Full Steam Ahead

by Karen Witemeyer

  His heart rate tripled. He looked into her face, memorizing every curve and line, each facet eminently precious. “How do you think I’d feel if something happened to you?” he rasped out. “Nicole, I love you, and I swear that I will do everything in my power to keep you safe.”

  “Oh, Darius.” The whispered words skimmed over his skin in a feather-soft touch, raising his senses into keen awareness. Her eyes glowed with a sad, inner light even as her lips curved upward. “I love you, too. I tried so hard not to, knowing I had to move on to New Orleans in order to fulfill my vow to my father. But it was no use. My heart ignored all logic and dove right into your hands.”

  “And I’ll never let it go,” he declared fiercely as he grabbed her shoulders and pulled her into his arms. “Never.”

  He kissed her then the way he’d wanted to earlier. Fully. Branding her as his. Leaving no room for her to consider any other man as her husband. He’d restrained himself before, not wanting to frighten her, not sure of her feelings, wanting only to convince her of his. Yet now, with her declaration of love still vibrating in his ears, he released the reins and kissed her with all the passion raging in his heart.

  His hands moved over her back, searching out the small arch above her waist, then using it to pull her closer to him. Her palms came up between them, burrowing beneath his suit coat. The feel of her fingers splayed against his chest sent tremors through him. His lips left her mouth to trail tiny kisses along her neck, and when her head fell back to give him better access, a tiny growl of satisfaction rumbled in his throat.

  She was his. Nicole belonged to him and he to her. God had brought them together, and he’d see to it that no man put them asunder. No New Orleans dandy, no Jenkins brigand, not even her father.

  He worked his way back up her throat to her jaw, her ear, then reclaimed her mouth. Her lips met his with equal fervor. Her hands climbed from his chest to his shoulders and then to his nape. Her fingers tangled in his hair, sending a wave of delightful shivers coursing through him. She rose up on tiptoes, and her hands came around to frame his face, holding him to her as she returned his kiss.

  As if he would pull away, he mentally scoffed.

  But then he did, for he felt her withdraw, felt her mouth ease back, her body shift as her feet returned fully to the floor. Thankfully she didn’t try to step out of his arms. He doubted he would have been physically capable of releasing her at that particular moment. Instead, she rested the side of her face against his chest. The top of her head brushed the edge of his jaw, and the perfection of the fit made him smile. He closed his eyes, his ragged breaths loud in his ears as he stroked her arm.

  “Oh, Darius,” she said, despair lacing her passion-thickened voice. “What are we going to do?”

  His arms tightened around her. “We’re going to find our way through this. Together.” He leaned his cheek against her hair. “Tomorrow I’ll visit with Sheriff Davenport. I’ll not mention the dagger, only that two men are hunting for you. If you’ll write out their names and descriptions, I’ll pass that information along so he can be on the lookout for them. He won’t be able to arrest them based on suspicion, but he can send word to us if they are spotted. Maybe even send a deputy or two to help defend against them.”

  “But what about my father? We can’t just hide out here forever. He’s not long for this world, Darius. He needs an heir.”

  “I’ll be his blasted heir.” Darius winced. That hadn’t come out the way he’d intended. “What I meant to say is that I can escort you home, present myself to your father, and officially ask for your hand. I may not have the extensive connections in New Orleans that your father might wish, but I know shipping. I can be an asset.”

  Nicole lifted her head from his chest and glared up at him. “Don’t you think I haven’t already thought of that? But he needs someone who can take the helm right away, not a businessman used to keeping books, no matter how quick a study you are. Just because you understand the mechanics of steam engines and can take apart boilers with your eyes closed, that doesn’t mean you know shipping.”

  “Maybe that doesn’t,” Darius snapped, irritated that she’d so easily discounted him as heir material, “but the fact that I’ve spent the last six years overseeing the business interests of one of the largest steamship lines in the country certainly does. Ever heard of King Star Shipping?”

