Decker examined her hand. The ball of flesh that had been bitten away had healed well. "Can you move your thumb?"
She wiggled it stiffly, showing him her limited range of motion. Her thumb had a tendency to lie against the underside of her fingers and curl into her palm. When Decker let her go she pulled back her hand quickly, cradling it against her breast as if nursing a fresh injury.
Decker was convinced now that she understood him. He wondered at her command of the language. "Did they teach you English here?" he asked.
She hesitated again but finally nodded.
"You've done well to understand as much as you do. It wasn't so long ago that you escaped the slave ship."
Unclear as to whether some reply was expected of her, Rachael looked away.
"Salamander." Decker saw her suck in her breath, and he knew he had remembered the name of the slaver correctly. Clearly she hadn't forgotten. "You didn't speak then either as I recall, but no one ever suggested that you couldn't. In fact, I had the impression that no one could understand you. What's happened to your voice, I wonder."
Rachael simply stared at him.
It seemed to Decker there was little point in continuing this one-sided conversation. He pointed to the bed. Before he could direct her to continue with her work, Rachael sat down on the edge of the mattress and began to raise her skirt.
"What are you doing?" The words were clipped and harsh. Decker actually stepped away from the bed. "Put your skirt down."
Bewildered and more than a little frightened, Rachael covered her slim legs again. She sucked in her lower lip, her dark eyes wide as she waited further instruction.
Decker wondered if he could possibly have misunderstood what had just happened. Had she really been prepared to offer herself to him? Where had she learned to expect that from a man? Her large eyes, small, oval face, and delicate frame, gave her a childlike appearance. The fact that she didn't speak only reinforced the suggestion of youth. "How old are you, Rachael?" he asked quietly. "Fifteen? Sixteen?"
She didn't respond.
Decker held up his hands, counting off on his fingers and pointing to her. It occurred to him that she might not know her age, but when he had clicked off seventeen and was on the point of quitting, she stopped him. He wondered if she could possibly be right.
"I've changed my mind," he said. Watching her closely, Decker gestured to the bed again.
She blinked once. Something akin to disappointment registered briefly in her expression, then faded as she became resigned to the inevitable. Rachael began to raise her skirt again, inching it up over her legs. Almost simultaneously she began to lie back.
Decker held up a hand. "Stop. God, I'm sorry, but I had to be sure there was no mistake." She really had been offering herself to him, not willingly, but at what she thought was his command. Had it happened before in this house? Jonna only employed two men. There was a groundskeeper and a carriage driver. They also took care of house maintenance and the heavier duties Mrs. Davis and her female staff could not accomplish. There were few men who came calling. Decker supposed that with the exception of regular deliveries that were made to the house, Jack Quincy was the most frequent visitor.
He would never believe Jack had used his authority in Jonna's home to press his attentions on one of her servants. Decker ran his fingers through his hair. He felt Rachael's eyes on him. She was worried now, fearful that she had displeased him again. He had no idea what to say to calm her.
Decker sighed. "Go on about your business," he said finally. "I'm going to go about mine." He started for the door and then turned. "I'd prefer you don't let on to anyone that you know me. May I have your promise on that?"
Rachael was still sitting on the edge of the bed, her heels hooked on the frame. Hugging her knees, she rocked slowly back and forth and considered Decker with a wary, sideways glance.
"Your promise, Rachael. It's important." He waited until he saw her nod faintly. "Thank you." Then he left.
Rachael didn't stop rocking until the door had closed behind him. She didn't rise from the bed until his footsteps had receded down the hallway. Her heartbeat assumed its normal rhythm when she followed his progress down the walk in front of the house. He didn't once glance back at the window to see if she was watching him, and she was glad for that. She did not want him to think of her, and in retrospect, she wished he had not been so kind. He deserved better than the trick she had played him and the betrayal she would serve him. They all did.
* * *
Jonna's driver was waiting for Decker when he reached the warehouse. "No trouble?" Decker asked him.
