Jo Goodman (32 page)

Jonna's eyes were wide now. She edged closer to Decker. "What happened then?"

"Jimmy and Mere were watching. They had been working the crowd with me, and now they joined in the middle of it. Jimmy pulled me loose and tossed me to Mere. She spun me out and away, but somehow my blade caught her pocket. It ripped open and spilled her morning's work onto the street. There was a cameo, a pair of earrings, some silk ribbons. I tried to get back to her when she was grabbed, but the crowd closed in around her. I think Jimmy must have dove for her because I heard someone yell to hold him back. People were shouting and pushing, and I couldn't see over them anymore."

"You were forgotten."

"I'd like to think the dandy that I stuck remembered me."

Jonna thought she saw a glimmer of a smile, but this one was bittersweet. "You got away," she said.

Decker nodded. It was a moment before he spoke again, and this time his voice was husky. "Mere and Jimmy were taken to Newgate. I couldn't visit them for fear of being taken myself. In light of the fact that they had risked everything to save me, I would have been ungrateful to present myself at the gate." He paused. "At least that's what I told myself."

"I'm sure you were right."

"I don't know. If I had given myself up all three of us might have been transported."

"Or you might have hanged with them."

Decker shook his head. "They hanged because they wouldn't give me up. That dandy I stuck turned out to be the Duke of Westport, and that small cut I gave him almost took his life. The authorities were so certain he was going to die that they made Mere and Jimmy hang for it. The charges against them were theft, but no one will ever convince me it wasn't the duke's condition and the fact that they wouldn't lead anyone to me that sent them to Tyburn Tree." Decker drew in a breath and let it out slowly. "Westport began recovering three days later. I had a mind to run him to ground and stick him again, but there was really no sense in it. Mere and Jimmy were gone to me."

"What did you do?"

"What makes you think I did anything?"

Jonna merely raised one eyebrow.

"I waited three years and found a position in the duke's country home as a cook's helper. I made off with two place settings of silver, a chalice from the chapel, and a ruby necklace that had been in the family for three generations." For the first time Decker turned to look at Jonna.

Her expression was difficult to read. "Isn't that more or less what you expected?"

"It depends," she said. "Did you keep any of it?"

"No."

"Did you sell it?"

"No."

"You threw it away."

"Tossed it in the river."

Jonna's smile was slow to surface, but she didn't hide it. "Then it's exactly what I expected. Not more. Not less." Pleased that she was not always so predictable, her smile deepened. "Now I've surprised you. Did you think I would make a rush to judgment? I really can't say what I would have done in your shoes, but I like to think I would have done
something."
Under the covers Jonna's hand closed the distance between them and covered his wrist. "Have you ever wondered how your life would have been different if your own parents hadn't been murdered?"

Decker didn't answer the question directly. "It sounds as though you've given it some thought."

"I don't think you would have been raised to be a thief."

He wouldn't be here now, he thought, with her, in the dark, her palm lying possessively across his wrist. What about his past could he regret when all the events conspired to bring him to Jonna? "I would be the dissolute middle son of a titled family, with a small estate of my own and a hunting lodge. I would dabble in politics and horse racing, and have a rake's career of breaking hearts."

"You would not." Then Jonna considered his reckless smile. "Well, perhaps the last would be true." She found she didn't want to think about that. "Do you remember the circumstances of your parents' deaths?" she asked.

"I take it you mean my real parents."

"Yes. I know you were young."

"I was four," he said. "Old enough."

"You don't have to—"

"It's all right," he told her. "I don't mind talking about it." He wondered if that were strictly true. The only person he had ever spoken to about it was Colin, and that was only to compare memories of what had happened. "For a long time I chose not to remember it at all. I was hardly aware that it was a choice, but when Mere and Jimmy were gone it seemed pointless to pretend any longer. I had another family somewhere; the earring was proof of it. It was my only real link with my brothers. It was odd, but I had more of a sense of being part of them than of my parents. The night they were killed I remember Colin thrusting Greydon in my arms and telling me to keep him quiet. I thought that somehow everything that was happening was my fault, that I hadn't done my part right and my parents had died because of it."

Jonna's hand tightened over his wrist. "Oh, Decker."

"I didn't see anything outside the carriage, not the highwaymen, not their horses, I heard my father offering what money he had. I heard my mother pleading with them not to hurt her children." He paused. "I heard the shots."

Jonna edged closer. She laid her head on his shoulder. Her arm slid across his chest.

"Colin ran after them, but there was nothing he could do. It was later that night we were taken to the workhouse. No one understood that the Earl of Rosefield was our grandfather, and he didn't know we were on our way to visit him. It was at Cunnington's that we were separated."

"But the earring brought you back to Colin."

"Eventually it did exactly that."

"Do you ever think it will lead you and Colin to Greydon?"

"I think it will lead Greydon to us."

"How?"

He shrugged. "I don't know."

Jonna was quiet. She yawned once, covering her mouth with the back of her hand. "Do you really think you would have dabbled in politics?"

Decker realized she had picked up threads of their earlier conversation. "And horse racing."

She smiled sleepily. "I think you would have been good at both those things," she said more to herself than Decker. "I think you can do most anything." Her cheek nudged his shoulder as she fit herself more comfortably against him. "May I sleep here?" she asked.

"You only had to ask."

* * *

Jonna stood at the rail as
Huntress
approached Boston Harbor. If there was even the slightest possibility that Jack Quincy was watching, Jonna wanted him to see her on the deck of the clipper. For years Jack had tried—and failed—to get Jonna on board one of the Remington ships. She knew he would appreciate her success now. Raising the spyglass, she eagerly scanned the wharf for a glimpse of Jack.

