"Falconer?" He looked at Jonna blankly. Clearly she expected him to react. "I don't know the name."
"Then you're the only one in Boston who doesn't. Don't you read the papers, Captain Thorne?"
"I haven't recently."
"Falconer has been news long before you took to a sickbed."
"Then I overlooked that column," he said carelessly.
Jonna's snort clearly indicated it was much as she'd expected. She went on to explain. "Falconer is the name some freed slaves gave to their liberator. Garrison heard about it and published it in his paper."
"Then it's not the man's name."
Jonna's look was frank. "What makes you think their liberator is a man?" she asked. "She could be a woman."
"Point taken." He sipped his whiskey.
"It's probably a man," she conceded. "And I doubt Falconer is remotely close to his real name. That would be rather foolish, wouldn't it? It certainly wouldn't be the slaves intention to betray him."
Jonna had sat back in her chair and pulled her knees up to her chest. Her toes peeped out from under her dressing gown. They were indeed bare, Decker noticed. "Why does Grant want to meet him?" he asked.
"He has some idea that he can help Falconer. Money. A ship. Another connection to the Underground. Any of those reasons or all of them. Grant wants to act on a cause he believes in."
"Mr. Sheridan is a man of backbone, then. How lucky for you."
Jonna's violet eyes searched Decker's face for a trace of sarcasm. It was as absent from his cleanly carved features as from his tone. "Yes," she said at last. "Yes, to both."
Decker wondered that she didn't sound convinced. He recalled she had made a point earlier this evening of saying that Sheridan was not her fiancé. "You're worried about him," Decker said.
"I think I have reason to be."
Decker rubbed the side of his face where Sheridan had clipped him. "I think he's able to take care of himself."
"In a fight, perhaps. I'm talking about something that could get him hanged."
"Not here in Boston."
"But Grant goes aboard his ships from time to time. And he goes south. If he were to take on fugitive slaves..."
"I see." He hesitated, finished his drink, then plunged in. "Tell me something, Miss Remington. With so much to admire about the man, why haven't you agreed to marry Sheridan?"
Jonna didn't answer immediately. Until the words came out of her mouth, she didn't know what she would say. "Would you mind very much kissing me?"
Chapter 3
Studying her face, Decker said nothing. It was an earnest request, quite sincere, but he wondered how much she was already regretting it. "I wouldn't mind at all," he said finally, quietly. But, is it a good idea? That question was not given a voice. He leaned forward in his chair.
Jonna blinked. "No," she said.
Decker's expression indicated neither disappointment nor relief, both of which he felt in some measure. He stopped, paused, then pushed himself back again. "All right."
"No," she said, shaking her head. "You don't understand."
Decker didn't doubt it for a second. "You're probably right."
"Could you stand first?"
He considered that. Apparently she wanted to direct this kiss. He fought the urge to laugh out loud and pull her into his arms right then. How typically, refreshingly, Jonna Remington. "Very well," he said, coming to his feet. He added in what he hoped was a helpful tone, "But from this distance the best I can do is blow you a kiss."
A small vertical crease appeared between her feathered brows as she frowned up at him. "If you're not going to be serious..."
"Yes," he said. "Of course."
She continued to stare at him, searching his features for some hint that he was laughing at her. He merely looked expectant now. Jonna spoke before her courage faltered. "You need to come around here," she said, pointing to the edge of the table on her side.
Decker moved around the corner. Without any prompting from her this time he sat on the edge, his legs stretched out in front of him, his hands resting casually on either side of his hips.
She nodded, satisfied. "Yes, that's it."
"I thought it might be," he said dryly.
Jonna ignored that. "Would you take my wrist?"
He reached for her.
"Both of them," she said.
"You have to be specific."
"Both of them," she repeated.
He took a wrist in each hand. He knew what should happen now, but he waited for her instructions.
"Could you bring me to my feet?"
