Jo Goodman (21 page)

"Quite," he said.

She nodded once, almost regally, and waited for him to go.

Decker pushed away from the door, but didn't open it. He skirted the trunk which still remained in the middle of the room and stepped over the pile of Jonna's discarded clothing. When he reached the desk he kicked out the chair with the toe of his boot and sat down. Lifting the cover, he removed the ship's log along with ink and a quill from the drawer beneath. Decker opened the log and painstakingly recorded his heading and the weather conditions. He took several more minutes to record Jonna's demands.

He turned the book toward her. "Have I set it down accurately?" he asked.

Jonna approached the desk and read what he had written. His script was careful, each letter formed with exactness. There was no flourish in the handwriting, no carelessness, and it was not only what he had just recorded that had such discipline, but all the entries on the page before it. Somehow it was like the cabin, Jonna thought, sterile and without the stamp of his character.

It struck her then how new he was to both things. She raised her head a fraction and stared at him, a question in her own eyes now.

"Have I set it down accurately?" he asked tersely.

Jonna's reply was hushed. "Yes," she said.

"And the spelling?" he pressed almost defensively. "Have I got it right?"

"Yes."

Decker spun the log around and penned another line.

"My reply," he said, pushing the book back in her direction.

Jonna glanced at the entry: Huntress
will stay her course.
"What? You don't mean that."

Decker blotted the log before he closed the book. "I mean exactly that," he said. He put everything inside the desk. "If there's going to be an argument, it will be from your end. My mind is made up on the matter." He watched Jonna react as if she'd been struck. Her head came up, her jaw clenched, and color flushed her face.

"It wasn't a request," she said.

Some part of Decker admired her restraint, but he wasn't swayed. "It can be nothing else," he said. "Your position here doesn't give you the right to make demands."

There was a cold fire behind Jonna's violet eyes. "I own this ship," she said.

"And I command it." He held up one hand, stopping her. "You don't own me, Jonna. Don't ever think you do."

"The men will—"

"The men respect us both. Don't make them choose sides or divide their loyalty unless you're prepared to take command of this ship yourself." He paused a beat and studied her face. "Are you?"

Jonna's features were pale now, her lips bloodless. The chill she felt went all the way to her marrow. "No," she said. "You know I can't take command."

Decker nodded once, satisfied she understood. He rubbed the back of his neck wearily. "How are you feeling?" he asked. "Are you hungry?"

She didn't answer him. The certain knowledge that they were not returning to Boston had closed Jonna's throat. Her stomach roiled, not from lack of food or the motion of the ship. It was a deeper panic that twisted her insides.

"Perhaps you should sit down," Decker said. "I'll bring you something from the galley. I haven't had anything myself." He was gone twenty minutes, but he didn't think she had moved in his absence. He placed the tray on the bench beside her. Without asking if she wanted any, Decker poured a mug of tea and passed it to her. "Warm your hands or your insides," he said, as if it were a matter of indifference to him.

Jonna held the mug between her palms and raised it to her lips, but didn't drink. She was grateful Decker didn't urge her to do anything else. Steam rose from the mug and bathed her face in warmth. "Why did you bring me here?" she asked finally.

Decker had uncovered a plate of chicken and biscuits for himself. He carried it over to the desk, away from where the fragrance of something more substantial than tea might offend Jonna, and sat down. Hooking one leg over the arm of the chair, he began to eat. "I couldn't very well look after you otherwise," he said simply.

Jonna frowned. "I don't understand. I would have had Dr. Hardy to look after me."

"True, but I wasn't thinking of your physical health. Or at least not in that regard."

Jonna cautiously sipped her tea. Her confidence increased slightly when it settled in her stomach. "You're not my keeper," she said.

"I am now."

"But—"

"Do you really want to argue, Jonna? You're here. You may as well accept it." Decker wasn't fooled into believing her silence signaled agreement. He suspected she was merely marshaling her forces. "Jack is taking care of the business," he said. "He taught you what your father didn't so you know the enterprise will not suffer."

"That's not the point."

He went on as if she hadn't spoken. "Your offices and the warehouse will be rebuilt by the time we return from London. You don't have to be there to oversee every detail. Mrs. Davis has the running of your home in hand and will send around regrets for your social commitments." He didn't add that he knew there were few of those. "She packed your trunk herself. I trust you'll find everything you need."

Jonna's shoulders sagged a little at hearing of this betrayal. She hadn't expected her housekeeper to willingly support her abduction. "And Grant?" She had a vague recollection of him appearing after the fire was put out. Hadn't he offered to take her home? "Didn't he have anything to say about you taking me on board?"

"He had a lot to say. No one listened." Not after Grant had been leveled by Decker's fist. "Should his opinion have carried any special weight? I thought you weren't engaged any longer."

"We were
never
engaged," she said crisply. When she saw one corner of Decker's mouth lift Jonna knew she was being needled. She wondered if she would ever learn to ignore him. "I suppose I'm your prisoner then."

Decker glanced up from his plate. "Hardly."

"I can't think what else to call it," she said. "I'm not here willingly, and there's nowhere for me to go. You even posted a guard at my door."

"An attendant," Decker corrected. "And he's gone now. That was only for as long as it took you to come around. There's no need for anyone now. You're free to come and go as you please. I trust your common sense to keep you clear of the crew's quarters, but other than that, you may have freedom of the ship."

The thought of going on deck made her stomach clench again. "I'll stay here," she said.

He shrugged. "If that's what pleases you."

"It does." Jonna finished her tea and set the mug on the tray. "I'd like to retire now," she said.

