation.

  "Captain Thorne is anxious to take back his command," she said. "He leaves tomorrow if the doctor approves."

  "That's good news."

  Decker rose from his chair and walked almost soundlessly to the doors. He caught Sheridan's eye as he passed. "I thought you would think so," he said. Then he left the couple alone.

  * * *

  It was much later when Decker left his room. The house was quiet. The servants who lived in the mansion were asleep in their own quarters, and Jonna had long ago retired to her room in the west wing. Decker's progress through the hall and down the back stairs was quiet. He slipped soundlessly through the kitchen and opened a door in the pantry to go even farther into the bowels of the house. At last he found the laundry.

  His clothes had never been returned to him. Lying abed these past two weeks, he hadn't needed them. On the brief occasions he did get up, he had a nightshirt and dressing gown compliments of the late John Remington. He had asked Mrs. Davis about his things but she had avoided answering him directly. He understood then that Jonna was concerned he would leave if they were returned. That had been behind his decision to send Mr. Daniels to the harbor. While the man wouldn't disobey Jonna's orders to leave Decker's clothes in the laundry, he was willing to retrieve things from Huntress.

  Decker found his clothing just where Tess had told him he would. He separated the clean and neatly folded stack until he had his vest. Setting his candle down, Decker held up the article. All evidence of saltwater stains had been removed from the buff material. A loose button had been sewn on tighter. Decker noted these things, but they did not interest him.

  The purpose of his late-night trek through the silent house was to retrieve something from inside the vest He laid his hand across the concealed pocket and felt the familiar bulge. His talisman was there. He knew relief then, something he hadn't felt in all the days it had been out of his sight and beyond his touch. It was not superstition that had brought him to this place. It was his heritage.

  Decker slipped two fingers into the small pocket and caught the earring. He drew it out. The gold pendant glowed in the candlelight. The pearl was almost luminous. He let it slide into the heart of his palm and studied it. It looked none the worse for its dip into Boston Harbor or the drubbing it took in the laundry. He knew he was lucky to still have it. He could have lost it to harbor water or wash water. Anyone handling the vest could have found it, and probably had, yet no one had taken it.

  There was a time in his life when he would not have been so generous.

  Decker's hand closed over the earring. He picked up the candle and the rest of his clothes and mounted the stairs to the kitchen. He stopped on the threshold of the pantry. Jonna was sitting alone at the table, a mug of warm milk in her hands. There was no surprise on her features when she looked up and saw him.

  "I couldn't sleep," she said.

  Decker didn't offer the same excuse. He hadn't even tried to sleep. He had purposely waited for the rest of the household to do so. Obviously he had misjudged her. "I needed to get the rest of my belongings."

  Jonna didn't comment on the absurdity of the hour he had chosen to do that. "Are you leaving?" she asked quietly.

  "You mean now?" He shook his head. "No, in the morning." He watched her eyes drop back to the mug in her hands. Her lashes were thick and every bit as dark as her hair. The steam from the warm milk had flushed her skin. She looked very young in her plain cotton shift and worn dressing gown. Her hair was loosely plaited but not secured, and the end that had been pulled over her shoulder was already unraveling. He had an urge to glance under the table to see if her feet were bare.

  In this unguarded moment she did not look at all like the woman who ran a shipping empire.

  Decker felt a drop of hot wax splash his thumb. He pushed away from the door frame and laid his clothes on the table. He set his candle beside Jonna's and peeled back the wax.

  "Did you hurt yourself?" She put her mug down and without asking his permission took his hand in hers. His fist was still closed over the earring. "Let me see."

  "It's nothing."

  "Your thumb will blister. You should put cool water on it."

  Decker withdrew his hand. Her fingers had been very gentle as they moved over his skin. "It's nothing," he said again.

  She shrugged. "Would you like some milk? I can warm it for you."

  "I don't like warm milk."

  Jonna's glance went to her mug, and her faint smile was wry. "I don't either."

  "Then why...?"

  "Habit, I suppose. Comfort, perhaps."