  CHAPTER 28

  King Star Shipping?” Nicole staggered backward, out of his arms. Good heavens. They practically owned the Atlantic, with regular lines to Liverpool and Plymouth in England, Havana in the Caribbean, as well as hitting all the major American coastal ports like Boston, Baltimore, Charleston, and New Orleans. “I-I think I traveled home from school on a King Star vessel. The Starlight.”

  “That would be Captain Sanders’s ship,” Darius replied, the name rolling off his tongue with such ease it made Nicole dizzy. She grasped the back of her chair to steady herself. “Fine little coastal steamer,” he continued. “If I remember correctly, we fitted her out with a new screw propeller system before I . . . took a sabbatical.”

  “That’s right,” she murmured more to herself than him. Her body seemed to have gone numb, even the words falling from her lips echoed in the room as if someone else were speaking them. “I remember questioning Captain Sanders about it so I could inform Papa of the innovation when I returned home. He’d been fascinated by it.”

  Darius crossed his arms over his chest and jutted his jaw a bit. “I researched that project myself and made the recommendation to my father. We plan to install the new propellers on a rotating schedule until the entire fleet is rigged out. Increases engine efficiency and speed output.”

  Nicole dragged her gaze up from the floor, desperate to make this new information fit with what she’d assumed she knew about Darius, needing to witness the truth in his eyes. “I thought you were just a man of business, tallying numbers in ledgers, overseeing investments for your father. You said as much,” she accused.

  “And it was true,” he said, his voice irritatingly calm while she felt as if one of his boilers had just exploded here in the dining room. “It just so happens that my father owns a shipping company, and when I’m not balancing the accounts, I’m perusing the latest mechanical journals and deciding which improvements are worth incorporating into our vessels. Why did you think I made that fateful trip to New Orleans in the first place?”

  “You said you were meeting with investors. I just assumed it had something to do with expanding into the growing western markets.”

  “Well, you were half right. We were considering expansion—from ocean steamers to riverboats. The river transport industry is quite lucrative, you know.” His mouth turned up at the corners then, and the shock that had immobilized her began to thaw.

  “I do know,” she said, unable to resist returning his smile with a small one of her own. “My father has amassed a considerable fortune shipping immigrants and supplies in and cotton out.”

  Darius uncrossed his arms and closed the short distance separating them. The heat in his eyes scalded away the last vestiges of her numbness. “Something tells me you’d be a great asset to a man who suddenly found himself inheriting such a company.”

  Nicole’s mouth went dry. Could it really be so simple? Could Darius truly be her father’s heir and her husband? Please, Lord. Let it be so. “Would you really consider taking on such an inheritance?” she asked, her heart pounding in her chest as his hands alit on her shoulders and traced feather-soft lines down to her wrists. “You’d be away from your family—permanently. And your experiments.” She swallowed. Hard. “Darius, there’d be no time for them any longer. You’d have to . . . to give them up.” The words seemed to slice her open as they left her tongue.

  The two things he valued most, his family and his work. . . . How could she ask him to sacrifice both? No. It wasn’t fair. He shouldn’t have to—

  “We’ll figure it out, Nicole.” His caress traveled down to her fingers. He gently
pried them from the chair back, then lifted them to his mouth and pressed a kiss upon the sensitive skin just below her knuckles. “I’ll have twice as many steamships at my disposal as I do now and can easily run the two of us up to New York several times a year to visit my family. And they, no doubt, will visit us, as well. It will work out, sweetheart.”

  He kissed her hand again, and she actually started to believe him. Yet one barrier blocked her full acceptance. “What of your boilers, Darius?” She forced the question past the thickness in her throat. “They are your life’s work.”

  He shrugged. “I seem to remember you calling them a self-imposed penance.”

  She shook her head, intending to argue, but he shushed her with his words.

  “I know. It wasn’t the work so much as my obsession with it. It’s past time to regain some balance.” He stroked the line of her jaw with the back of one finger, such tenderness and love imbued in the touch, Nicole could barely breathe. Her eyes locked on his as tiny tremors danced along her skin. “I’ll find a new way to contribute to the effort,” he vowed. “Perhaps one that doesn’t even require explosions.” A smile crinkled his eyes.