Decker wondered how weary she was and how much she simply wanted to be rid of him. "Very well." He got to his feet in a single, effortless motion and crossed the small space that separated him from Jonna. He laid his empty plate on the tray and bent. It wasn't the tray he reached for though. When he straightened he had Jonna in his arms.

She was surprised, but she didn't try to move away. She looked up at him, her eyes wide and searching.

"Good night, Jonna." He touched his lips to her forehead then kissed her lightly on the mouth. "I'm sorry."

Decker was gone before Jonna knew why he had apologized or if she had forgiven him. She sank slowly back on the window bench. Sleep was a long time claiming her that night.

* * *

With a brisk North Atlantic wind at her back,
Huntress
cut the water effortlessly. Most days she traveled at twelve knots, sometimes thirteen. Her passage was un-marred by storms though the wind was steady and strong. White-capped waves curled around her hull and kept her decks awash in saltwater.

The business of mastering a clipper was topside. In any twenty-four-hour period Decker rarely left the helm for more than two or three hours. On those occasions he napped in a sling in the crew's quarters. His visits to Jonna's cabin were only long enough for him to write in the ship's log. During these brief encounters he made it a point to inquire as to her health and her comfort. He always asked her to take a turn with him on deck or accept the escort of another member of the crew. Her answers were perfunctory, civil but cool, and did not invite further conversation. She refused every offer to leave the cabin.

Jonna passed the time reading and writing. Decker's books were of some interest, but the ship's log captivated her. She was only disappointed that
Huntress's
brief history meant she concluded reading it in a day. She began a journal of her own, keeping an account of her conversations with the crew and her thoughts about the voyage. She gathered recipes and remedies, and faithfully recorded the lyrics to four sea chanteys she had never heard before. Two of them contained
words
she had never known.

She kept a list of things she didn't miss: Grant Sheridan and haggling with merchants. She kept another list of things she did: tub baths, Jack Quincy, fresh air, and having her hair brushed out before bed.

Huntress
was still two days out of London when Jeremy Dodd shyly presented Jonna with a great wooden cask. "Captain says we've enough fresh water for you to have a proper bath," he said. His freckles disappeared beneath a rosy flush.

"This is Captain Thorne's idea?" she asked.

Jeremy's weight shifted uncomfortably. "No, Miss Remington. The captain says you'll want to know that it was my idea and that he only approved it." He said it exactly the way Decker had told him to. No lie there, he thought. Jeremy could see it
was
what Jonna wanted to know, even if there wasn't a speck of truth in it. "Hot water's coming up for you from the galley," he went on before she could see through him. "Buckets and buckets of it."

The brigade arrived a few minutes later and left when the tub was near to brimming over. In their eagerness to please they had forgotten to account for Jonna. When she eased herself down into the water a cascade of it slipped over the side and made rivers and puddles on the floor. She found she didn't care at all.

It was twenty minutes later that Decker walked in. He stopped just inside the door. Jonna's complexion was beautifully flushed from the heat, and the sheen of water on her skin made it glow.

She sank lower in the water so nothing below the line of her collarbone showed. "You didn't knock."

"No," he said. "I didn't."

His matter-of-fact honesty startled Jonna. She realized that his presence here was planned, not accidental. "Please go," she said.

He closed the door, produced a key from his jacket pocket, and locked it. "I think you know I'm not going to do that." He returned the key to his jacket. "At least not yet."

Jonna ducked another fraction as Decker walked by the tub. She realized she needn't have bothered. He didn't glance in her direction when he passed. Behind her, she heard him open her trunk and begin to root through it. "Perhaps if you tell me what you're looking for—" She was cut off when he dangled her robe in front of her.

"You can put this on. I'll turn my back."

"I want my clothes," she said.

"This." Now he glanced significantly at the water. "Or nothing."

Jonna held out her hand for the robe and Decker dropped it. True to his word, he turned his back while she stood and shrugged into it. It clung to her damp skin. Jonna moved to the small stove to warm herself. From under the robe, water dripped on the floor. Where it splashed the stove it sizzled. She looked over her shoulder at Decker and found he was watching her.

"Come here," he said. It was more of a command than an invitation.

Jonna felt a rush of warmth that had little to do with her proximity to the stove. She turned but didn't move in his direction.

"Jonna." He said her name quietly this time and held out his hand. Though his direction was softer it still carried the weight of a demand. "Come here."

Jonna found herself walking toward him. Without knowing she was going to do it, she placed her hand in his. He drew her closer. She had no idea what he was going to do until he touched her throat. She started to twist away, but he caught her and held her fast.

"Don't struggle," he said, his fingers closing around the gold chain at her neck. "You'll break it."

Except for her racing heart, Jonna was still. She looked away from him as his fingertips traced the length of the chain. They slipped under the edge of her robe and came to rest on the ivory pendant. He lifted it away from her skin and the loss of warmth was replaced by the heat of the back of his hand.

"Look at me, Jonna." She raised her face. "I had to be certain."

A small vertical crease appeared between Jonna's eyebrows as she frowned. "I don't understand."

"I think you do."

Jonna's frown deepened before it cleared. Yesterday she had worn the necklace outside her dress. It was an oversight and one she corrected after the sailor who brought her breakfast commented on the ivory. "Mr. Eddies told you about it."

Decker's hands moved lightly to Jonna's upper arms. "He does scrimshaw himself. He admired the piece."

"He hardly saw it," she said.

"He saw enough to make an idle comment about it to me," Decker said. "Enough to make me think it could be the ivory I gave you."