Jo Goodman

by My Reckless Heart

  It was only when she heard a pair of familiar voices singing cheerfully off-key that she knew herself to be a liar as well as a fool.

  Jonna pushed her chair back from the desk and went to the window. Falling snow was illuminated by the lantern Decker held. Jack's lantern dangled from his fingertips, and the light it gave off swept the crusty, glistening ground cover. Their faces were raised above the lines of their scarves. The wind had flushed their cheeks with color, and Jack's nose looked dangerously close to frostbite. Jonna pressed her forehead to the cold pane of glass, peering down at them. She revised her opinion of Jack's nose as he shot her a broad, slightly loopy smile. More likely he had been drinking.

  Jonna pointed to the front of the house and waved them inside. She knew her opinion of Jack's condition was correct when he leaned heavily on Decker. His lantern sprayed snow as it hit the ground every time his knees sagged.

  She met them at the door. Jack stomped in noisily, shaking off flakes of snow from his coat and boots with the abandon of a wet mongrel. Jonna and Decker couldn't do a thing until he was finished.

  "You take his coat and muffler," Decker said, sweeping off Jack's hat. "I'll keep him upright. Steady as you go there, Jack."

  It was not a simple thing to accomplish. Jack bobbed and weaved as if he were fighting to keep his honor instead of his coat. Jonna found herself laughing helplessly.

  "Now there's some sweet music," Jack said to Decker. "Can't say I've heard much of it lately."

  Jonna saw Decker narrowly avoid being poked in the ribs. She sobered immediately. "I'll hold him," she said. "You get the muffler. Just put it all on the stairs."

  "Where's Dorthea?" Jack asked. He craned his neck to look around the entrance hall.

  It took Jonna a moment to realize he was talking about her housekeeper. "Mrs. Davis is visiting her children today."

  Decker brushed snow off his shoulders before he tossed his coat on the newel post. More flakes clung to his dark hair. He raked it with his fingers, and the ends curled damply at his collar. "There's no one here at all?" he asked.

  "A few servants with no family of their own," she said. "I don't want to bother them. Here, take Jack into the library. I'll put away your coats." Jonna joined them a few minutes later. She carried in a tray of cookies from the kitchen and a pot of hot tea. "There's liquor if you prefer," she told Jack when he eyed the pot suspiciously.

  "You only have the good stuff here," he groused. "Never sets well after a few tankards of stale ale."

  Jonna shook her head, affectionately exasperated, and set the tray down. Her gaze swept over Decker when he reached for a cookie. It was the first time she had seen him since he had been a guest in her home. He moved easily, without any stiffness from his injuries. She didn't think he could possibly be healed, yet he didn't seem troubled by his ribs. Then she remembered how quickly he had moved to avoid Jack's wayward elbow in the entrance hall. It was not outside all possibility that he was making an effort to appear more fit than he was.

  Decker picked up a sand tart, held it to his lips, and glanced up at Jonna. "Assured yourself yet that I'm all of a piece?" he asked. He dropped casually back in the large wing chair and plopped most of the cookie in his mouth. His bright blue eyes were watching her, and they were laughing.

  "You're not so far in your cups as Jack," Jonna said.

  "True enough," he admitted. "But that's not why you were looking at me like that."

  "Like what?"

  Sharing a few pints of ale with Jack had transformed Decker's careless smile into a reckless one. "Like this," he said. Then his eyes narrowed a mere fraction and grazed Jonna slowly from head to toe.

  She forgot about Jack's presence. For this moment there was only Decker, and that easy, reckless smile of his made her heart trip over its own beat. She had never looked at him the way he was looking at her now. She didn't know how to. She wouldn't have dared. This look was as substantial as a touch. Jonna could feel his fingers in her hair, at her nape, feel his thumb pass over the pulse in her throat.

  She was wearing an emerald gown cut from glace silk. It shimmered when she stood perfectly still; when she drew a breath it glittered like green ice.

