Jo Goodman (60 page)

But he didn't. Colin and Mercedes saw that right away. This one was a pearl stud with a raindrop of pure gold hanging from it. The letters ER were engraved on the drop and the pearl was set in a gold crown. It wasn't any earring. It was
the
earring.

"He must have stolen it," Colin said slowly. "Ponty Pine couldn't be my brother." But there was hope in his voice and Mercedes heard it.

"One can see how he became Ponty," she said. "But it's Pont Epine. Odd, don't you think? So odd, I never thought beyond it."

"What do you mean?" Colin asked. He had plucked the earring from Brendan and was turning it over in his hand. "It's French, isn't it?"

"Yes. My point exactly. L'epine is a prickle. A thorn. And le pont means bridge... or platform..."

Colin was looking at Mercedes again. "Or deck," he said. His voice carried no further than her ears. "Decker Thorne."

Mercedes touched his arm lightly. This time it was she who offered reassurance. She turned so she could see the river Thames. "Do you think he knew?" she asked.

The Remington Siren
was invisible to them. Colin's fist closed over the earring, and he pulled Mercedes to him. "I think he may have," he said. "But you heard him. He intends to make his own way."

Mercedes slipped her arm around Colin and rested her head on his shoulder. It wouldn't be the last they saw of Colin's brother. Heat made her cheeks pink as she remembered how Colin had loved her only hours earlier. "Give me a child," she had said. In her heart she believed he had.

Mercedes thought she would have reason to write Decker soon and in nine months he would return. He would want to see her and Colin and the twins and all of Weybourne Park, but he would come for the baby first.

The End

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MY RECKLESS HEART

The Thorne Brothers Trilogy

Book Two

Excerpt from

My Reckless Heart

The Thorne Brothers Trilogy

Book Two

by

Jo Goodman

USA Today Bestselling Author

MY RECKLESS HEART

Reviews & Accolades

"...a fabulous read. Jo Goodman writes with a unique and impressive style"

~Virginia Henley

"Jo Goodman hooks you and keeps you glued to the pages."

~Kat Martin

"...a treasure. The characters are guaranteed to steal your heart."

~Lisa Jackson

London, October 1820

It started with a handkerchief. Edged with lace, monogrammed with the letter R and hinting of the scent of musk and roses, Decker would never have difficulty calling it to mind. It was the first thing he learned to steal.

"Here, boy. Keep your wits about you and take it out of my pocket." The trick, of course, was to do so without being detected. A difficult maneuver at best, what with two pairs of very interested eyes following his every move. An impossible maneuver, perhaps, given the fact Decker Thorne was only four.

"He's nervous, cher." This observation was offered in a lightly accented, melodious voice. The owner of the voice was a woman whose kind and concerned expression softened her sky blue eyes. "And the carriage is bouncing. How can he do it?"

The badly sprung carriage was indeed bouncing. Decker toppled forward as the driver veered around a milk wagon. He was caught between the man and woman and set back in his place only to have a collision with a rut almost unseat him again. His small, sturdy legs churned to keep him from being ejected from the padded leather seat to the floor. The movement twisted him around, and he caught a last glimpse of Cunnington's Workhouse for Foundlings and Orphans just before the carriage turned the corner.

Decker couldn't read the name of London's venerable children's institution on the iron gate, but he understood it was the place he had been living these past four months, ever since the death of his parents. He righted himself in his seat and regarded the couple across from him with the deliberately frank and curious look that was peculiar to four-year-olds.

"Shall you be my parents now?" he asked forthrightly.

The question startled them. The woman blinked, and the man cleared his throat. For the time being, the handkerchief was forgotten. They exchanged uncertain glances. It was rather more than they had expected when they had approached Mr. Cunnington about taking one of his wards from the workhouse. Posing as missionaries, they had quite purposefully deceived the headmaster. Not, as they realized now, that their occupation would have made a whit of difference to the man. He had been cooperative, perhaps eager, to find a boy that would suit their needs as they described them. Cunnington would have been an even happier man if they had agreed to take Decker's older brother as well.

It wasn't possible. They had concurred privately before going to the workhouse that one child, properly trained, could be an asset. A second mouth to support posed a liability. What they had not considered was that rescuing a child from Cunnington's Workhouse—and surely a rescue was what it was—gave them certain responsibilities, if not in their own minds, then at least in the mind of this child.

He was still regarding them with that maddeningly candid and expectant expression. His gaze didn't waver, but seemed to encompass them both. His small mouth was slightly pursed, and the effect would have been cherubic if it had not been for those very wise blue eyes.

The woman spoke first. "Not parents exactly," she said. "But family."

"Yes," said the man. "Most assuredly family."

Decker considered that. The distinction they made was not entirely understood, but neither was it missed. He nodded, filing this information away. "That's all right, then," he said solemnly.

That air of gravity in one so young was the woman's undoing. Tears made her clear eyes luminous. She tried to blink them back.

Seeing the tears, the man reached for his handkerchief. The lace-edged corner was no longer peeking out from his pocket. He thrust his hand inside to dig deeper and was genuinely puzzled when it came away empty.

It was then the couple witnessed Decker Thorne's incorrigible grin and heard his bubbling laughter. Resistance wasn't possible. Jimmy Grooms and Marie Thibodeaux, for all that they were hardened to life's inequities, were not proof against the purity of a child's joy. Decker Thorne hooked their hearts as easily as he had snared Jimmy's handkerchief. That article of linen and lace now dangled from his chubby fingers as he offered it up to Marie.