  Decker saw her eyes drop immediately as if she were embarrassed by the confession. He was uncertain what he should say. He wondered what she would do if he slipped his fingers in her hair and raised her face and kissed her tremulous mouth. Would she stop him if he laid one hand over her breast?

  "I used to make my father a cup of warm milk when he couldn't sleep," she said after a moment. "We'd sit here in the kitchen and talk, sometimes just a few minutes, sometimes until the sun came up."

  "You miss him."

  "Most every day," Jonna said.

  She seemed not to mind his company. Decker pulled out a chair and sat down at a right angle to her. "Do you miss your mother like that?" he asked.

  "No," she said. "But he did. I know that now. I didn't have many years with my mother so the time with my father was especially precious." She glanced at Decker again as if to gauge his reaction to her next words. "He wanted a son, you know."

  Neither Jack nor his brother had ever mentioned it.

  That may have been another reason Colin had become so important to the Remingtons. "No, I didn't know."

  "It's true. Mother died giving him a boy. The boy died, too. I'm not sure Papa ever forgave himself." Jonna straightened in her chair, laughing a bit uneasily. "I can't imagine why I told you that," she said.

  Decker pushed the mug of milk completely out of her reach. "Perhaps you should stick to the hard stuff," he said lightly. She smiled then, and it had the power to pin Decker back in his chair. It occurred to him that she was right to keep her expression guarded and her thoughts to herself. In Boston Harbor women who looked like Jonna Remington did now weren't in command anywhere but the backstreet bedrooms.

  Jonna's smile wavered, then finally faded as Decker continued to stare at her. She made a swipe at her upper lip to remove any vestige of a milk mustache. "What do you have there?" she asked, pointing to his closed hand. "Is it the earring?"

  Both of Decker's brows shot up. "You know about it?"

  "Of course," she said simply. "One of the maids found it in your vest when it was being laundered. She showed it to Mrs. Davis who brought it to me. I assured her it wasn't stolen and told her to put it back." Jonna extended one hand, palm up. "May I?"

  With some reluctance, though he couldn't say what was at the root of it, Decker unfolded his fist and dropped the earring into Jonna's hand.

  She admired it, turning it over in her palm so she could see the ER inscribed clearly on the raindrop of
gold. "It's beautiful," she said. Her tone was hushed, a shade reverent. "Elizabeth Regina. Colin described this to me. It was made for her coronation, wasn't it? That makes it—"

  "Almost three hundred years old."

  "It's very valuable."

  "It's priceless," Decker said tersely.

  Jonna heard the unfamiliar edge in his voice. She returned the earring and this time he tucked it back into the pocket of his vest. "I'm sorry," she said. "I didn't mean to offend you by assigning some dollar amount to it. I have some idea what it means to you."

  "You can only know what Colin's told you about it," he said coldly. "You haven't the vaguest notion what it means to me."

  Jonna's brows rose slightly. "I'm sorry," she said again. "You're right, of course."

  Decker didn't indicate what he thought of her apology or even if he'd heard. He came to his feet as she was making it, and the chair scraped noisily on the hardwood floor. "I think I'll have that drink after all," he said.

  "The milk's in the cooler on the back—" She stopped because Decker was heading back to the pantry. He returned with a half-used bottle of whiskey that he had spied on his way to the cellar.

  "Glasses?"

  Jonna pointed to a cupboard to the left of the sink.

  "Two, please."

  Decker didn't comment, but took a second one from the cabinet. He carried them both to the table along with the whiskey and poured a good measure in each. Raising them, he eyed both carefully, and finally gave Jonna the one that he judged to hold a fraction less. "So why can't you sleep?" he asked. "Did you and Sheridan argue again?"

  "Again?" She started to make a denial, then thought better of it. What did it matter if Decker knew about her earlier discussion with Grant? What did it matter if he knew about this one? "You heard him say he went to Faneuil Hall this evening. Garrison was speaking."

  "An abolitionist meeting."

  Jonna nodded.

  "You don't approve."

  "It's not that I disapprove exactly," she said. "I think it's dangerous. He was very excited when he came back here. He has some idea that he might be able to meet Falconer."