Full Steam Ahead

by Karen Witemeyer

  The housekeeper raised a brow as she approached from the direction of the kitchen. “I’m sorry, dear. But I thought there might be some kind of problem for you to be leaving the study so early. Are you out of ink again?”

  “No, no. Nothing like that.” Nicole led Mrs. Wellborn back down the hall, away from the door. “I just won’t be working in the study this morning.”

  “You won’t?” The older woman’s brow puckered. “But you always spend your mornings in the study.”

  Nicole drew to a halt a few steps from the kitchen door. “Mr. Thornton will be making use of it today.”

  “That man,” Mrs. Wellborn grumbled. She heaved a sigh, then straightened and brushed out her apron. “Well, I suppose I ought to fetch his breakfast tray from the workshop then, hadn’t I. The master really should learn to inform me of his plans. How else am I supposed to know when he gets the urge to switch rooms on me?”

  “I wouldn’t bother with the tray, Mrs. Wellborn.” Nicole grinned as the furrows in the housekeeper’s brow deepened.

  “And why not? Getting that man to eat is almost as difficult as getting him to stop working long enough to sleep. If he doesn’t get his tray, there’s no telling when he’ll actually . . . Why are you smiling like that?”

  “He’s sleeping now.” Nicole couldn’t have contained her smile if Darius himself had ordered it. And the way Mrs. Wellborn’s arching eyebrows nearly disappeared into the lacy edges of her cap only added to Nicole’s delight. “I think he was up most of the night working on some correspondence, but he’s sleeping now. Peacefully. On the sofa. I didn’t want to chance disturbing him. He needs his rest.”

  “Oh, miss. You don’t know the half of it.” The housekeeper lifted the corner of her apron to wipe at her eye. “That bed upstairs is never used. Never. He prowls through his workshop all hours of the night, then heads to the study for more of the same. Every now and again, he’ll collapse on that sofa for a few hours, mussing the cushions just enough for me to know he had laid there. But never enough to get any true rest. It’s like the man’s afraid to fall too deeply asleep—crowding himself onto that narrow sofa instead of using the perfectly good bed he has upstairs.”

  Nicole blinked. Of course. If memories of the Louisiana attacked Darius in his dreams, it was no wonder he avoided sleep. What amazed her was that the man was still functioning at an intelligent level after more than a year of such torment.

  “If he’s slumbering now, with the sun streaming through the curtains and the sounds of everyday activity humming around him,” Mrs. Wellborn continued, “the man’s either half dead with exhaustion, or he’s finally found a bit of peace.”

  Nicole clutched her stack of papers more tightly against her chest. “Let’s pray it’s the latter.”

  Mrs. Wellborn’s chin bobbed in agreement. “I’ll see that he’s not disturbed, miss, and will do my best to keep the house quiet.”

  “Excellent. I have a few details to see to in my room, but after that, I’ll find Jacob and do my best to keep the boy outside. We’ll stay close in case Mr. Thornton awakes and has work for me to do.”

  “We won’t have to worry about Arthur,” the housekeeper added as she reached the kitchen door. “He took the rig to town to run an errand for Mr. Thornton. He’ll be gone several hours.”

  Odd, Nicole thought. Wellborn had run errands Monday, as well. Three days ago. One would think a single trip would be sufficient. Had something urgent come up to warrant a return trip?

  Nicole brushed off the thought as she continued down the hall toward her bedroom. She didn’t have time for puzzles. She had an article page to edit, journals to study, an energetic young boy to distract, and a slumbering scientist to insulate. Wellborn and his mysterious errands would have to wait.

  CHAPTER 21

  Darius woke with a crick in his neck. A crick. Imagine that. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d slept long enough to get a crick in anything. He grinned and reached behind his head to rub the sore spot at the base of his skull while rising to a sitting position.

  What time was it? He glanced around the study, noting the light flooding the room. The tick of the desk clock lured him from his seat on the disheveled sofa, promising answers, but when he got to his desk, it was the letter he’d written to his parents that drew his attention.