  How could he look at her like that, with so much love and not one speck of regret? She searched for the tiniest glimmer of resentment or bitterness but found nothing. Nothing! The last of her stone-heavy doubt dissipated, leaving her as buoyant as a cork bobbing light and free atop the waves.

  “I love you, Darius Thornton.” Nicole wrapped both arms about his neck. Her gaze captured his and held it fast. “I choose you. As my husband and as my father’s heir. If you’ll have me.”

  He leaned close, his lips a mere breath away from hers. “Darling, I’d thought you’d never ask.”

  Nicole spent the following morning unpacking everything she’d stored away in her trunk the previous afternoon. When the last handkerchief lay neatly in the dresser across from her bed, she closed the empty trunk with a satisfying thump. Unable to help herself, she spun in a circle, her skirts belling out around her as laughter bubbled to the surface. She wasn’t going anywhere. Not without Darius.

  Imagine—a son of King Star Shipping right under her nose this entire time. Nicole shook her head. Only God could have managed such a feat. He’d led her to the one man who could fulfill not only her father’s needs but her own heart’s desire. And she’d nearly run away from him. The thought sobered her, but only for a moment. No use dwelling on what almost happened when current events were so much more pleasant.

  Humming a cheerful little ditty she’d learned to play on the piano at Miss Rochester’s Academy, she waltzed out of her room and down the hall. She spied Mrs. Wellborn polishing the banister at the base of the staircase and immediately swept the older lady up into her dance, leading her around the narrow entryway with more enthusiasm than grace.

  “What in the world?” the housekeeper exclaimed before dissolving into giggles.

  The two of them twirled and sashayed until Nicole finally released her partner near the dining room door.

  “Sorry,” Nicole managed between heavy breaths, her tone not in the least repentant. “I couldn’t resist.”

  Mrs. Wellborn waved her dust rag as if it were a debutante’s fine lace handkerchief, then curtsied. “It was my pleasure.” Her eye twinkled with shared mirth. “I’m so happy you’re staying, miss. We all are. Why, I haven’t seen the master smile this much since he was a boy. It wouldn’t surprise me if he were to come home from town today with something more than just a deputy to watch the road. I seem to recall the mercantile in Liberty having a decent selection of . . . Well, let’s just say I’ve happened to notice the jewelry case a time or two when I’ve been shopping for foodstuffs. It’s not as fine as the offerings in New York, of course, but a man who is eager to stake a claim could do worse.”

  Heat rose to Nicole’s cheeks. “Mrs. Wellborn, I have absolutely no expectations along those lines.” At least she hadn’t until the housekeeper planted the thought in her brain. Now she could scarcely think of anything else. What would it be like to wear his engagement ring? To proclaim to all the world that she belonged to him? Her stomach quivered. Delightful. That’s what it would be like. Utterly delightful.

  But they had more pressing matters to contend with today, and she refused to be disappointed when he returned without a ring, as he certainly would. Besides, she’d proposed to him, not the other way around.

  There was nothing the least bit conventional about their engagement. She wasn’t even completely sure they were engaged. Nothing would be official until Darius presented himself to her father and asked for her hand, so imagining what kind of ring he might possibly bring back from Liberty was a pointless exercise.

  “I’m sure he won’t take the time for something as frivolous as shopping. You know how focused he gets when he sets his mind to a task. He’ll deliver my descriptions of the Jenkins brothers to the sheriff, then do his best to enlist the man’s aid. Once he’s accomplished that, he’ll return home.”

  Mrs. Wellborn shrugged. “You may be correct. The master does tend to be a bit, well, oblivious to things not immediately within the purview of whatever his current undertaking might be. Somehow I think you’ll be able to break him of that habit, though.” The housekeeper’s eyes sparkled with a teasing gleam. “Or at least drag him back to reality every now and again. He seems conspicuously unable to ignore you, my dear. A rather handy trait for a wife.”

