Full Steam Ahead (12 page)

Darius fell back against the worktable. He grabbed the edge to steady himself. “She’s in some kind of trouble.”

Wellborn dipped his chin in agreement. “It seems a logical conclusion. I’d thought to discuss the matter with you later this evening.”

“Thank you for bringing it to my attention,” Darius said, ironically slipping into the same formality he had chided Wellborn for earlier. However, when a man lost his equilibrium, he tended to resort to old habits to regain his footing.

“I found her phrasing of the request a bit odd.” A contemplative look came over the butler’s face.

Darius mentally reviewed Wellborn’s account, analyzing each section as he would one of his journal articles until a hypothesis formed. “She’s more concerned over someone recognizing her appearance than her name.”

Wellborn nodded. “That is the impression I gained.”

Interesting. It seemed his new secretary might have accepted the position under false pretenses. Well, a false name, at least. Not that it mattered. The woman had proved herself more than capable. Her name didn’t matter.

“Let’s adhere to her wishes for now. With one deviation.”
Darius pushed up from the table and braced his legs apart, as if preparing for battle. “If anyone comes looking for her, inform me first. She deserves our protection, Wellborn. I intend to see that she gets it.”

A light glowed in Wellborn’s eyes, and Darius knew he had an ally. The man would bring his wife in on the plan, as well, he was sure. Which left Darius to deal with his enigmatic secretary.

What secrets was Nicole Greyson hiding?

N
icole lingered about the kitchen, assisting Mrs. Wellborn in laying out the evening meal. Thankfully, the housekeeper kept up a steady stream of idle chatter that required little more than an occasional
hmm
from Nicole to maintain its momentum. She wasn’t exactly fit for intelligent conversation at the moment. Not when all of her mental processes were devoted to worrying over the state of her employer’s health.

Was Wellborn tending to his injuries properly? Had any of the exploded iron bits dug themselves into Darius Thornton’s flesh? She hadn’t noticed any blood during her inspection, and the man hadn’t mentioned any painful gashes or impaled objects about his person. Of course, if he were anything like her father, he wouldn’t admit to an injury in her presence. Men tended to be muleheaded when it came to their frailties. Never admitting weakness around women. Even those in their own family. Heavens, her father could barely get out of bed, and Mama still had to tiptoe around his pride.

Perhaps Darius had sent for Wellborn for that very reason.
Nicole stilled, the bread she’d been slicing only half cut, her hand going lax on the knife handle midsaw. Perhaps he had hidden a serious wound from her, preferring to reveal it only to another male so she wouldn’t think him weak. As if she ever would. Nicole tightened her grip on the knife and sawed through the rest of the slice with far more vigor than was necessary.

Fool man. She’d never think him weak. How could she when she could still feel his arms about her as he caught her up to his chest and carried her effortlessly back to the barricade? His weight had rested atop her as he shielded her from whatever projectiles were hurling at them, not giving any thought to his own peril, only her protection.
Weak
was not a word she would ever associate with Darius Thornton.

As she cut the final slice, Nicole took advantage of a rare lull in Mrs. Wellborn’s cheerful prattle. “I’ll fill a tray for Mr. Thornton,” she offered, eager for any excuse to check up on the man and judge the severity of his injuries for herself, “and take it to the workshop.”

“That won’t be necessary, Miss Greyson, but thank you.”

Nicole spun toward the doorway. “Dar—Mr. Thornton!”

She raked her gaze over his tall form. He moved a bit gingerly as he entered the kitchen, but that was to be expected after the abuse his body had taken that afternoon. No bandages in evidence, at least none that she could see. She supposed it was possible he had a wound concealed beneath his dark trousers, but she gauged his movements as he ambled to the table and didn’t detect a limp or any hitch in his stride.

“Do I pass inspection?” The amusement in his voice brought a rush of heat to her cheeks.

“That depends,” she brazened, lifting her chin. “Are there any hidden injuries I should be concerned about?”

He made his way around the table, running his fingers along the back of each chair. “Such a personal question, Miss Greyson.” A teasing gleam lit his eyes as he steadily approached. Nicole dropped the bread knife and turned to face him fully, reaching behind herself to grip the cabinet top for support. “But you can put your mind at ease.” He didn’t stop when he rounded the table. He kept coming.

Nicole’s pulse fluttered, and her grip on the cabinet doubled.

