Jonna removed the compress from her ankle and put her legs over the side of the divan. She had not even heard anyone come in to attend her. On the table at her side was the tea the butler had promised, stone cold now. Jonna rubbed her temples wearily. "Will you have someone inform my driver I need to leave?"
"I sent him back to your house. I told him I would see you delivered there myself."
Somehow Jonna wasn't surprised by the answer, only disappointed. "I wish you hadn't done that, Grant."
"I'm sorry," he said, no apology in his voice. "But it's done now, isn't it?" Grant twisted the brass knob on the table lamp and raised the wick. The circle of warm light grew wider, casting its glow over Jonna's raised face. "Perhaps you should tell me why you've come. I understand Huntress only docked early this afternoon. Had I been at the harbor I would have met you. Dare I hope to be flattered by your presence so soon in my home?" he observed the stillness of her features. "I thought not," he said quietly.
Jonna watched Grant cross the room to where a small gate leg table was set against the wall. It held several decanters of liquor. He lifted the crystal stopper of one and poured himself a tumbler of the palest amber liquid. When he held it up in mocking salute, Jonna had the grace to turn away. The regret in her voice was real. "I never set out to hurt you," she said. "Any number of times I tried to make it clear I saw no future together for us. I thought we would remain friendly competitors."
"But not friends, eh?" Grant asked without inflection. "You've fallen in love with Decker Thorne."
"I've married him."
In spite of the tightness in Grant's chest, he was still thinking clearly. "Are you making a distinction?"
Jonna didn't answer his question. "I've married him," she said again. "It's what I've come to tell you."
Grant nodded and knocked back a third of his drink, never taking his eyes from her. "You didn't want me to learn it from anyone else, is that it?"
"That's right."
"Following your own code of honor."
Jonna felt herself flush at his withering, almost spiteful tone. She didn't deserve that from him. Her chin came up a notch. "I'm trying to do what's right, Grant. I don't require your forgiveness. I've done nothing wrong. If you don't want to associate yourself with me any longer then know that it's your choice."
Grant laughed. He absently rubbed his jaw. The memory of Decker clipping him to take Jonna away was still very fresh even if the bruise had long since faded. "As if your husband would permit that," he said scornfully.
"Decker doesn't have any say in it." She stood. Little of her weight was able to rest on her injured foot. Her militant stance was undermined by a slight bob and weave as she struggled for balance. "I'm still very much my own person."
Grant regarded her thoughtfully over the rim of his tumbler. The rigid line of his powerfully built shoulders relaxed slightly even as his nearly black eyes narrowed. "Yes," he said softly. "I can see that it's true. He hasn't the least idea how to handle you."
Gripping the curved arm of the divan, Jonna steadied herself. "I don't requiring handling, Grant, and I find it particularly loathsome that you think I do. This belief of yours that somehow I should be managed has always been an unattractive quality. Now I discover I'm quite weary of overlooking it. I appreciate that I've upset you. If you think about it, you'll realize that's only because you've held on to hope where I've always told you none existed. I've always been honest with you in saying that there would be no marriage. You have never been honest with yourself."
Grant set down his drink and crossed to where Jonna stood. He stopped within half an arm's length of her. Only her violet eyes flinched at his approach. The rest of her held ground. Grant raised one hand and touched her cheek. "Does Thorne know you're here?" he asked quietly.
"Yes."
One side of Grant's generous mouth curled in a sardonic smile. "You do better when you tell the truth, Jonna. I don't think Thorne is so very different from me in regard to you, and I wouldn't have let you come here."
Jonna wondered at her rising panic. "I'd like to leave, Grant. There's no need for you to drive me yourself. I'll be—"
The fingers that had grazed her cheek fell to curve around her throat. "It's no trouble for me," he said. "I do keep my word." He closed the distance between them. "Have I told you before that it's not over between us, Jonna? It's not, you know. Your marriage doesn't really mean very much to me, not when we were promised to each other years ago."
Though there was no pressure from Grant's hand, Jonna felt as if her throat were closing. "Please let me go," she whispered.