Decker didn't act immediately. "Is it just a gentle urging?" he asked. "Or should it be more commanding?"
"The latter," said Jonna. "Almost impulsive."
He nodded sagely. "Masterful, then." He pulled her to her feet in a single motion, and she came to rest quite naturally between his splayed legs. He continued to hold her wrists. Beneath his thumbs he felt her pulse racing, then acknowledged that it could be his own. Decker's head tilted slightly to one side as he continued to regard her with more detachment than he felt. "And now?" he asked.
"Now you should kiss me."
He began to lower his head.
Jonna's eyes closed in anticipation of the touch of his mouth. She waited, wondering how it might be different than with Grant, wondering if he would pull a response from her or find that she had very little to give.
Nothing happened.
She opened her eyes slowly and found herself staring directly into Decker's startlingly blue ones. "What is it?" she asked. She did not care at all for the breathlessness in her voice or for his brief, wry expression that said he noticed it.
"Well," he said, drawing out the single word. "I was wondering what sort of kiss it should be."
Jonna frowned. "What do you mean?"
"There are different kinds, you know."
"I'm sure I don't," she said primly.
"You don't?" Decker straightened now, putting some distance between them. Her face remained raised toward his, her violet eyes wide and unwavering, her mouth slightly parted. Her glossy black braid still lay over her shoulder. For a moment his attention was caught by it, caught by the curling end, the way it curved around her breast. "I thought this was an experiment of sorts. Was I mistaken?"
Jonna shook her head slowly.
"Then you must know the sort of kiss you want."
"Yes, but—"
Decker's voice was compelling. "Tell me."
Heat flushed Jonna's face. She started to pull away only to discover he was holding fast. The distance he had put between them disappeared again. It was when she opened her mouth to speak that his lips covered hers.
Decker had anticipated Jonna's startled, rigid reaction. His thighs tightened to keep her intimately in place, and he did not release her wrists. Her mouth was warm, the sweet taste of milk lingering on her lips. It was a taste he thought he might come to like, and he pressed the kiss more deeply.
He felt the first tentative stirrings of her response when she relaxed against him. His tongue traced the shape of her upper lip, then the ridge of her teeth. Her mouth opened wider, and he felt her breath catch. She leaned into him. He felt the outline of her breasts through their clothes. If she moved any closer she would feel the outline of his arousal. He didn't think she was prepared for that.
It was with more than a little reluctance that Decker broke off the kiss. "That would be one kind of kiss," he said. The steadiness of his voice was a wonder to him. "There are others."
Jonna opened her eyes slowly and found herself being studied with irritatingly frank regard. "That one will be quite sufficient," she said.
"I thought it might be. That's why I started there." He bent his head, but Jonna turned hers aside.
"I meant that one was quite sufficient," she told him. "There's no need for you to do it again."
He shrugged. "I don't mind."
"I do." She looked down at her side, where his hand still
covered her wrist. "You can let me go now."
"I could."
Jonna's head snapped around. "It wasn't a suggestion."
Decker kept her right where she was. "You know, Miss Remington, you could get into a lot of trouble inviting men to kiss you. It's something you should think about before you offer yourself up the next time." He felt her stiffen at the rebuke, but she didn't offer a response. "Very well. Just so you understand there won't be any more experiments at my expense." Letting go of her wrists, Decker allowed her to step back. He crossed his legs at the ankle and folded his arms across his chest. His look was considering now. "Did you discover what you wanted to know?"
"Yes," she said quietly. "Yes, I did."
"And?"
"And the experiment wasn't about you at all, Captain Thorne. It was about me." She began to turn away. Softly, more to herself than to him, she added, "I don't suppose marriage will suit at all." Then she was gone.
* * *
Dr. Hardy visited his patient the following morning and pronounced Decker fit for duty. Although the doctor offered to inform Jonna himself, Decker wanted that pleasure. He had heard her leave for the harbor before it was light out, and he couldn't help but wonder if she had been to sleep at all. He hadn't. "But perhaps you might write something down," he told the physician. "She won't be entirely sure I'm telling the truth."