  Jonna drew a breath now. Decker's gaze slid over her shoulders, her breasts, then down the length of her long legs. Jonna was so thoroughly undressed by his eyes that she had an urge to raise her hands to preserve her modesty. His expression never changed, never indicated approval or dislike until he raised his eyes to hers again. Then she saw his frank appreciation.

  "You're looking well," he said casually. He reached for another cookie. "Are you going to sit?"

  Jonna dropped like a stone into the chair behind her. She glanced at Jack. His head had lolled sideways onto his shoulder, and his eyes were closed. She hoped he had been sleeping throughout Decker's scrutiny. "I've never looked at you like that," she whispered heatedly.

  "You should."

  Jonna's mouth flattened in disapproval. "I think you've had rather more to drink than is immediately evident."

  He didn't deny it. "I didn't match our friend Jack here, but I lifted my share." He pointed to the pot of tea. "May I?"

  "Of course." She moved to pour, but he stopped her. Jonna sat back in her chair while Decker served both of them. "Jack's going to have a stiff neck in the morning."

  Decker looked at his sleeping friend. "His sore head will keep him from noticing it."

  "Should we move him to one of the bedrooms?" she asked. "He'd be more comfortable."

  One of Jack's eyes opened. "Fine just where I am," he said. He shifted slightly in his seat, adjusted the angle of his head, and closed his eye again. "Chaperoning, don't you know." Almost immediately he was asleep, this time snoring softly.

  Jonna blinked. She looked at Decker. "How does he do that?"

  Decker was already on his feet, picking up the tray. "I have no idea. I think it's a trick he mastered at sea. He hardly ever used his cabin to sleep. During storms he'd be strapped in his chair at the helm and catch a moment's rest when he could." He raised the tray a little higher. "He can stay here. We can go somewhere else." He paused when she didn't move. "Unless you think you need a chaperone."

  Jonna stood. "That's silly."

  Decker turned, smiling to himself. He let Jonna precede him into the hallway then followed her into the salon. He put the tray down and gave her back her cup of tea. Taking another cookie for himself, he went to the fireplace and added a few logs. Jonna was already positioning two chairs to get the most heat from the fire.

  "It's chillier in here than I thought it would be." She took a rug from the back of the settee and laid it over her legs as she sat. She sipped her tea. "Except for dinner I've been in the library."

  Decker was still hunkered in front of the rising flames. He looked over his shoulder at her. "Working."

  "Well, yes," she said a bit defensively.

  "It wasn't an accusation, Jonna." He watched her react to his use of her given name, but she didn't comment. Decker stood and brushed off his hands. She held out his cup to him as he sat. "Thank you."

  As she watched, Decker stretched out comfortably in the chair beside her. She envied him his complete ease, his perfectly settled posture. "Was it Jack's idea to come caroling here this evening?"

  "It was Jack's idea to sing at the top of his lungs when we left the tavern. It was my idea to do something productive with all that vocalizing. There was no sense landing both of us in jail." Decker put aside his saucer and simply held the china cup between his palms. "Have you been alone all day?"

  The shift in subjects startled her. Somehow this question seemed more personal than the appraising look he had given her earlier. "There are a few servants here," she said.

  He gave a brief, sideways glance that told her he wasn't satisfied with that answer.

  "All right," she said. "You and Jack are the first company I've had."

  "Then I'm glad we came. You shouldn't spend Christmas Day by yourself."
r />   "Is that a rule?"

  "Yes," he said. "My rule." He reached in his pocket and drew out a small package. "I have this for you."

  "Oh, but—"

  Decker held it out to her. "Please, I want you to have it."

  Jonna put aside her cup and took the neatly wrapped gift. She undid the string and then folded back the plain brown paper to reveal a wooden box. Having no idea what to expect, Jonna lifted the lid.

  A polished piece of ivory not much bigger than her thumbnail lay inside. Jonna had no difficulty recognizing the scrimshaw on the piece. It was Huntress. The exquisitely carved clipper was outrunning the wind, her graceful sails fully extended, water rushing along the sides of her hull. Jonna picked up the ivory and laid it in her palm. She ran her finger lightly over the carving. It was almost possible to feel the speed of the ship.