“Except for a pile of bruises and some overheated skin, I’m fine.” He ceased his advance. Finally. She had to tilt her head back to hold his gaze, though, so close had he come.

“I’m glad to hear it. Sir.” She added the last to try to force some distance between them. With him standing so close, all she could think about was that unexpected kiss they’d shared. Not the healthiest train of thought for a young woman who planned to leave as soon as monetarily possible. He was her employer. That was all. Yet her attention drifted down toward his mouth anyway. Realizing what she was doing and suddenly recalling the housekeeper, Nicole yanked her attention away from Darius’s face and scanned the room. But the kitchen stood empty.

“She’s setting places for us in the dining room,” Darius said, apparently reading her mind. “I thought we might discuss possible explanations for why the boilers burst in the wrong order, among . . . other things.” He paused, and Nicole found her eyes drawn to his once again. A strange gleam lit them, as if it were
her
and not the boilers he was puzzling over. A completely ridiculous notion, of course. Nothing fascinated Darius Thornton more than boilers.

“All right.” Nicole turned away from his probing eyes and busied herself with arranging the bread slices in a basket
and covering them with a cloth. “I’ll join you in a moment.” She finished with the bread and sidled past him toward the stove, where she began ladling chicken stew into the tureen Mrs. Wellborn had set out. From the corner of her eye, she saw him exit, and a relieved breath whooshed from her lungs.

Steady, Nicki.
Just because the man suddenly wanted to dine with her instead of taking his meal on a tray didn’t signify that anything had changed between them. It was simply expedient. This way he wouldn’t have to wait for her to eat before discussing the results of the afternoon’s experiment. After all, Darius did value his time. They might have shared a harrowing experience and a celebratory kiss, but they were still employer and employee. Nothing more.

Nicole frowned as she hefted the heavy tureen into her arms. Darius Thornton was on a mission to save steamboat passengers. She was on a mission to save her father’s shipping enterprise. They traveled divergent paths—paths that had met and intertwined for a brief time, yes, but paths that would necessarily split once again. She’d do herself no favors by letting her heart get tangled up with his in the interim. It would only make the leaving that much harder.

“Goodness, Miss Greyson,” Mrs. Wellborn fussed as she came through the door and caught sight of Nicole lugging the tureen toward the dining room. “There’s no need for you to be carting around heavy serving pieces. Arthur will get that.”

“Please, miss,” Wellborn intoned, indicating with a wave of his hand that she should set the tureen down on the table. “Go join the master. We’ll tend to the meal.”

Not wanting to intrude on anyone’s territory, Nicole complied. “I left half the stew in the pot on the stove, and the bread is cut and in the basket.” She knew she was rambling,
but somehow the idea of being alone with Darius suddenly made her jittery.

“Now, don’t you worry about us, dearie.” The housekeeper clutched Nicole’s hands, then scooted behind her to work on her apron strings. With a practiced twist and flip, Mrs. Wellborn had Nicole’s apron off her shoulders and over her head before she quite knew what had happened. “That’s better.” The woman circled Nicole, approval warming her eyes. “You look lovely, dear. The green of that gown sets off your complexion perfectly.”

Nicole swallowed a groan. The last thing she needed after the day she’d had was to dodge a barrage of well-meaning but ill-aimed Cupid arrows. Her feelings were in turmoil enough as it was. “Thank you, Mrs. Wellborn, but I’m sure my appearance is of no consequence. Mr. Thornton requested I dine with him so we can discuss business. Nothing else.”

“Of course.” The housekeeper waved her hands about as if erasing Nicole’s argument. “It’s just that it’s been such a long time since we’ve actually served a meal in the dining room. The excitement has me all aflutter. Humor an old lady, will you?” she asked as she aimed Nicole toward the door and gave her a little push. “Let me pretend the master has finally set aside those horrible exploding machines for good and is ready to resume life as a normal Thornton.”

Pretending is dangerous
,
Nicole thought as she stepped into the dining room. But when Darius crossed the floor to greet her, the smile on his face warm and inviting, Nicole found herself all too eager to pretend. To pretend this was her house, her dining room, her
man
. No, it was far safer to stay rooted in reality.

“Let me get your chair for you, Miss Greyson.”

Was it her imagination, or was there a strange inflection
in the way he said her name? Well, her assumed name. She squirmed inwardly as Darius led her to a spot near the end of the table. The more time she spent at Oakhaven, the guiltier she felt about her deception. It was as much for the protection of the people here as it was for herself, but it still felt disloyal.