Mr. Poling tipped his chair forward from where he had been leaning it against the wall and came to his feet. "Not unless you count Miss Rem—, I mean Mrs. Thorne herself. She didn't like the notion that I was told to keep an eye on her."
Decker wasn't surprised. "I didn't mean for you to be blatant about it. You could have just kept the carriage nearby."
"I did that," Mr. Poling said. He lifted his hat, scratched his head thoughtfully, and then let the brim settle again. "Circled the warehouse a few times, went up and down the wharf—not far, mind you, just enough so my presence wouldn't be obvious—"
"Obviously it was."
Mr. Poling shrugged sheepishly. "Suppose so. She must have seen me from her window. Next I knew she was flagging me down on the wharf. Invited me to come in and take myself a seat right here, so that's what I did. She was real pleasant about it, too."
Decker imagined that it meant she was saving her sharpest reprimands for him. "Very well, Mr. Poling. Pick her up directly at six, and no side excursions if I'm not accompanying her." It was hard for Decker to hide his amusement as the older man practically saluted him on the way out.
Jonna was leaning over her desk, studying a blueprint that took up most of the surface. A paperweight held down one curling corner, and two books and a china cup flattened the others. She was teetering slightly to one side as she rested most of her weight on her left leg. It was the only evidence that her twisted ankle was still giving her some discomfort.
Jonna gave the cross section in front of her full attention. Her brow was furrowed in concentration, her mouth flattened. She didn't look up until Decker's frame blocked the natural light from the window and threw a shadow across her work. Her expression didn't change in the least. "I suppose you have some explanation for your behavior," she said.
"I take it you're referring to Mr. Poling. I ran into him downstairs."
"I put him there so you would." She bent her head again and considered the blueprint. "You're in my light."
"My apologies." He stepped aside. His forefinger tapped the edge of the blueprint lightly. "Are those the changes for Huntress?"
"No. It's an old clipper design I'm reconsidering." She only glanced at him. "And don't think I can be turned away from your high-handedness with my driver. I'm waiting for an explanation. Preferably a good one."
Completely at his ease, Decker dropped into the chair in front of her desk. There was nothing apologetic about his grin. "Do you know you have a dimple at the corner of your mouth?"
Jonna's mouth flattened further, temporarily deepening the dimple. "Your explanation," she said, refusing to look at him.
"You do," he said, ignoring her. Decker ducked his head and tilted it to one side to get a better view of the feature she was trying to hide. "It's wonderfully maddening. It appears when you're being your most disapproving self." He lifted his head and tipped the chair back on two legs, balancing it precariously as he continued to consider her. "Like now. It makes me want to kiss you."
Jonna's head jerked up. She attempted a sour, deprecating look, but it was difficult to achieve when heat was rushing to her face. "I wish you would be serious," she said.
"I am."
"Oh, very well." Jonna said the words as if they had been dragged out of her. She punctuated them with a small, impatient sigh. Straightening, she came around her desk and stood in front of
him. When Decker tipped the chair forward she placed herself squarely in his lap, put her arms around him, and kissed him hard and full on the mouth.
At the moment she felt his surprise melt away in favor of a response, she pulled back, and gave him an arch look, satisfied that he was no longer so irritatingly amused. That smug, reckless smile of his had vanished. She kissed him once more, lightly this time, then stood and put the desk between them. "It's that grin of yours, Decker," she told him. "You goad me with it. You know you do. Sometimes I just want to slap it off your face."
He touched his cheek. His tone was dry. "I like this way better."
"Well, so do I," she said primly. "But I may resort to the other if you don't tell me about Mr. Poling."
Decker leaned forward and rested his forearms on his knees. He answered her now with the seriousness she had always deserved. "You're not going to like it no matter how it's said, so let me simply put it succinctly. You require protection, Jonna. That's all Mr. Poling's presence was meant to provide until I could get here."
"Protection," she said softly. "Oh, Decker, surely not."