  Gathering the pages one after the other, he arranged them in order and carefully folded the address sheet around them. After cutting off a wafer seal from the sheet he kept in his desk, Darius affixed it to where the four folded corners met on the back, then set the packet atop the article he’d bundled yesterday evening. A bundle someone had wrapped in brown paper and addressed for him. A grin tugged at the corners of his mouth. Nicole.

  Still taking care of him, even while he slept.

  Darius grabbed up the desk clock and stared it in the face. A quarter after eleven? Truly? If he’d fallen asleep around dawn, that would mean he’d slept for at least four hours, possibly closer to five. And not once had he dreamed of the accident. Remarkable. He’d never gone more than two hours without falling into one of those hellish nightmares.

  He needed to find Nicole. Tell her. Thank her.

  He scooped his leather gaiters from the floor with a single swipe of his arm and hastened upstairs to change into a fresh shirt and trousers.

  As he yanked clean clothes from his bureau, he recalled the feel of her arms wrapped about him, the way her cheek had rested against the planes of his back. She’d coaxed him out of his torment even before he’d awakened, then drew the poison of his guilt from him—first with her patient acceptance of his story, then with a fiery challenge that dared him to get out of the way and let God redeem his failures. Darius grinned as he recalled her fearless prodding. Not much of a gentleman at the best of times, he must have been a bear last night. Yet his little pirate never once backed down. She said what needed to be said then left him with a kiss and words of hope.

  The woman might think God spared his life in part so he could be here when she found herself in desperate need of employment, but he knew the truth. God had not brought Nicole to Oakhaven for a job. He’d brought her here to pull the thorn out of a stubborn bear of a man’s paw so that he could finally start to heal.

  And something told him if he allowed her to leave him, an even larger thorn would take its place. One from which he might never recover.

  Darius haphazardly shoved the tails of his linen shirt into his trousers and ran a comb through his overlong hair. Bear was right, he decided, gazing critically at his reflection in the mirror above his washstand. He looked half-wild. But he had no time to worry over his appearance. He had to find Nicole.

  He found her by the pond with Jacob, behind the big oak tree. Darius slowed his step. She stood behind the boy, her arm in line with his as she helped him perfect his throwing motion.

  “That’s right,” she encouraged. “Keep your arm relaxed. Your last throw was close, so just release a little earlier. Feel that wrist movement?”

  “Yes’m.” Jacob nodded, his face a study in concentration.

  “Good. Now, aim for the dirt between those two tree roots. Remember, keep your throw strong, but controlled. Wrist and arm work together in one smooth motion.” She let go of the boy’s arm and backed up a few paces. “Cock, release, follow through. Go!”

  Jacob drew the knife back, stepped toward the tree, and flung the blade. It landed with a satisfying thwack, tip buried in the sand, off-center but within the designated area.

  “I did it!” Jacob cried, his face beaming as he spun toward his mentor, who was already squealing and clapping in delight. Nicole ran forward and embraced the kid with such abandon it made Darius’s chest ache. She spun Jacob in a circle, both of them laughing as they celebrated. Then they slowed, and as she lowered the boy to the ground, her gaze lifted to collide with his.

  “Darius.” She straightened immediately, like a child caught doing something wrong. “I-I mean, Mr. Thornton. I was . . . um . .
. just giving Jacob a few lessons on knife throwing.” She backed away from him, and Darius frowned. Why was she acting so skittish? Where was his fearless pirate?

  She tugged the blade from the earth and wiped it clean on the hem of her skirt. “I’m sure you’re wanting me back up at the house, though, aren’t you? Now that the study is . . . ah . . . available. I’ll head there straightaway.”

  “Hold, Miss Greyson,” he said, not about to let her go hying off without him. “There’s no rush.”

  She stopped abruptly and finally looked him in the eye. “There’s not?”

  More than one question shone in her golden-brown gaze. He wanted to spend time answering them all. As well as asking a few of his own. But they weren’t alone.

  “You’re not mad, are you, Mr. Thornton?” Jacob asked, worry creasing his brow. “Miss Nicole made sure I finished all my chores before we started the lessons. She even helped me with some of ’em.”