Darius pulled out her chair and seated her with all the grace of a well-trained gentleman. He still wore no coat or cravat, as most gentlemen would when dressing for dinner, but his shirt sleeves were rolled down to his wrists, which for him was quite a concession. Of course, even that was probably due more to the salve plastering the cotton to his skin than any nod toward formality, but Nicole was finding she rather liked his flouting of convention. One knew what one was getting with Darius. No insincere flattery or pretentious nonsense designed to turn a woman’s head. He simply said what he meant and did what he said. She’d take integrity over pretty manners any day.

He took his place at the head of the table to her left and signaled Wellborn. The butler carried over the tureen while his wife served. They left the basket of bread, a crock of butter, and a plate of jam tarts on the table, then disappeared into the kitchen.

“How is your back faring?” Nicole asked after Darius offered grace. She dipped her spoon into the thick broth and captured a dumpling.

Darius shrugged. “Sore, but manageable. Soaking in the pond helped take some of the sting out.” He drew a piece of bread from the basket, buttered it, and handed it to her.

When her fingers closed around the crusty edge, she expected him to let go. He didn’t. She glanced up into penetrating blue-gray eyes.

“You saved my life today, Miss Greyson. I owe you my thanks.”

Nicole lowered her lashes, the intensity of his regard giving her pulse a ragged rhythm. “I’m just glad I was there to call a warning.”

Darius grinned, then released his hold on the bread. “Me too.” He took a second piece and turned his attention to buttering it. “So what do you think caused the boiler with the thicker plate to explode first?”

“I have no idea,” she said, glad to be back on familiar footing. Talking to Mr. Thornton, the obsessed scientist, was clinical. Safe. Exchanging singular glances and grazing fingertips over bread with Darius, the
man,
was anything but. “Did we overcompensate for the difference in heating rate?”

“I considered that,” Darius said between bites. “I suppose it could have played a role. However, it occurred to me that the thicker plating might have created greater rigidity in the iron.”

Nicole paused with her spoon halfway to her mouth and tilted her head as she considered the implications. “If it was less pliable, it wouldn’t expand as easily, possibly making it more brittle under pressure.” She nodded, her enthusiasm building. “It’s a sound theory.”

“Of course, the explosion could have been caused by a faulty rivet or a weakness in the soldering. I do my best to ensure quality craftsmanship,” he said with a shrug, “but I’m not perfect.”

Nicole offered to help him collect the scrap from the explosion in order to examine it for evidence of contributing factors, and the two animatedly discussed the possibilities of what that evidence might entail. Ideas and postulations flew back and forth as their dinner disappeared.

Nicole had always enjoyed scholarly discussion and had
often debated with her schoolmistresses back in Boston. But there was something incredibly stimulating about sharing such discourse with a man she respected. The girls at Miss Rochester’s Academy were constantly being cautioned about not revealing too much intelligence around the young men they encountered at social events. Gentlemen preferred ladies who were accomplished hostesses and charming conversationalists, not bluestocking termagants who were too free with their opinions, especially if those opinions differed from those of the males in their company.

But Darius was different, she noted with a smile as he punctuated the air with his spoon while ranting about the need for an accurate instrument to measure steam pressure. He treated her as an equal. Respected her knowledge, even sought her opinions. There was no place for personal pride in his work. It was all about advancing mechanical understanding and saving lives. If a young woman with a penchant for mathematics could help achieve that goal, he didn’t hesitate to include her.

Too bad her father and his men couldn’t see her in such a light. Her skirts seemed to blind them. Yet, to be fair, even if they did support her as the heir to Renard Shipping, it was unlikely the account holders would. They’d no doubt transfer their business to Jenkins the minute she took the helm. Nicole let out a tiny sigh as she used the last piece of bread to sop up the dregs of broth in her bowl.

“Ready for dessert?” Darius held the plate of tarts out to her.

Nicole quickly swallowed the bread she’d just popped into her mouth and dabbed her lips with her napkin. “Yes. Thank you.”

She reached for a strawberry one from the pastry plate,
smiling shyly. He smiled back, and Nicole savored the ease that had built between them.

“Wonderful,” he said, selecting a blackberry tart for himself. “Then perhaps you are also ready to tell me about the trouble you’re running away from.”

Nicole’s gaze flew to his, the peace of the moment obliterated as effectively as a hunter’s shot blasting through a morning meadow.

What did he know?