"I'm set on this. I don't want to find out that you've narrowly escaped being trampled by a horse or have almost succumbed to smoke and fire in your own warehouse. I'd like to think someone at your side may prevent another incident, but I'll be satisfied with a rescue if it comes to that."
Jonna sat in the leather chair behind her desk. "Is this because I won't tell you where I was last night?" she asked.
"No, but your disappearance made it all the more clear to me that you've never taken the attempts on your life seriously."
"They weren't attempts on my life. They were accidents." Even to her own ears she didn't sound particularly convincing. It was because she was remembering the pair of hands at the small of her back pushing her into freezing Boston Harbor. "At the most they were meant to frighten me. The horse veered away, and I had a lot of time to get out of the warehouse. Anyone might have rescued me from the harbor. It just happened to have been you."
A stillness settled over Decker. He stared at Jonna, his blue eyes boring into hers as he considered what she had just said. "I wasn't there when the horse got away from its owner. And Jeremy Dodd carried you out of the warehouse. The only rescue I made was when you took a tumble off the wharf." He saw her draw in her lower lip, but it was as if her entire body flinched from the truth he was about to toss at her. He swore under his breath. "You were pushed."
Jonna spoke quickly. "There were so many people, Decker. They were all crowding around. I can't be certain what happened."
"I don't believe you." He got to his feet. "You know. You've always known, and you've kept it to yourself, even when I brought my suspicions to your attention. For God's sake, Jonna, why wouldn't you tell anyone?"
"Who is it I should have trusted?" she asked quietly. "You?"
He felt as if she had struck him, and for once he didn't hide behind a careless smile or frost-colored eyes.
"I'm sorry," she said. "But it was true then. It's not true now. Some weeks after it happened I started to tell Jack. There was an interruption, I think. It may even have been the night you were jailed. I've always been glad I never told him."
"You could suspect Jack?" Decker found that hard to believe.
"No."
"But you didn't know who he might tell. Me, for instance."
Jonna nodded hesitantly.
"I see," he said.
"No, I don't think you do. At least not all of it. My reluctance had to do with the very discussion we're having now. I didn't want someone a half-step behind me, Decker. Or living in my pockets. If I had spoken to Jack this business of protecting me would have simply happened sooner. He would have constantly been at my side. I wouldn't have had a moment's peace, and I would have worried him beyond reason. It may have been Grant or Mrs. Davis—or even you—that he set on my heels. It seemed best not to provoke him to do that. You were determined enough without any encouragement from me."
"I'm still determined," he said. "I don't want you hurt."
"And I don't want to be hurt. I'm not careless, in spite of what you might think. You can't put me on a ship and carry me off every time you perceive some danger. There must be a compromise, Decker."
"Do you have a suggestion?"
"My secretary is as capable of protecting me as Mr. Poling," she said. "During my work hours he's all that I need."
"Mr. Poling was temporary at best. I was thinking of someone younger."
"Don't suggest yourself," she warned him. "I won't get any work done." Jonna saw his mouth twitch, and she pointed a finger at him. "And not for the reason you're thinking. I'd be plotting ways to kill you if you were constantly underfoot. Even on board Huntress you had the good sense not to spend all your time in my cabin."
Decker's eyes dropped to her lips. The dimple was hovering at the corner of her mouth. "What about that young ruffian Dodd?"
"Jeremy?"
"Yes. He proved his worth at the warehouse. Would you accept him?"
Jonna's faint frown betrayed a small measure of her disappointment.
"What's wrong?"
"You might have protested a bit, you know. Offered yourself in spite of my wishes. You came up with his name very quickly. Just because I don't want you underfoot doesn't mean that you shouldn't want to be there."
Decker was laughing as he came around the desk. He pulled her out of her chair effortlessly. "You have a most peculiar mind," he told her.
"Thank you."
"I have no finer aspiration in life than to serve as your footstool."
"And I used to think you had no ambition," she whispered.
