Jo Goodman (11 page)

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 how 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."

"What happened to the driver?"

"I don't know."

"He didn't come around to apologize? You mean there was no offer to make amends?"

Jonna looked out the carriage window. They were turning the corner to Beacon Hill, and she was grateful their ride was nearly at an end. Decker's questions didn't bother her half as much as the way he was watching her answering them. It was as if he knew what she said was not nearly so important as how she said it, almost as if he were anticipating a lie or perhaps that she would not tell the whole truth. Carefully schooling her features, she returned his steady stare. "I suppose he had his hands full with his animal. I was probably gone by the time he had the poor thing calmed."

Decker didn't dispute her theory. He eased her foot off his lap as the carriage slowed in front of her home. The door opened and he helped Jonna up then delivered her into the hands of the driver. She leaned against the driver until Decker stepped out and lifted her. Her arms slipped around his shoulders without prompting. Decker carried her up the walk while the driver ran ahead to get the door and announce their approach. Although Decker was only ten paces behind the man, Mrs. Davis was already hovering by the time he and Jonna crossed the threshold.

Jonna dropped the boot she was carrying into the housekeeper's outstretched hands as they passed. True to his word, Decker didn't pause to let her remove her bonnet or slip out of her coat. Without once pausing in his stride, he took her directly up the stairs to her room. Mrs. Davis's presence behind him was no more annoying than a puppy nipping at his heels.

In spite of Decker's careful handling, Jonna's eyes were glazed with pain by the time they reached her room. He set her on the bed before he helped her with the bonnet and coat. "Cold compresses, Mrs. Davis," he said. "And laudanum. It's a severe sprain."

"I'm going to send for the doctor."

"That's fine," Decker said. "In the meantime, cold compresses and laudanum."

The housekeeper turned to find two of the maids hovering in the doorway. Their large brown eyes were anxiously taking in the scene, and there was a grayish pallor to their dark complexions. "Tess, you fetch the doctor. Emily, get the other things Captain Thorne wants." The girls disappeared immediately, but not before Decker had glimpsed them.

"What's wrong with them?" he asked.

The housekeeper sat on the bed beside Jonna. "I don't know what you mean."

"It's a sprain, not a fatal disease," he told her. "Those girls looked frightened."

"I'm sure I don't know what gets into their minds," she said dismissively. "They're like children."

Decker was surprised by the housekeeper's tone. It was not a statement merely about Tess and Emily. She was speaking of every person of color. He was about to ask why she hired them when Jonna's wince drew his attention. "I think we should elevate her foot," he said. He leaned across Jonna, drew a pillow from the other side of the bed, and slipped it under her ankle.

When there was nothing else for him to do but wait, Decker elected to wait elsewhere. He excused himself and went downstairs. Neither Jonna nor the housekeeper heard him leave by the back door.

Mrs. Davis's voice was hushed. "God forgive me, I dislike the things I have to say sometimes. Captain Thorne must think me the worst sort of person."

"He probably has no opinion on the matter," Jonna said, wondering that the housekeeper cared. She closed her eyes and tried to block out the pain. "He rarely has an opinion on anything."

Mrs. Davis laid her hand across Jonna's brow. Her employer's skin was clammy. "Let me help you change," she said. "And cover you up. The captain's right about the cold compress and laudanum. You need both." She helped Jonna sit up then began to unfasten the back of her gown. "How did this happen, Miss Remington?"

Jonna told her, offering no more or less of the story than she had offered Decker. The housekeeper said nothing until she had finished helping Jonna change into a shift and had tucked the quilts around her. When she spoke she didn't offer Jonna sympathy. She went directly to the problem that was uppermost on her mind—and Jonna's.

"What will we do?" she asked. "Did you see Tess and Emily? Captain Thorne didn't mistake their feelings. They are most definitely frightened."

"Then you will have to calm them. As the captain said, it's a sprain, not a fatal disease. You'll have to make them understand that nothing's changed except the timing. A week is all I'll need. Two at the most."

"Isn't there someone else?" she asked. "Perhaps I could—"

"No." Jonna was firm, and pain made her voice harsh. She caught her breath and tried for a softer tone. "I'm sorry... but, no. I won't let you."

"Then Mr. Sheridan. He's the most logical choice."

"I won't have him involved either."

"But surely... if I went to him and explained—"

"No!"

Mrs. Davis sat back. She frowned disapprovingly but said nothing. Emily had entered the room with the laudanum and compress. The housekeeper took both, laid the compress carefully across Jonna's ankle, then ladled two spoonfuls of laudanum down her throat. "You can go, Em," she told the maid. "I'll speak with you and Tess later."

Emily looked uncertainly from the housekeeper to her employer. Her eyes remained troubled, but she didn't question the order. "Me and Tess," she said shyly, "we both hope you feel better soon." Then she seemed to realize how that might sound and added quickly, "Not because of us. I mean, we wish—"

The housekeeper came to her feet. "Miss Remington knows what you mean, Emily. Please wait outside. I'll be with you in a moment."

Emily bobbed a curtsy and fled.

"I think she's frightened of me," Jonna said.

Mrs. Davis straightened her apron and smoothed the front. "Emily's in awe of you," she said. "She's
frightened
of me."

That made Jonna smile because she knew how untrue it was. "Would you ask Captain Thorne to come up here? I'd like to talk to him before the laudanum dulls my senses."