"Have you seen the warehouse?"

Jonna turned so suddenly that she almost knocked Decker in the head with the spyglass. He managed to duck under it as she pivoted in place.

"Careful with that thing." He took it from her. "You should remove it from your eye before you start dancing around." Holding it up to his own eye, he adjusted the glass for a clear look at Jonna's rebuilt warehouse. "Jack and the men must have been very busy. It seems completed to me." He collapsed the spyglass and tucked it in his trousers. "As promised."

"Did I even once entertain the notion that Jack wouldn't have it done?" she asked.

"Not aloud," said Decker.

Jonna glanced sideways at him, frowning. "What do you mean by that?"

"I mean that you've obviously been preoccupied these last ten days." He recalled most of their conversation the last time they had talked at any length. He had been over it in his own mind half a dozen times, wondering what he had said that kept her at arm's length for the remainder of the voyage. When she had curled herself against him and asked if she could sleep in his arms, he had been hopeful. Each evening since then, when she made no other overtures, he had felt a little more of that hope slip away. Perhaps she did despise him every bit as much as she had first said.

Jonna scanned the harbor again. "Preoccupied," she said quietly. It was true, but she hadn't thought he'd noticed. He always seemed busy himself with some aspect of running the ship. "You never said anything."

"I asked you on several different occasions what you were thinking."

She remembered that he had. And each time she had fixed a smile on her face and made up something to placate him. Now she realized he hadn't once believed her. She wondered how much it mattered since she could never have shared the truth. "I suppose I've had too much practice at keeping my thoughts to myself," she said. "Did you think marriage would change that?"

"No."

"Do you think it should?"

"I'd like to think you could tell me when something's troubling you. More importantly, tell me
what's
troubling you."

Jonna turned her back on the harbor. All around her the crew was making ready for docking. Decker's second in command was issuing the orders, and no one was paying them the least attention. It was as good a time as any to tell him at least one of the things she had been thinking since they'd left London. "I'm not certain I want to announce our marriage, at least not right away."

"Have you forgotten?" Decker asked. "We already announced it to the crew. How long do you suppose they'll keep it a secret?"

"We can ask them not to say anything."

Both of Decker's eyebrows rose. His expression was patently skeptical. "That will guarantee the news will be out to every matron and scandalmonger in half the usual time." Decker studied her face. There was a small vertical frown between her dark brows, and she was worrying her lower lip. "You're serious about this, aren't you?"

Not sparing him a glance, afraid of what she would see, Jonna nodded.

Although Decker was fairly certain of the answer, he asked the question anyway. "Is there someone specific you don't want to hear about our marriage?"

Jonna didn't flinch from his tone, though it felt like ground glass against her skin. "Grant," she said. "I'd like to tell him myself."

"So you
do
intend to tell him."

"Of course. I just think he should hear it from me."

"I have no problem with that, as long as I'm with you."

"There's no need," she said.

"There's every need." Decker saw she was about to make another protest. He cupped her chin and brought her face toward his. "If I even suspect you're going to visit Sheridan without me, I'll make certain every town crier has the news of our wedding." He let that sink in. "Now, if you don't want to hear the announcement from the street corners, you'll let me accompany you when you tell your fiancé about your husband."

"He was never my fiancé."

"Exactly."

Jonna watched him walk away. Her response had been feeble, while his parting shot had been quietly triumphant. What did it matter? she wanted to ask. It wasn't as if they had a real marriage.

* * *

Jack Quincy caught Jonna in his expansive arms as soon as she set foot on the wharf. "A good thing it was," he said heartily, "to see you standing at the rail. Couldn't believe my eyes at first. Thought you'd be holed up in the cabin until
Huntress
was berthed."

"That was the voyage over," she said breathlessly as she was set down. "I found a bit of courage on the way back."

Holding Jonna by the shoulders at arm's length, Jack looked her over carefully. Her violet eyes were bright but watchful. The smile was fulsome but strangely unanimated. There was an air of barely contained energy about her that seemed more nervous in origin than excited. There was no doubt in Jack's mind that Jonna was happy to see him, but there was also no doubt that she was not entirely happy.

"The warehouse is finished," he told her. "Do you want to see it?"

"I'd like that."

Jack looked up the gangway. He could see Decker was discussing something with Mr. Jeffries. "Perhaps we should wait for Captain Thorne."

"He'll be along when he's able," she said. "He won't have any trouble finding me."

Jack thought her tone was decidedly cool. He shook his head. "I suppose there are some things time alone can't change."

Puzzled, Jonna stared back at him. "Now, what does that mean?"

"It's just that I thought—" He glanced up at Decker again. The captain was thoroughly occupied with his crew. "Wishful thinking, I suppose." His hands dropped from Jonna's shoulders, and he looped his arm in hers. "This way, Miss Remington. I'm thinking you're going to be very pleased by what you see."

Jonna was. There was no evidence of fire damage left at the warehouse. The collapsed walls had been rebuilt with new brick; the offices on the first floor had larger dimensions, and deep shelves had been added along one wall for cargo storage. Jonna's own office had been refinished and refurnished. The floors were as polished as her desk, and the walls had been papered instead of painted. Jonna sniffed the air, expecting some residue of smoke to fill her lungs. Instead she caught the sweet scent of the hothouse flowers that had been set out in vases in her office and that of her secretary.