"An attendant," Decker corrected. "And he's gone now. That was only for as long as it took you to come around. There's no need for anyone now. You're free to come and go as you please. I trust your common sense to keep you clear of the crew's quarters, but other than that, you may have freedom of the ship."
The thought of going on deck made her stomach clench again. "I'll stay here," she said.
He shrugged. "If that's what pleases you."
"It does." Jonna finished her tea and set the mug on the tray. "I'd like to retire now," she said.
Decker wondered how weary she was and how much she simply wanted to be rid of him. "Very well." He got to his feet in a single, effortless motion and crossed the small space that separated him from Jonna. He laid his empty plate on the tray and bent. It wasn't the tray he reached for though. When he straightened he had Jonna in his arms.
She was surprised, but she didn't try to move away. She looked up at him, her eyes wide and searching.
"Good night, Jonna." He touched his lips to her forehead then kissed her lightly on the mouth. "I'm sorry."
Decker was gone before Jonna knew why he had apologized or if she had forgiven him. She sank slowly back on the window bench. Sleep was a long time claiming her that night.
* * *
With a brisk North Atlantic wind at her back, Huntress cut the water effortlessly. Most days she traveled at twelve knots, sometimes thirteen. Her passage was un-marred by storms though the wind was steady and strong. White-capped waves curled around her hull and kept her decks awash in saltwater.
The business of mastering a clipper was topside. In any twenty-four-hour period Decker rarely left the helm for more than two or three hours. On those occasions he napped in a sling in the crew's quarters. His visits to Jonna's cabin were only long enough for him to write in the ship's log. During these brief encounters he made it a point to inquire as to her health and her comfort. He always asked her to take a turn with him on deck or accept the escort of another member of the crew. Her answers were perfunctory, civil but cool, and did not invite further conversation. She refused every offer to leave the cabin.
Jonna passed the time reading and writing. Decker's books were of some interest, but the ship's log captivated her. She was only disappointed that Huntress's brief history meant she concluded reading it in a day. She began a journal of her own, keeping an account of her conversations with the crew and her thoughts about the voyage. She gathered recipes and remedies, and faithfully recorded the lyrics to four sea chanteys she had never heard before. Two of them contained words she had never known.
She kept a list of things she didn't miss: Grant Sheridan and haggling with merchants. She kept another list of things she did: tub baths, Jack Quincy, fresh air, and having her hair brushed out before bed.
Huntress was still two days out of London when Jeremy Dodd shyly presented Jonna with a great wooden cask. "Captain says we've enough fresh water for you to have a proper bath," he said. His freckles disappeared beneath a rosy flush.
"This is Captain Thorne's idea?" she asked.
Jeremy's weight shifted uncomfortably. "No, Miss Remington. The captain says you'll want to know that it was my idea and that he only approved it." He said it exactly the way Decker had told him to. No lie there, he thought. Jeremy could see it was what Jonna wanted to know, even if there wasn't a speck of truth in it. "Hot water's coming up for you from the galley," he went on before she could see through him. "Buckets and buckets of it."
The brigade arrived a few minutes later and left when the tub was near to brimming over. In their eagerness to please they had forgotten to account for Jonna. When she eased herself down into the water a cascade of it slipped over the side and made rivers and puddles on the floor. She found she didn't care at all.
It was twenty minutes later that Decker walked in. He stopped just inside the door. Jonna's complexion was beautifully flushed from the heat, and the sheen of water on her skin made it glow.
She sank lower in the water so nothing below the line of her collarbone showed. "You didn't knock."
"No," he said. "I didn't."
His matter-of-fact honesty startled Jonna. She realized that his presence here was planned, not accidental. "Please go," she said.
He closed the door, produced a key from his jacket pocket, and locked it. "I think you know I'm not going to do that." He returned the key to his jacket. "At least not yet."
