Jo Goodman (40 page)

Rachael was prepared to back out of the room and return to the kitchen when she noticed the door to the dressing room was open. Was that where Jonna was?

Passing the mirrored dressing table, Rachael bobbed once to scan her reflection. Her cap was straight, and there were no stains on her apron. Her employer would find nothing wrong with her appearance, and if she was forced to make the acquaintance of the captain, at least she would not embarrass herself.

When Rachael entered the dressing room she saw immediately that she had mistaken Jonna's whereabouts. She stood uncertainly on the threshold and looked at the door that led to the adjoining bedchamber. It was several inches ajar, just enough for Rachael to detect movement in the room beyond. She stepped closer and leaned into the opening.

"Rachael?" Jonna sat up when she saw the face pressed to the space between the door and the jamb. "Rachael, is that you?" There was a nod but no other movement. Reaching across Decker's sleeping form, Jonna awkwardly retrieved her dressing gown. She slipped it on, belted it loosely, and then motioned for Rachael to come in. She pointed to her sleeping husband and raised one finger to her lips, signaling the young woman to be quiet. It was only after she'd done it that she realized how unnecessary the gesture was. Rachael moved like a wraith around the house at any time, and to Jonna's best recollection, she had never spoken a word.

Jonna moved some things aside on the table. There was only a single serving of everything on the tray that Rachael set down. Jonna assumed it was intended for her since Rachael had entered from her room. "Thank you," Jonna whispered.

Rachael bobbed once in acknowledgment. Almost reluctantly her eyes strayed to the sleeping captain. Decker's back was turned toward her. Only his naked shoulder and a thick head of dark hair were visible.

Jonna recognized the mixture of curiosity and apprehension in Rachael's sidelong glance. She often felt it herself. What was missing from the young woman's look was admiration, but from her angled view of Decker, Jonna supposed there wasn't much to see that could be admired. "Please see that something is prepared for my husband," she said.

Interrupted by Jonna's softly spoken request, Rachael's head jerked back. Her coffee-colored complexion warmed and reddened at having been caught out staring.

"Do you understand?" Jonna asked.

Rachael nodded a quick assent and fled the room, going out the same way she entered.

Watching her go, Jonna was reminded of Delores's parting words. If Rachael understood others as well as she seemed to, then perhaps she could speak. If that were true, why would she choose to remain silent?

Decker stretched lazily, yawned, and then rolled over onto his back. Jonna did not notice him immediately. She was staring at the far wall, a small vertical crease between her brows. He did not call attention to himself, but found pleasure in watching her in this unguarded moment.

"I'd pay for your thoughts," he said at last. "But I don't think I can afford them."

Jonna's frown vanished. She looked down at Decker and the expression in her violet eyes softened. "It was a better arrangement for you before you became my husband," she said. "You might have become a very rich man with me as your mistress."

Grinning, he pulled her down beside him. His kiss was thorough. "I am a rich man," he said. He punctuated this statement with a single peck on the lips, and then he was reaching for the breakfast tray.

"That's mine," she said. "Rachael is bringing yours directly."

He ignored her completely, sitting up and placing the tray across his lap. "Rachael," he said, uncovering a small bowl of oatmeal. He immediately handed it to Jonna. "I don't remember that name. Is she another one of your good works?"

"Hardly," Jonna said. She accepted the oatmeal and lifted a spoon from the tray. "If there are any good works being done—and I'm not so sure there are—then Mrs. Davis will have to answer for them." She glanced sideways at Decker when he didn't respond. He was looking vaguely pleased with himself for having found the toast and was occupied in slathering it with marmalade. "Hungry?"

He didn't apologize for it. "Starving."

Jonna smiled as he bit off a rather large piece of toast. He appeared to be thoroughly enjoying it. "I thought perhaps we could go to the harbor together this morning."

Decker swallowed. He regarded Jonna frankly. "I'm not certain what I'm expected to do there," he said. "I don't have a ship at my command. There's no run to prepare for, not if you're going to have
Huntress
refitted."

A thread of tension slipped up Jonna's spine. She rubbed the back of her neck, trying to ease it. This conversation could easily become an argument, she realized. It was something she wanted to avoid. "What was your business at the shipyards yesterday?"

"I wanted to talk to one of the builders," he said. "You're not the only one with thoughts about the lines and speed of ships."

"You spoke to Mr. McKinney?"

"I didn't say anything about Mr. McKinney. Your builder isn't the only one at the yards."

Jonna laid her spoon on top of her half-eaten oatmeal. "You were going to go somewhere else with your ideas? Without even discussing them with me?" It appeared that in spite of her intentions they were going to have an argument.

"Where is my place at the Remington yards, Jonna? Where do I belong?"

"At my side," she said. "You're my husband."

"That's our marriage," he told her quietly. "Not your business. Don't confuse the two."

"You told Colin you didn't want any part of my business."

"And I don't." He took another bite of toast. "I approached Sheridan about a position and talked to another builder. I think that's a clear indication that I don't want your business."

"It's an indication that you want to destroy it!" The words echoed before they were blanketed by the heavy, oppressive silence that followed. Jonna's throat closed, and there was a tight ache in her chest. She stared at her hands wondering that they were so steady when she was suddenly so deeply afraid.

Decker moved the tray onto her lap. He raised the covers and slid out of bed. The floor was cold. Neither he nor Jonna had gotten up in the middle of the night to replenish the logs on the fire. As a consequence the hearth was only ashes. He stepped into his trousers and slipped on his shirt.