  Mrs. Wellborn winked, sending another annoying flash of heat down Nicole’s neck. “And may I just say that Arthur and I could not be happier. It will be a joy to welcome you to the Thornton family, miss.”

  Eyes stinging at the kind gesture, Nicole impulsively wrapped the plump woman in a quick hug. “Thank you. I promise to take good care of him.”

  “I know you will, dearie. I know.” The housekeeper patted Nicole’s back a moment before stepping away. “Now, get on with you and let an old lady finish up her duties. Luncheon will be here in less than an hour, and I’ve a table to set and a cook to assist. Mrs. Graham will grow sulky if I’m not there to help lay out the food.”

  Nicole laughed as the older woman vigorously shooed her toward the front door. “All right,” she said. “I’ll go find Jacob and see if he would like another lesson.”

  She should probably work on Darius’s logbooks some more, but she doubted she’d be able to concentrate on the sedentary task. Energy thrummed through her, making her feel like a thoroughbred straining at the reins, needing desperately to run. Unpacking her trunk had kept her hands busy for a time, but even that had failed to dispel the restlessness inside her. She needed physical exertion, and Jacob, with his boundless supply of liveliness, was just the one to provide it.

  “The lad’s stacking firewood in the woodshed,” Mrs. Wellborn called after her, “or at least he was the last time I peeked out the upstairs window. Arthur didn’t want him underfoot while he started boxing up the master’s machinery in the workshop. Mr. Thornton is quite particular about his machinery.”

  That was stating it mildly. Nicole grinned. She couldn’t help it. Everything about Darius seemed to make her grin this morning. The way he’d eaten his eggs at breakfast, tucking into them as if afraid they’d somehow escape his fork. The way he’d spared a moment to kiss her cheek before riding off to meet with Sheriff Davenport. And now even his obsessive scientific nature had her smiling.

  Love did rather strange things to a woman.

  Leaving the house, Nicole traipsed past the barn to the woodshed. A pile of logs stood in front of the lean-to, the split wood lying about in disarray. “Jacob?”

  It wasn’t like the boy to leave a job before he was finished. Of course, he might have just run off to the privy for a moment. She might as well take over his chore until he returned. That way they’d be able to continue their knife lessons all the sooner.

  Cheered by the thought, she bent to collect a log. Once she had three pieces in her arms, she crossed to the shed and began placing them ato
p the shortest of the stacks.

  “Miss Nicole?” A thready voice called her name from behind the shed. “Help me. I’ve . . . I’ve hurt myself.”

  “Jacob?” Nicole dropped the last piece of wood without a care and rushed around the shed. “Where are you?” Her eyes scanned the landscape, but the trees were thicker here, impeding her view.

  “Please. Hurry.” Tears sounded in the boy’s voice, and Nicole’s heart gave a painful twinge.

  “I’m coming, Jacob.” She picked up her pace, jogging into the trees.

  Please, God, let him be all right. Visions of the rattlesnake that had nearly struck him the day they’d met sent desperation surging through her. Had he fallen? Broken a leg? She had to find him!

  Turning in the direction his voice had come from, she rounded a large oak. She caught a glimpse of Jacob lying on the ground in front of a tree to her right.

  “Jacob!” She lunged forward, focused solely on reaching him.

  That’s why she didn’t hear the rustle until it was too late. Strong arms captured her from behind, wrapping around her middle like iron bands and lifting her feet from the ground. She tried to scream, but a hand clamped over her mouth, and she soon found herself struggling to draw sufficient breath. She kicked and flailed anyway, then in a moment of blessed clarity remembered the trick her father had taught her.

  Letting her body go limp, she dropped her chin forward. The instant she felt her assailant relax, she drove her head backward with all the force she could muster. Her skull slammed into his chin with a satisfying crack. The man cursed and shoved her away. Nicole stumbled but managed to keep her feet. She reached for her blade, but the deadly sound of a gun being cocked stilled her hand.

  “Quit beating up on my brother, Nicki, or I’ll shoot the kid.”

  CHAPTER 29