Jonna ducked another fraction as Decker walked by the tub. She realized she needn't have bothered. He didn't glance in her direction when he passed. Behind her, she heard him open her trunk and begin to root through it. "Perhaps if you tell me what you're looking for—" She was cut off when he dangled her robe in front of her.
"You can put this on. I'll turn my back."
"I want my clothes," she said.
"This." Now he glanced significantly at the water. "Or nothing."
Jonna held out her hand for the robe and Decker dropped it. True to his word, he turned his back while she stood and shrugged into it. It clung to her damp skin. Jonna moved to the small stove to warm herself. From under the robe, water dripped on the floor. Where it splashed the stove it sizzled. She looked over her shoulder at Decker and found he was watching her.
"Come here," he said. It was more of a command than an invitation.
Jonna felt a rush of warmth that had little to do with her proximity to the stove. She turned but didn't move in his direction.
"Jonna." He said her name quietly this time and held out his hand. Though his direction was softer it still carried the weight of a demand. "Come here."
Jonna found herself walking toward him. Without knowing she was going to do it, she placed her hand in his. He drew her closer. She had no idea what he was going to do until he touched her throat. She started to twist away, but he caught her and held her fast.
"Don't struggle," he said, his fingers closing around the gold chain at her neck. "You'll break it."
Except for her racing heart, Jonna was still. She looked away from him as his fingertips traced the length of the chain. They slipped under the edge of her robe and came to rest on the ivory pendant. He lifted it away from her skin and the loss of warmth was replaced by the heat of the back of his hand.
"Look at me, Jonna." She raised her face. "I had to be certain."
A small vertical crease appeared between Jonna's eyebrows as she frowned. "I don't understand."
"I think you do."
Jonna's frown deepened before it cleared. Yesterday she had worn the necklace outside her dress. It was an oversight and one she corrected after the sailor who brought her breakfast commented on the ivory. "Mr. Eddies told you about it."
Decker's hands moved lightly to Jonna's upper arms. "He does scrimshaw himself. He admired the piece."
"He hardly saw it," she said.
"He saw enough to make an idle comment about it to me," Decker said. "Enough to make me think it could be the ivory I gave you."
"You're acting as if there's some significance in that."
"Isn't there?"
It was difficult to swallow, even more difficult to work words past her throat. The pads of Decker's thumbs gently massaged her arms. The friction of her robe was pleasantly abrasive against her skin. "I told you I admired the gift when you gave it to me. Wearing it doesn't mean I admire the giver." He was smiling at her now. Not widely, not openly. His amusement was quieter than that. It was in the depths of his eyes and the faint lift of one corner of his mouth. "You didn't have to arrange my bath this evening," she said, striving for cool accents. "That's why you did it, didn't you? It was all in aid of seeing the necklace yourself. You could have asked me. I would have told you."
"Really?"
Jonna's eyes dropped away. She knew he was right to question her. She wouldn't have told him at all. "Of course," she said.
"Liar." There was nothing unforgiving in his tone. His voice was more of a caress. "Is it possible you like me just a little?" he asked.
She shook her head. "I can't... I won't."
Decker's quiet amusement deepened. "Because I'm aimless," he said. "And have a serious lack of principles."
"Because you don't care about anything," she said.
"Yes," he said, as if suddenly remembering. "There's that."
Jonna leaned into him suddenly. Her forehead rested on his shoulder. "And you're not rich," she whispered.
Decker's arms slipped around her waist. His mouth was near her ear when he spoke. "Possessions make it hard to move quickly," he told her. "I can carry everything I value."
She hardly heard him. He was lifting her, and she felt weightless in his arms. Jonna clutched the collar of his jacket until he set her on the window bench. He left her side only a moment, but when he returned he produced a brush from behind his back.
Decker sat in the corner of the bench and drew Jonna between his legs. She went without protest, her eyes closing as his fingers began to unwind her hair. Her sigh was nearly soundless.