  “Did she now?” Darius arched a brow but couldn’t keep the stern expression in place for more than a second. Grinning, he ruffled the boy’s hair. “I’d say you two had a perfectly productive morning, then. I’ve got a clean barn and a stable hand who is well on his way to becoming rather skilled with a blade. That was an impressive throw, Jake.”

  The boy glowed with pride at the praise. “Thank you, sir. Miss Nicole says I’ll have to practice every day if I want to get as good as her.”

  “I suppose you’ll need a blade of your own to be able to accomplish that feat.” Darius stroked his chin in what he hoped was a thoughtful manner. “I guess it’s a good thing I’ll be riding into town to post some mail today. You can ride along with me and pick out a knife from the ones at the mercantile. I’ve decided I can’t have my employees running around out here without some kind of protection. Snakes, you know.”

  “Do you mean it, Mr. Thornton? My own knife?” Jacob hopped around Darius’s legs like a popping kernel in hot oil.

  Darius chuckled and ruffled the boy’s hair again. “Yep. Go on up to the house and see what jobs Mrs. Wellborn has for you. Now that the house is no longer under quarantine due to a sleeping dragon, we can get on with our work. Then, when the chores are done and we’ve had some lunch, we can be on our way.”

  “Yes, sir!” Jacob didn’t hesitate. He sprinted up the hill to the house, his short legs pumping as fast as they could go.

  “A sleeping dragon?” Nicole raised a brow, her tone wry. “The creature looked more like a drowsing puppy the last time I saw him.”

  “Thanks to you.” Darius stepped close and brushed a lock of hair that the wind had blown free behind her ear. His finger lingered, savoring the feel of soft skin along the hairline of her neck. Her teasing grin faded, and her breath hitched.

  “Darius?” Her gaze raked his face as if searching for answers to questions she couldn’t find the words to ask.

  He was more than ready to answer her questions, spoken or otherwise, but there were a few things he needed to say first. So he stepped back. But not without purpose. No, he had another hypothesis to test, and he aimed to establish conditions conducive to achieving the desired results. Hence, when he stepped back, he made sure to move in a direction that would take him closer to the tree—the large oak that would afford them a measure of privacy if Nicole would be accommodating enough to follow him.

  Darius crunched through the dead leaves that had fallen around the base of the tree to make room for new spring growth, holding his breath until he heard her steps behind him. Excellent.

  “Darius? What is it? You’re not acting like yourself. Are you angry that I didn’t wake you this morning? I know how much you hate to waste time, but I really thought you needed the extra—”

  His laugh cut her off. “I’m not angry with you, Nicole.” How could he be angry? She’d given him back his life last night. His family. Shone much needed light into the dark places of his soul. He owed her a debt, one he intended to repay with a first installment that would free her from whatever snag she found herself in with that Jenkins person, and the rest to be paid back slowly, over many years, with incredibly exorbitant interest.

  “If you’re not angry, then what is wrong?” Nicole demanded. Well, maybe not demanded. She was biting her lip, after all. A sure indication that she wasn’t nearly so composed as she would have him believe. But then, his little pirate hated to show weakness. She preferred to go on the attack . . . or just go—handling things on her own.

  That last thought cinched around his heart like a too-tight belt, but he willed the desperation away. He had to be strong to win the respect of his pirate princess, strong and bold.

  “Really, Darius. First you sleep nearly to noon, then you promise Jacob a trip to town for a knife he doesn’t really need, at least not immediately, and now you’re out here being all quiet and mysterious when you’re supposed to be barking orders or handing me a page of instructions so I can get back to work.”

  “Mysterious, am I? Hmm. I rather like that.” He edged closer to the tree, angling his body in such a way that she would have to step in between him and the oak in order to look him in the eye. Which she did. Darius fought to keep the smile from his face. Like a tug pilot guiding a barge up the Hudson, he thought smugly. Not that she is anything like a barge, he quickly amended. Blast. He’d have to do better than that when it came time for courting, or he’d lose her for sure.

  “You never go to town,” she insisted, an attractive shade of pink rising in her cheeks. “You always send Wellborn, and you’ve already sent him this week. Twice. Including today. Why aren’t you running off to your workshop or burying your nose in a mechanics journal or . . . Stop staring at me like that.”