  "It's beautiful," she said softly. She had no glance to spare for Decker until she was certain he wouldn't see her tears. "Thank you. Really, it's beautiful." With some reluctance she put it back in the box and replaced the lid. She removed the string and paper from her lap, but kept the box there. "Did you do the scrimshaw?" she asked, finally looking at him.

  He nodded. "I've had the ivory for a few years. I just never knew what I wanted to put on it."

  "I'm flattered you chose Huntress." And she meant it. She believed he had captured some part of her in the exquisitely detailed carving. She wondered if he knew that. "It must have taken you a long time."

  Decker shrugged. "It passed the hours while I was waiting for my ribs to mend."

  Jonna realized she was absurdly disappointed by that answer. She did not want her gift to have been a diversion for him; she wanted it to be its own purpose. "And your ribs," she asked. "Are they quite healed?"

  "I'm seaworthy," he said. Which was not precisely an answer to her question. He spoke again before she could pursue the subject. "I wasn't sure we'd find you at home this evening. I thought you might be with Sheridan."

  Jonna's fingers tightened imperceptibly on the box. "It's really none of your business, Captain Thorne, but—"

  "Decker."

  She ignored that. "But Grant and I are agreed that we do not suit."

  Both of Decker's brows lifted. "Oh? When did this happen?"

  "Just after he returned from Charleston."

  Better than a week ago, Decker thought. "Are you certain Sheridan shares your feelings?"

  "I couldn't have been any clearer about my own."

  "That isn't what I asked," Decker said. "The rumor on the waterfront is that you'll be his wife by spring."

  Jonna hoped her sigh masked her irritation. "Rumor has always had it that we were engaged," she said. "I can't be responsible for what other people think."

  "Then it's not true?"

  "That I'm going to marry Grant? No, it's not true. I'm self-sufficient, Captain. Even if I chose not to run Remington Shipping, my inheritance would be more than adequate to meet my needs. I don't require a husband to support me, and I won't marry a man who can't."

  "Then you have the luxury of marrying for love."

  She had never considered it quite that way. "Yes," she said thoughtfully. "I suppose that's true."

  "As long as he's rich," Decker added.

  Jonna was no longer looking at Decker but staring at the fire. "As long as he's rich," she repeated quietly. "Otherwise I'd wonder about the money, you see."

  "What would you wonder?"

  "If that's why he married me." Her smile was rueful. "The silver lining in having Grant as a constant companion has been to keep the fortune hunters away. My father worried about them. I don't have my mother's looks, you know." She said this last piece simply, as if it explained everything.

  Decker said nothing. He studied Jonna's profile as she watched the fire. His scrimshaw work was clumsy compared to the delicately carved lines of her face. There was a master's stroke in the arch of her brow and cheek, in the slant of her nose and chin. He wondered if she knew these same proud angles were in her clipper's sails and canted deck as it was lifted by the surf and wind. He had set the shape of her ship in ivory, but he hadn't scribed one line without thinking of her.

  "I suppose I should be going," he said at last. "Getting Jack on his feet will take some doing."

  Jonna was jerked out of her reverie. She held Decker's present in her hands as she came to her feet. "You can leave him here," she said. "I have enough help to get him situated in a room. He'll be fine."

  "Are you certain?"

  She nodded.

  "I imagine I'd have to be pretty well battered and bruised to get the same invitation."

  Jonna smiled. "I'm afraid so."

  His look of disappointment was only slightly exaggerated. It had the desired effect of deepening her smile. "Thank you for bringing us in out of the cold."

  "I couldn't think of any other way to stop the singing."

  Decker's eyes dropped to her mouth. Firelight caressed the dimple at the corner of it. He forgot what he was going to say.

  "Thank you for the gift," she said.

  His eyes lifted to hers. They were more blue than violet now, and their centers were very large and very dark. "I don't suppose there is any mistletoe over us right now."

  She shook her head. "I shouldn't mind if you kissed me anyway."

  So he did. His mouth was gentle and gently seeking. He held her face lightly in his hands. He captured her sigh. The taste of her was sweet and warm. He wanted more of what he couldn't ask for and shouldn't take. Decker raised his head and felt Jonna lift on tiptoe. His hands fell to her shoulders, pressing her back lightly. "I'm going now," he said.