Decker separated the thick strands as delicately as ropes of silk. Her dark hair crested in smooth waves like a calm sea at night, and the texture was almost liquid. He spread her tresses across her back; then he raised the brush and ran it through them.
Jonna hummed her pleasure. Her head felt too heavy to keep upright. She let it sag forward. The brush bristles lightly scraped the back of her neck and a frisson of heat spiraled down her spine. The brush followed the same path a moment later.
"I should tell you to leave," she said on a thread of sound. The words ran together as if she had been drinking.
"Yes," he said. He didn't pause a beat in brushing out her hair. "You should."
She didn't though. Jonna continued to sit nestled between Decker's thighs, her head bent and knees drawn toward her chest, and let him pull the brush through her hair. Energy the hot bath hadn't sapped was taken away by Decker's hypnotically smooth motions. "There's my reputation to consider," she whispered. "Those men on deck are my employees."
"Those men are my crew," Decker said. "I have a reputation, too."
She didn't think they were talking of quite the same thing. "Really?" she asked, interested. "Have you seduced a great many women?"
"You would have to define 'a great many.' "
Jonna was aware of the slowing of the movement of the brush. She kept her eyes closed, not wanting it to end just yet. "More than a hundred," she said.
He pulled part of her hair to one side and exposed the curve of her neck. His lips touched her there just once. "Then, no," he whispered against her skin. "I haven't seduced a great many women."
"Oh."
Decker smiled. Jonna sounded almost disappointed. "Will you have to revise your opinion of me?" he asked.
"A little."
"I'm sorry for that. I usually try to live down to your expectations."
That caught Jonna's attention, the words and the edge of cool irony in his tone. She twisted her head, trying to look at him. "Is that true?"
Decker gently turned her face forward again and continued brushing. "No," he lied without regret. "It's not true. Why would I care one way or the other about your expectations and have none of my own?"
Jonna didn't want to think it through. It made sense when he posed it like that. She sighed, closing her eyes again. "How many women have you seduced?"
"Is it so important?"
"Yes," she said flatly.
"Do you require an exact figure?" he asked, amused.
"An estimate will do."
Decker considered what number would ultimately satisfy her. He had no idea if it was close to the mark. "Fifty-eight."
"Oh my."
"It's just an estimate." He stopped brushing for a moment and reached around her so she could see his hand. Decker unfolded his palm. Jonna's ivory pendant lay in the heart of it. "Here," he said. "You haven't missed this yet."
She gasped softly. "When did you—" She stopped, remembering his mouth on her neck, his fingers lightly moving in her hair. She hadn't felt him open the clasp at all. "How did you—"
"Practice," he said simply. He helped Jonna refasten the necklace. Decker was tempted to tell her that profit rather than pleasure had guided his seductions, but he suspected she was arriving at that conclusion herself.
Jonna placed her hand over the ivory pendant. He wouldn't get it so easily from her again. "Did you always give back what you took?"
"I wasn't performing parlor tricks then, Jonna. I was a thief. I never returned anything willingly." Decker resumed brushing and let her think about that.
"You were a good thief," she said quietly.
"Yes, I was."
She was silent for a long time. Her thoughts gradually ceased to take on form or substance. "I could fall asleep here," she said at last. "Just... like... this."
Decker said nothing but each subsequent stroke of the brush was lighter than the one before it. Finally he felt her body give up the last line of tension. He put the brush down and adjusted them both so she was more completely cradled in his arms.
They both slept for a time, but when Jonna awakened, Decker was gone.
* * *
Huntress reached London within hours of her scheduled arrival. Jonna had to shield her eyes as she was lifted topside. The early morning sun had burned off banks of river fog and now shone brightly over the city. Jonna took the bonnet Jeremy Dodd held out to her and put it on. She allowed him to escort her to the taffrail before she dismissed him. "I'll be fine," she said. "There's no need to watch my every move."