  “All right.” Darius complied by advancing toward her, cupping her delicate jaw in his hand, then closing his eyes . . . while he pressed his mouth to hers.

  She stiffened in surprise. At least he hoped it was surprise, for she still held a weapon in her hand. A detail he’d failed to recall until just that moment. But then a thud vibrated the earth near his foot, and Nicole’s palms came to rest against his chest. Blissfully empty, knifeless palms. Palms that sent delicious shivers dancing through him as he closed the distance between them, leaning her back against the tree.

  His hypothesis had been correct. She tasted sweet—sweeter than honey fresh from the comb. And she kissed him back with an intoxicating mixture of shyness and fiery abandon so essentially Nicole that blood surged through his veins in recognition. She was his match.

  Raising a second hand to cup the other side of her face, Darius drew her mouth even closer and deepened the kiss. His fingers caressed the hair at her nape; his thumbs stroked her cheeks. The clean scent of her filled his senses, building a craving for more. More that wasn’t yet his to claim.

  Slowly he gentled his hold and eased the pressure of his lips against hers. Unable to let her go all at once, he weaned himself with short, sweet kisses to her lips, her cheeks, her forehead. Then he tucked her head beneath his chin and concentrated on steadying his breathing.

  He’d intended to talk to her first, to explain how much her being there for him last night had meant. But once he’d had her positioned safely behind the tree, the need to kiss her had erupted over him with such force that all thought of conversation fled.

  A gentleman would apologize for such indelicate behavior, he supposed. Darius grinned. Good thing Nicole had never mistaken him for a gentleman, for he couldn’t seem to dredge up one iota of remorse.

  CHAPTER 22

  Nicole closed her eyes as Darius folded her into his chest, her breathing ragged, her body trembling. He’d kissed her. Well and truly kissed her. On purpose. And merciful heavens, how the earth had shifted.

  She remembered wondering once what it would be like to be the object of Darius’s focused attention. Now she knew. Glorious. Absolutely glorious. The intensity of his gaze, the passion of his kiss, the tenderness of his touch. Even now his hands stroked her back as he held her. She’d give up anyth
ing to be able to stay with him like this forever. Anything except her family’s future. That she couldn’t sacrifice.

  Gathering the remnants of her shattered resolve, Nicole pushed against Darius’s chest and stepped away from his embrace. “We shouldn’t have done—”

  “Shhh,” he interrupted, placing a finger over her lips. The touch shot a new wave of warmth through her that Nicole was helpless to stop. “No regrets.”

  She turned her head aside, away from his touch, his scrutiny. “You don’t understand. I—”

  “I understand that you were there for me last night.” His soft voice rippled over her like the gentle lapping of a lake upon the sand, slowly eroding her resistance. “You were there for me in the darkness of my nightmare, Nicole, a nightmare that has tormented me every time I closed my eyes over the last eighteen months. Yet you banished it with the touch of your hand.”

  He captured her fingers and lifted them to his mouth. His breath stirred against the skin on the back of her hand a moment before his lips descended. The kiss lingered with a sweetness that made her heart leap even as despair sliced it in two.

  “Please don’t,” she whispered. “I have to leave soon, and this will only—”

  “I wrote to my parents.” He squeezed her hand and trapped it against his chest, refusing to let her finish her explanation. “I told them everything. The Louisiana. The girl who drowned. My compulsion to study boiler explosions.”

  Nicole nodded. When she’d seen the pages, she’d known he’d held nothing back from them. “I’m glad, Darius. That gulf needed to be crossed. I’m certain they’ll understand. They’ll support you. Love you.” Like I do.

  Oh, heavens. It’s too late. Nicole bit back a cry and tugged free from his grasp. She spun from him, her only thought to escape. But he was too fast. He caught her wrist and turned her back to face him.

  “I also wrote them about you.” His blue gaze bored into her with paralyzing force. She couldn’t move. Couldn’t flee. Could only stare at the social travesty of his ungroomed features—the scruffy half beard shadowing his jaw, the too-long hair falling over his forehead—and feel her heart beat with love for this unconventional man.