He was still laughing as his mouth came down on hers. Decker lifted her, turned, and set her on the edge of the desk. His hands raised her skirt so he could stand more intimately between her legs. His lips moved over hers, touching the corners, running his tongue along the fullness of her lower lip. Her arms were around his neck, and she raised herself up just enough so that he could feel the outlines of her breasts against his chest.
He deepened the kiss. His hands stroked her back, her sides. He wished she wasn't wearing a corset and six petticoats and a pair of lace-edged drawers. He wished he had thought to lock the door or tell her secretary that they weren't to be disturbed. He wished he had just kept her home.
Decker pulled back slowly and stared at the smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. He wasn't proof against that. He kissed her softly. Paused. Kissed her again. Her mouth moved under his dreamily.
She murmured something against his lips. He didn't know what she said, he only knew he liked the sound of it. Her faint hum of pleasure stirred him deeply. His hands lifted away from her waist and framed her face. He touched his forehead to hers. His voice was husky. "I think I'm keeping you from your work."
"Mmm."
"I know that agitates you."
She nodded.
He kissed her lightly. "I'm going. I'll send Jeremy to take Mr. Poling's post. He'll be here at six to collect you, but don't leave without me."
"All right."
Decker's fingers slid away from her face. "Think about your blueprints," he said.
Bemused, she watched him go. "Now, how am I going to do that?"
* * *
Grant Sheridan could see there was a lot of activity on board Huntress even before he strode up the gangplank. Men were resetting repaired canvas and scrubbing the hull and decks. Oil was being applied to the rails and the great wheel. The sun and salt damaged wood soaked it up so that it gleamed under the polishing cloths.
No one paid him much attention until he was forced to dodge a bucket of water tossed negligently in his direction. It was his cursing more than his quick sidestep that caused the work to pause.
Mr. Leeds approached. "Can I help you, Mr. Sheridan?"
"I want to see Thorne."
"Mrs. Thorne isn't here," he said, shifting his weight from one leg to the other. "You can find her at�
��"
"Decker Thorne."
"Oh, you mean the captain." He wasn't intimidated by Grant's black glare. "He's below. Was in the cargo hold a while ago. He might be in his cabin. Do you want me to—"
Grant cut him off, striding away. "I'll find him."
Decker was sitting on the edge of his desk, leafing through his log when Grant came in. "Sheridan." He closed the log and set it aside. He didn't offer his hand.
"I've been thinking about what you said yesterday," Grant said. He opened his coat and reached inside his jacket. He pulled out a sheet torn from a newspaper and waved it in front of Decker. "Did you know about this when we spoke?"
"I don't know about it now," Decker said. "What is it?"
"The Liberator."
"Garrison's abolitionist paper?"
"That's right. It was distributed yesterday. I only had an opportunity to read through it a little while ago."
"And it brought you here?" Decker asked skeptically. "That is interesting." He held out his hand. "May I?"
Grant thrust it brusquely in Decker's direction. "He's been caught," he said, not waiting for Decker to scan the page. "Did you really think I wouldn't find out?"
Decker saw nothing to explain Grant's agitation on the side of the page he was looking at. He turned it over. Everything was made clear. "FALCONER CAPTURED." Beneath the caption in smaller letters was the heading: "Brave liberator of the oppressed is arrested for crimes against property."
Decker read through the article carefully before he gave it back to Grant. He managed to sound credibly unaffected by the news. "You think I knew this before I saw you? I assure you, I didn't. My offer to introduce you and your abolitionist friends to Falconer was made in good faith."
"At a price," Grant said. "Don't forget you wanted something for your efforts."
"I certainly haven't forgotten that. I'm the one out the money."
Grant's flat black eyes regarded Decker narrowly. "I'm thinking now that you never intended to deliver him. Perhaps you were only trying to make a fool of me."
"I never said I knew Falconer, just someone who says he does. That's as close as I'm ever likely to get to him." Decker shrugged. "I suppose it's a moot point. The paper says his name is Matthew Willet. Now everyone knows."
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