  She opened her eyes and looked at him. "All right."

  "My coat?" he asked. "My scarf?"

  It took Jonna a moment to collect herself. She was glad he didn't seem amused by her just then. She had never felt more like crying. "This way," she said.

  Snow was still falling when Decker stepped outside. He hunched his shoulders forward, burrowing deeper into his coat. He heard the door close behind him and resisted the urge to glance back. His boots made fresh prints in the snow as he tripped lightly down the steps. He smiled when he saw the half-covered, haphazardly placed impressions he and Jack had made earlier as they'd staggered up the walk.

  Then Decker's smile faded. He bent, lowering his lantern, and examined this path more closely. It went off in a direction other than the one he and Jack had taken and these footprints were only covered with a dusting of snow. That meant they were almost as fresh as his trail from the house.

  Curious, Decker followed them. Though he had done his share of poaching in lean times, he was no expert tracker. Even so, he could see that the person who made the prints had stopped for a while about four yards from Jonna's salon window. The snow where he had stood was trampled smooth, and there were multiple prints, as if he had shifted his weight repeatedly or stamped his feet to stay warm.

  Decker stood in the same space and turned around slowly, looking for the view that had kept this visitor's attention. He stopped when he faced the window squarely. When he had been in the salon he had never noticed that the drapes were tied back. Now he regretted this oversight. At this angle he could not see the lower portion of the room, but he had a clear view of Jonna crossing it, bending slightly, then lifting the tray of tea and cookies in front of her. He stood there until she left the room, then just a bit longer. It took those extra minutes to become accustomed to the tight, sinking feeling in his gut.

  Someone had seen him embrace Jonna Remington. Someone had seen them kiss.

  Decker's eyes traced the remainder of the trail until it turned the corner of the mansion. He let the lantern fall again and set his mind to considering the possibilities.

  * * *

  On the second day of the new year Decker Thorne was in command of Huntress again. From her office window, Jonna watched the ship taking on its London cargo. Her payload was a rich one. She was carrying barrels of cured tobacco from Virg
inia, silk and carpets from the Orient, and machinery for some newly developed railway system. There would be no passengers this voyage. The cabins normally set aside for their use held cotton from a recent Carolina run. It would fit nowhere else.

  Jonna took a small bite of the apple she had brought as part of her lunch. Thus far it was the only thing she had eaten. Nothing else in the basket held much appeal to her. Idly she pressed one hand to her chest. Beneath the material of her gray gown she could make out the shape of the ivory piece Decker had given her. The day after Christmas she had taken it to a jeweler. It had been fitted with a slender gold chain and returned to her two days ago. She had been wearing it ever since.

  She let her hand drop to her side. An odd odor had her turning away from the window and wrinkling her nose. Jonna sniffed. It wasn't that the odor was odd at all, she thought, dropping her apple and running for the door. It was that it was out of place.

  There was never any good reason for smoke to be coming from her warehouse.

  The outer office was empty, and Jonna remembered Mr. Caplin had said he had business at the ship. She hurried down the narrow stairs and through the doors at the bottom which took her right into the warehouse. She caught her breath and lifted her face, trying to catch the odor of smoke that was so clear to her upstairs.

  The warehouse was like a cavern and Jonna's steps echoed eerily as she began her inspection. Because of the loading there was no one around and the storage area itself was largely empty. Huntress was the fourth clipper to be loaded in three days, and no ship was due in any sooner than tomorrow. Jonna hoped that would turn out to be a blessing as she searched amid the crates and barrels that remained.

  Several minutes passed. She was calm now but not convinced that the smell of smoke had been in her imagination. She was just not that good at imagining things.

  There were a half-dozen small rooms on the left of the warehouse. They were sometimes used for space for clerks whose services were required. Since these rooms could be locked, they were mainly used to store more valuable items scheduled for shipping. Paintings that were insured for amounts larger than the typical manifest were kept there. At the specific request of a passenger, personal possessions could be stored.