Hardy laughed. "Just so," he said. "You know her well."
Decker thought about her parting words last night. He didn't know her at all. "Well enough," he said to close the subject. He waited for the doctor to scribble down the order, and as soon as he was gone Decker began packing.
Jonna was seated behind her desk when Decker was announced by her secretary. She didn't get up to greet him. "The doctor's been to see you?" she asked.
"I'm sure you were an influence there. I was his first house call." Decker's eyes suddenly narrowed on Jonna's face. Her skin was pale, and there was a tightness about her mouth that spoke more of pain than disapproval. "Are you feeling well?" he asked. "Perhaps I should—"
She waved his concern aside. The gesture ended with her hand coming to rest on her lap, outside of the line of his vision. Her fingers knotted with the fingers of her other hand and she pressed hard enough to make her knuckles white. It kept her from thinking about the throbbing pain in her ankle. "I take it he thinks you're able to work."
"That's why I'm—" He stopped this time without any prompting from Jonna. Tossing his valise on a chair, he rounded her desk. At first he couldn't see what was wrong, but he didn't miss the white-knuckled fist. His eyes lifted to her face, then dropped again, this time following the raised line of her dress under the desk. The skirt of her gown and a full compliment of starched petticoats hid her legs from his view, but he could tell she had one limb propped on something. He hunkered down for a closer look. Without asking permission, he lifted the hem of her gown.
Jonna pushed at her dress and tried to move out of his reach. Shifting her weight only caused her pain, and he was already allowing her hem and petticoats to fall back into place. Mustering what dignity she could, she asked stiffly, "Are you quite through?"
Decker's brows rose at her tone. "No," he said. "But you are."
"What is that supposed to mean?"
"I'm taking you home."
Jonna pushed herself upright in the chair. Her ankle fell off the stool and her heel bumped the floor. She thought she would faint from the pain. "No, you're not." As a protest it was rather pathetic, and she wasn't surprised when he ignored her.
Decker came to his feet and went to the door, calling for her secretary in a tone that had the older man stepping lively. "Get Miss Remington's carriage," he said. "She's going home now."
"Thank God," the secretary said. He looked past Decker's shoulder to see that Jonna was glaring at him, branding him a traitor with only her eyes. At the moment he didn't care. "I wanted to send her home when she hobbled in here, but she wouldn't go." He glanced down at his own slight frame and then with a touch of envy at Decker's. "Twenty years ago I'd have carried her out of here myself," he said.
Jonna called out tartly to him. "Twenty years ago I was four, Mr. Caplin. Everyone carried me."
Samuel Caplin pulled himself up to his full height and straightened his narrow shoulders. "And you weren't half so sharp with that tongue," he said smartly. He looked back at Decker. "I'll be happy to get her carriage."
Decker let the door stand open and turned to Jonna. "Twenty years ago someone should have turned you over their knee." Before she could come back at him, he was crossing the room and pulling back her chair. "Put your right arm around my neck," he said.
"I need my coat." She pointed to where it was hanging beside the door. She was in too much pain to smile at Decker's frustrated sigh. In other circumstances she would have enjoyed seeing him lose his air of implacable calm. This was a moment worth committing to memory and savoring later. Jonna let him help her slip into her dark green velvet coat while she hobbled unsteadily on one foot. "My hat," she said. He crossed the room again and handed her the matching velvet bonnet. She put it on, but it was Decker who tied the satin ribbon under her chin.
"Now will you put your arm around my shoulders?"
"My boot," she said. "It's under the desk. I had to take it off."
"A mistake," he said. "But I think you already know that." Decker scooped up the black kid boot. The side lacings hung open. "There's no chance of putting this on your foot again. You can hold it." He handed it to her, then turned to offer his shoulder. "If there's nothing else..."