He didn't respond to her request. "May I kiss the bride?"
The question wasn't asked out of courtesy. Jonna heard it more as a warning that required no answer from her. She tried to avert her head, but Grant's fingers tightened immediately. His grip wasn't painful, only insistent. Her mouth flattened.
Grant's lips were faintly damp from his drink. She could smell scotch on his breath as his mouth touched the corner of hers. Jonna's hands came up between them, and she pushed at his shoulders. The effort unbalanced her. Grant's free arm came around her waist. In other circumstances she would have been grateful for the help, but Jonna was not so naive that she couldn't divine his purpose was to secure her, not to offer support.
Grant's mouth moved across hers. The edge of his tongue sought entry between her lips. Jonna's fingers tightened on his jacket, but this was her only response. She was rigid in his arms.
From the doorway a throat was cleared. Jonna was certain Grant heard the sound as well, but he didn't lift his head. His shoulder kept her from seeing who stood there, and Grant's mouth on hers kept her from appealing for help.
Decker Thorne laid his hand over the butler's forearm. "I don't believe clearing your throat again will get their attention." His tone was quiet, his manner calm. There was nothing about his appearance to suggest he was unsettled by what he was witnessing. "Some other action seems to be necessary." Even as he was speaking he saw Grant start to straighten and pull away from Jonna. "There," Decker said lightly. "It only required a few words."
The butler's narrow face became severely pinched with disapproval. His apology was to his employer, not their guest. "I'm sorry, Mr. Sheridan, but he insisted on coming in here without announcement."
"It's all right, Emmerth. You can go. Don't bother having my carriage ready. I'm sure Captain Thorne is here to collect his wife."
The butler inclined his head once, then backed out of the room, closing the doors behind him.
Grant's hand had fallen away from Jonna's throat, but his other arm still curved around her waist. "I understand congratulations are in order," he said casually. "May I offer mine?"
"As long as you don't kiss me."
For a moment Grant Sheridan was speechless, then his dark eyes saluted Decker and he smiled appreciatively. "I see you understand that's all it was."
"Of course," Decker said. "If I suspected otherwise I'd have to demand satisfaction. I'm not adept at pistols. You?"
"Expert."
Decker nodded. "That's what I thought. Swords?"
"Never lifted one."
"Neither have I. What about bare knuckles?"
Grant knew Decker was thinking of the roundhouse punch that had laid him out cold. "I can hold my own if I'm not blindsided." His smile deepened, but did not reach his eyes. "It's all moot, isn't it? There's no reason to demand satisfaction where no offense has been given."
Decker's cool blue gaze shifted to Jonna. "Is he right?" he asked. "Has there been offense?"
Jonna found she had no voice. Nothing that had happened these last few minutes seemed quite real to her. Not able to meet Decker's gaze directly, she shook her head.
It was Grant who admonished her for this poor response. "Oh, Jonna. You'll have to do better than that. I would be forced to champion you myself were I confronted with that wounded look in your eyes. A more encouraging defense, please."
Jonn
a raised her eyes. Tears threatened, but she held them back and spoke past the dry, stinging ache in her throat. "Grant was only wishing me well."
Decker studied her pale features a moment longer. His own expression was closed. "You're ready to leave?" he asked.
"Yes."
"Very well." Decker held out his hand, palm up. When Jonna didn't take even a single step toward him one of Decker's eyebrows arched in question. He glanced at Grant. "Perhaps if you removed your arm from my wife's waist?"
"If I remove my arm," Grant said, "Jonna will most likely fall on her face. You were unaware that she twisted her ankle?"
Decker showed his first real emotion since entering the room. A measure of coolness left his eyes. "Jonna?"
"I'm afraid it's true. I did not have my land legs after all." She rested one hand on the divan again and then looked to Grant. "I'll be fine now."
Grant let his hand fall away. "Of course." He held both hands up in a gesture of innocence. "Steady as she goes."