The young man hesitated. "The captain says—"
"I'm not going anywhere," she said. Then she turned away. Although Jonna's attention was on the teeming harbor, she was aware that Jeremy hovered uncertainly. "Leave me, Mr. Dodd." Her voice caught the perfect, imperious inflection to send him scurrying.
Jonna smiled to herself, pleased with this small victory. Decker Thorne had had his way far too long. It was rare when she could get one of the crew to do as she wanted.
Jonna huddled in her cape and leaned against the taffrail. In spite of the sunshine there was little warmth in the air. She could see her breath mist with each exhalation. Similar clouds rose from the men as they exerted themselves moving cargo down the gangboard and hauling in sail overhead. On the wharf horses snorted their displeasure at having to stand idly while their wagons were being loaded. The drivers clapped themselves on the arms or stamped their feet to keep warm.
Huntress rocked gently in her berth, but Jonna had no difficulty keeping her balance. She had found her sea legs long ago.
London was not so different from Boston, she thought. Certainly the scale was far grander. There was more of everything here: ships, men, wagons, and warehouses. The accents were changed, but the activity was not. All in all, she was glad they wouldn't be in the city long. Everything she saw made her want to be in Boston Harbor again.
Turning away, Jonna searched out Decker. She had no difficulty finding him. His voice caught her attention first. It wasn't raised in the least, but it carried the quiet certainty of authority and registered at a different pitch than the other strained voices. Jonna had never really seen him with the crew before, and now she recognized the respect they had for his command. He was in charge of the rhythm of this ship, the sequence of furling sails and hoisting cargo. He was not the one shouting orders, but there was nothing accomplished that wasn't under his control.
She had wondered about the hours he spent away from her on the voyage. She read what he logged, but the accounts had not satisfied her curiosity, and pride had kept her from asking him. Even without prompting Jonna heard things from the crew. She learned he slept very little, that he lent a hand when needed, and that there was no task on the ship that he hadn't done himself at one time or another. She accepted these things as true because they were offered offhandedly and she had heard them first from Jack Quincy.
If that weren't enough, there was always the fact that Decker had no reason
to ingratiate himself to her. He'd made it clear he didn't care at all for her good opinion.
Watching him, Jonna tilted her head to one side. The brim of her bonnet threw a shadow across her eyes. He seemed oblivious to her presence at the taffrail, and Jonna found she liked it that way. Decker had never treated her with the solicitousness that Grant Sheridan had shown her, but neither had he patronized or coddled her, two things that Grant had been apt to do. Decker respected her as someone who knew her own mind even when she didn't. Grant most often expected to change her mind.
Still observing him, Jonna walked along the taffrail. He stood a head taller than all but a few men, yet he didn't use his height to achieve a commanding presence. His manner was confident, not arrogant. He held himself loosely and walked lightly on his feet, his trim, athletic frame completely synchronous with the ship under him.
The collar of his woolen navy jacket was turned up against the cold, but he was hatless. The wind whipped strands of coffee-colored hair past his forehead. He raked it back carelessly.
Jonna's shiver was not because of the icy Thames air. She was remembering Decker's fingers in her hair, separating the strands, testing the weight of it. She wished she had not fallen asleep in his arms, and she wished he had been there when she woke.
Jonna turned away and closed her eyes briefly. Even if he were a man she could admire, there would always be the matter of his fortune. Or the lack of it. Hadn't that been what he was trying to tell her the other night? He seduced women for what they could give him. It was of little consequence that he had returned her necklace when she had a shipping empire he could raid.
Decker joined Jonna at the taffrail. "I'll be done here in half an hour," he said. "Mr. Jeffries has my instructions and will carry them out. The cargo we contracted for from the Manchester mills won't be here until Thursday."
Jonna's head jerked up. "Thursday. But that's six days from now."
"That's right," he said calmly. "And if we leave without it there will be no profit in the run."
"There must be something else we can carry. I thought we were taking on Indian tea."
Jo Goodman Page 15