"You will not find me a lightweight, you know. And you've only just recovered yourself."
Decker eyed Jonna's slender build critically. "Miss Remington, soaking wet you're hardly more than a handful. Now, come aboard."
Jonna could not think of another thing to delay the inevitable. He did not seem to find her height at all intimidating. "Very well," she said, sighing herself now. "But you can't say I—"
He picked her up smoothly, one arm at her back, the other under her knees. He noticed she naturally slipped her other arm around his shoulders. Her weight, such as it was, was distributed evenly and Decker had no difficulty in carrying her from the second floor offices of Remington Shipping to the carriage waiting at the door. The driver helped him assist her into the carriage and then they were off.
"You forgot your valise," she said. Why was it, she wondered, that she was more breathless than he?
"What?" Decker was sitting opposite her. He had her injured foot in his lap and was lifting her dress to get a better look at it.
She could not take her eyes off his hands. "I said, you forgot your valise."
"I'll get it later," he said absently. Decker ran his fingers lightly over the swollen area. Even through her stockings he could make out the livid discoloration of her skin. He felt her stiffen and glanced up. "Am I hurting you?"
She shook her head. In truth, she could hardly feel his fingers on her skin, but watching his hand move over her flesh was powerful in another way. "No, there's nothing you can do to make it hurt worse."
"Can you move it?"
Jonna rotated her foot, a motion she already knew she could do. "There. You can see for yourself that it's not broken. Merely sprained."
She started to remove her foot from his hands, but Decker cupped it gently and cradled it in his lap. "You will keep it right here," he said. "And when we reach your house I will carry you inside and up the stairs and directly to your room. We will not stop in the foyer for you to remove your hat and coat or bark orders at Mrs. Davis or Mr. Daniels. We will not stop in the library so you can get work to do, and we won't wait for Dr. Hardy to get some laudanum down your throat."
"I don't bark."
He smiled. "No, you don't. You don't have to."
She wondered what that meant.
"How did this happen?" he asked.
Jonna had known he would get around to asking the question. She was only uncertain as to h
ow she should answer. What part of the truth did she want anyone to know? "I fell," she said.
Decker's eyes darkened, and he pinned her back with the glance. "Does your lack of respect for me extend to my intelligence?"
Not accustomed to be taken to task, Jonna felt herself flushing. "No," she said softly. "I have never thought you unintelligent."
"Then give my question the full response it deserves."
Jonna winced, as much at the rebuke as she did at her attempt to find a more comfortable position. "It happened moments after I stepped down from my carriage," she said, as she settled back against the leather seat. "Cargo was being unloaded from wagons onto one of the ships. It was all the usual activity. I paid it hardly any attention until one of the wagon drivers couldn't control his horse. It got away from him, wagon and all, and came right in my direction. He ran alongside but couldn't catch it. It was stupid of me, I know, but I couldn't move out of the way. Not, that is, until the last possible moment. People were shouting at me, of course, but I couldn't seem to make sense of what they were saying. I just kept staring at the horse. Then, I did move, or at least I think I did. I heard someone say the horse actually knocked me aside, but I'm not sure that's what happened. I only know that I went head over bucket. I collided with a pyramid of crates, knocked two of them over and wrenched my ankle."
"Then you put on a calm face and went to work anyway."
"Well, yes," she said simply. In Jonna's mind there had been no other choice. "I couldn't let anyone know I was hurt." She remembered looking up into a sea of concerned faces. How many of them, she wondered, had seen her fall into the harbor only two weeks earlier? She had let herself be helped up, but had declined any further assistance. "I hadn't been able to move out of the way," she told Decker. "I felt very foolish."
And that emotion would have dictated her actions, Decker realized. "Standing still probably saved your life," he said. "You let the animal make the decision. If you had leaped you might well have charged right into him."
Jonna's eyes widened. "I hadn't thought of that."
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