Mustering the remnants of her dignity, Jonna hobbled forward. She placed her hand in Decker's and felt his warm grip close over hers. It was as if she was being extended a lifeline, and she could not hide the relief she experienced when his arm came around to support her.
"Do you have a coat?" Decker asked.
Grant intervened. "I'll get it."
Jonna was only quiet until Grant's footfalls had receded in the hallway. "Let's not wait here," she said. "I want to go to the front door."
Decker didn't question her request. He escorted her into the entrance hall. Grant was there momentarily with Jonna's coat. He held out the garnet velvet cloak for her to slip into, but Decker politely took it from him. Grant smiled blandly and opened the door for them. No pleasantries were exchanged now. By mutual, though silent, agreement, the farce that had been played out in the parlor had ended.
From the doorstep Grant watched Decker help Jonna into their carriage. No matter how much Grant willed it to happen, she did not at any time glance back at the house. "It doesn't matter," he said under his breath. "It's not over until I say it is."
* * *
Decker's silence was unnerving. The anticipation of what he would say was more terrible than anything he might have said in that moment. Would he be angry? she wondered. Cutting? Sarcastic? She had disobeyed him. Did he want revenge? Perhaps that was too strong a word, she thought. He might only demand satisfaction.
Jonna blushed. She felt Decker's eyes on her, but he didn't ask any questions and she couldn't explain the wayward thought that had raised a flush in her cheeks. She stared out the window instead and prayed he would say something sooner rather than later.
Mrs. Davis had the staff more than halfway to making the adjoining bedrooms in the east wing ready. It was to this new room that Jonna was shown. Decker deposited her on the unmade bed with the same regard he would have given his carpetbag.
"Can we hope that you'll remain here this time?" he asked. They were the first words he had spoken since leaving Grant's.
"I would be more comfortable downstairs until this room is ready."
"I'm sure you would." As he spoke two maids marched in carrying an armload of gowns. They stopped abruptly, uncertainty in their dark eyes. Decker motioned to them to go about their work. "But here you'll have supervision," he said. "Someone will bring you dinner. I'm having mine downstairs."
Jonna watched him go to the door. That was all? she wondered. He wasn't going to say anything else? "Decker?"
He paused on the threshold. "Yes?"
What was it she could say? What did she want to say? Apologizing occurred to her. So did thanking him. Both sentiments clogged her throat along with the tears she refused to shed. "Nothing," she said finally. "It's nothing."
He waited a moment longer, his eyes deliberately holding hers. Then he left.
It was only then that Jonna allowed herself the luxury of sobbing.
* * *
The next time Decker entered her chamber it was from the door that connected their dressing rooms. Mrs. Davis's small army of helpers had transformed the unused bedchambers into airy and appealing living quarters. Fresh linens and bedcovers had been brought in, and the draperies had been aired and replaced. All of Jonna's familiar things surrounded her again. The dressing table held her brushes and combs and ribbons. Delicate crystal bottles of perfume shared space with her small jars of creams. The chairs that flanked the fireplace were cream brocade now and the rocker was absent, but at the foot of her bed was a spacious trunk covered with a fringed ivory shawl.
It was Decker's thoughtfulness that added the vase of flowers on one bedside table and a small selection of books on the other.
Absent of the flowers and a few lacy flourishes, his own quarters were similarly appointed. The dressing room which joined the bedchambers held two large armoires. His contained less than a quarter of the clothing that filled Jonna's to capacity.
He closed the door behind him and leaned against it. On board Huntress it had been easier to ignore the things that separated them. In Jonna's home they were not so simple to dismiss—and it was her home. Marriage had not changed her thinking about his place in her life or in her bed. They might share a suite, but not a room. Clearly, she meant for him to remain a guest. His presence would be tolerated but not welcomed.
Jonna turned on her side. Her complexion was flushed with the warmth of sleep. Lamplight bathed her face. She stirred once, slipping her hand under her cheek, and her breath was drawn in by an abrupt little yawn.