"Decker!" Jonna's voice was not more than a hoarse whisper as he disappeared in the dressing room. He closed the door behind him soundlessly. She flinched anyway. Pushing the tray aside, Jonna went after him. He was standing in front of his dresser, searching the uppermost drawer for stockings. He ignored her entry completely.

Jonna's violet eyes were luminous. Tears rimmed her lower lashes. One dripped down her cheek. She raised a hand toward him, reaching out tentatively. It hovered in midair a moment before she slowly lowered it again.

"Get away from me, Jonna."

She shuddered at his coldness, but she didn't leave. "Can't you see how frightened I am?" she asked on a mere thread of sound. Her throat ached with the effort to keep more tears at bay. "What if I'm wrong about you? What if you're no different than any other man who's wanted me for what I have and not who I am?" She drew in an uneasy breath. It was almost a dry sob. "For years Jack and your brother have wondered why I kept Grant Sheridan close, but he has always been a safe choice. I know what his interests are, what they've always been. But you're outside my experience. What I don't know is how I'm supposed to think about you."

Still empty-handed, Decker closed the drawer. He turned on Jonna. She was holding the ivory scrimshaw between her thumb and forefinger, rubbing it gently like a worry bead. "There has to be a place for me," he told her quietly. "I can't be a partner in this marriage and nothing outside of it. It may be true that you intend to make modifications to
Huntress
but you took away my command before that. No matter what you say, Jonna, I know it was punishment for some slight you imagined. I won't—"

She stepped forward. Her eyes implored him. "No," she said. "You're wrong. It wasn't like that. I did it because I wanted you here, with me. I don't know any other way to keep you."

"Is it your intention to fit me with a leash?"

Although the question was quietly posed, Jonna winced. "You're deliberately misunderstanding me." Another tear fell. Her face began to crumple. "I don't know how to make this right!"

Decker gave no indication that he was moved by her distress. "You were the one who wanted separate bedrooms," he reminded her. "That would seem to contradict that you wanted me around."

"You don't understand." She knuckled away tears in both eyes. Her shoulders heaved once. "You c-can't understand."

Decker knew that was only true as long as she didn't tell him the secret that would explain her contradictions. He didn't know if she had ever looked more lonely to him. "Come here, Jonna." He saw her hesitate. Her bottom lip trembled and her eyes were brilliant with the wash of fresh tears. He held out one hand. "Jonna."

She placed her hand in his and stepped into his embrace.

It was this scene that Rachael intruded upon. Habit had taken her back to Jonna's bedchamber. When she realized her mistake she decided to go through the dressing rooms rather than back to the hallway and around to the captain's door. Now she wished she had not taken this shortcut.

Decker stood there, looking over Jonna's head at the doorway. The tray rattled in the young woman's hand, but Jonna didn't hear it above her own quiet sobs. He saw she recognized him. It was more than a flicker across her sloe eyes that gave her away. Her mouth was parted on a soundless gasp, and her knees sagged a fraction.

A small negative shake of his head was enough to keep her silent. His eyes dropped to the tray and then to her hands. If he had any doubt about her identity it disappeared when he saw the scarred flesh below her right thumb.
She got out of her irons by biting off most of the ball of her hand.
This was the girl he had taken from Michele Moreau's Charleston bawdy house. What else had Graham Denison told him about her?
She doesn't speak any English and no one here knows her dialect.
How, Decker wondered, was she getting along in Jonna's household?

He motioned her to go into his bedchamber with the tray. Although her surprise had faded, his direction was slow to register with her. He had to gesture a second time. His full attention did not return to Jonna until he heard the girl leave by the door to his room.

Decker looked down at the glossy crown of his wife's hair. Her forehead was pressed against his shoulder. Her tears had made his shirt damp. His lips lightly brushed her hair. He breathed in the fragrance of her, a heady combination of lavender and musk, as he stroked her back.

He couldn't help smiling to himself. Jonna had always been able to make him do that. There was no finer piece of work than this woman he'd married.

It didn't matter that she couldn't explain herself. There were things Decker understood without hearing them from her. The constant change of staff in her home, the prevalence of black servants, even the opinion she expressed about abolition, suddenly made sense.

There was only one explanation for the appearance of the young black girl in Jonna's home. This Beacon Hill mansion was a station for the Underground Railroad.

She could deny that she was the conductor, but Decker would never believe it. Mrs. Davis was surely an integral part of what was going on, perhaps other servants as well, but no one could do it without Jonna's approval. Decker considered Jonna's often careless regard for the running of her home. It had never set right with him, not when she delegated comparatively little of the running of her business.

Decker wondered about Jack Quincy's role. Jack was charged with hiring the men at the harbor and at the yards. How many fugitive slaves did Remington Shipping employ because Jonna suggested them? How many times had Decker secreted slaves away on board one of her ships only to have them end up in her home?

Where he thought they had been at cross-purposes, it now seemed they shared a single one.

Decker's attention was drawn to Jonna's tear-stained face as she lifted it. "I don't know how to make this right," she whispered again.

He touched her cheek with his fingertips. "You don't have to make anything right," he said. "You've done nothing wrong. Not a thing."

It seemed he really believed that. She only wished she could share his conviction. Jonna shook her head slowly.

"No," she said. "There must be some way I can show

you—"

"Jonna..." His tone urged caution.

And she threw it to the wind. "Do you still want
Huntress?"

Decker didn't have to think. "Yes."

"Then she's yours."

Chapter 12