Decker went to the fireplace and stoked the logs. He glanced at his hazy reflection in the windows. The drapes were open and frost had painted ice flowers on each pane of glass. When he set down the poker and turned around it was to find Jonna watching him.
"Mrs. Davis said you didn't eat dinner," he said. "I only came to ask if you needed anything before I retire. It was not my intention to wake you."
Jonna's eyes lifted to the mantel clock beyond Decker's shoulder. It was only a few minutes after ten. She could not remember falling asleep after she refused the dinner tray, but that had been hours earlier. "It's all right. And thank you, but no, I don't want anything."
Decker's quietly amused smile revealed itself as Jonna's stomach operated independently of her mind and rumbled with some force. "Would you like to reconsider?" he asked. "Mrs. Davis gave me a pot of hot cocoa."
Jonna pushed herself upright and somewhat self-consciously brushed a strand of dark hair away from her face. She was aware that her eyelids were still puffy from her self-pitying bout of crying and that her hair was disheveled. "I think I'd like cocoa," she said.
He nodded and disappeared into his room.
Jonna threw off the covers and scrambled out of bed. She ground her teeth as her injured foot struck the floor hard, but managed to swallow her groan. Plucking her brush off the dressing table, she made several hard passes through her hair, then glanced in the mirror, knuckled sleep from her eyes, and all but dove back into bed as she heard Decker passing through the dressing room.
He paused on entering her bedchamber. Observing her flushed features, the tight grimace of pain around her mouth, and her slightly labored breathing, he asked, "Are you well?"
She nodded with less than convincing assurance.
Decker's eyes narrowed on her face, then strayed to her hair. He glanced at the dressing table. His smile was wry. "I would have handed you your brush."
Jonna suddenly had a vision of Huntress with her sails taken up. Deflated in much the same way, her shoulders slumped. "It would have been kinder of you not to mention it."
"Possibly." He pushed the vase of flowers and table lamp to one side and set down the tray. Pouring her a cup of cocoa, he said, "I don't know that I'm feeling kindly toward you."
Jonna's fingers wrapped around the cup he handed her. He would say something now, she thought. He would take her to task for her badly thought-out visit to Grant's. She waited... and he said nothing. "You're leaving?" she as
ked as he headed toward the dressing room.
"Yes." He idly raked his dark hair with his hand. "Is there something you need?"
Your company. The words tumbled through her mind, but tangled on her tongue. "I... I thought you might want to..."
"Yes?"
"Aren't you going to say anything about Grant?" she blurted.
Decker's brows lifted in a parody of thoughtfulness and surprise. "I can't think of even one thing I want to say about Grant Sheridan."
His calm was maddening. "You're deliberately misunderstanding me," she said.
"I'm not sure how. You've said several times that I have no right to interfere where you and Sheridan are concerned. You went to his home expressly against my wishes. What is it that you expect me to say now?"
She said it quickly before she couldn't say it all. "That I was wrong and you were right."
Decker's expression was implacable, but in his silence he seemed to be considering. "And is that true?" he asked after a moment.
"Yes." She nodded once to add weight to her statement. "Yes, it's true."
"Well, if you know that now, there doesn't seem much point in my repeating it. Let's just leave it there, shall we?"
Had their positions been reversed Jonna knew she would not have been so magnanimous. "All right," she said.
Decker hesitated briefly then started to go.
"There is one thing," Jonna said.
He only glanced over his shoulder this time.
"I shouldn't at all mind some company."
"I'll send for Mrs. Davis. She said she's—"
"I meant your company." Jonna set aside her cocoa.
Decker didn't say anything immediately. "I don't think so, Jonna. I meant it when I said I'm not feeling kindly toward you just now."
Stunned, she could only watch him leave.
* * *
Always an early riser, Jonna thought she would see Decker at breakfast, but when she went to the dining room she was informed that he had left an hour before. She did not see him at the warehouse either, though there was no reason she should. Jack Quincy occupied most of her time, reviewing the finances and the warehouse rebuilding figures. Jonna went over the line's schedules and recent manifests. Against Jack's advice she removed Decker's name from the rotation.
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