Jo Goodman (44 page)

"I didn't think you noticed."

"It registered," he said. "But it was such a pleasure simply staring at you, I didn't remark on it."

"That's an extravagant compliment."

"It's the truth. You're beautiful, Jonna."

She looked away immediately, uncomfortable. "I told Rachael she'd managed to make a silk purse this evening."

"And by implication named yourself a sow's ear." Decker shook his head. "You have a remarkably twisted perception of yourself. What is it you see when you look in the mirror?"

"Decker," she said warningly. "Let's change the subject, shall we?" She didn't give him an opportunity to have a say one way or the other. "I spoke to Rachael about what happened this morning. I think she was afraid you were angry with her. I assured her that wasn't the case. She knows she has our protection as long as she's in this house."

"And how long will that be?" Decker asked. He wondered how Jonna intended to conduct her underground station with either him or Jeremy Dodd so close at hand. Perhaps that was what her silence had been about. She had to be considering the problem as well. He didn't like complicating her efforts, but he couldn't do otherwise. She had to trust him with what she was doing before he could help her.

"How long?" she repeated. "I don't know. She's welcome to stay here, of course. But you've often remarked on how these girls come and go. She may decide she doesn't like her new duties and apply elsewhere."

"It wouldn't be easy for her, not when she doesn't speak."

"No, you're right. She wouldn't find it easy. Perhaps I should ask Mrs. Davis to give it some thought. Rachael may appreciate knowing she has some choices."

Decker's eyes were caught again by the jet beading along the neckline of Jonna's gown. He followed the bodice as it cut across her bare shoulders. She was wearing the ivory piece he'd given her. It wasn't the right accent for the gown. He didn't mention it because he knew she didn't care and because he rather liked the idea that she wore his gift around her throat.

"You're staring again," Jonna said.

A smile played around his lips. "Am I?"

"You know you are." She stood and crossed in front of him to the fireplace. Sweeping her dress back, she poked at the fire to make it give up a little more heat. It wasn't until she was returning to her chair that Decker's hand snaked out and captured her. He brought her down firmly on his lap.

"You needn't look so pleased with yourself," she told him, looping her arms around his neck. "I was hoping you'd do this."

"And I was hoping you'd let me." Her gown shimmered as it settled around him. Decker bent his head and lightly kissed the curve of her neck. She arched her throat and offered herself up to his mouth. The heat of his lips circled her skin like a brand.

The centers of Decker's eyes darkened as he studied her face. Her lips parted on a breathy little sigh. He only had to look at her, she thought, for her to feel his touch. His eyes had dropped to her lips, and she could feel the heat of his mouth. When he looked at her hair it was as if his fingers were sifting through it.

Jonna's kiss whispered across his mouth. His hands slipped along her midriff and up her rib cage. They passed lightly over her breasts. She murmured something against his lips and they went back. She felt her flesh swell in response to the caress, and she leaned into him.

Mrs. Davis had to clear her throat twice to be heard above the roar in their ears. Jonna and Decker looked up simultaneously in the direction of the parted doors, both of them a little dazed. Jonna's instinct was to remove herself from Decker's lap, but he held her. She knew a small measure of relief that his hands were no longer cupping her breasts.

"Mr. Quincy's come calling," Mrs. Davis said. She moved to block Jack's entry, but he had a good view over the top of her head. The housekeeper's lips were pursed disapprovingly.

Jack's voice boomed. "And I've brought someone with me. Go on with you, Dorothea." He grinned wickedly as she blushed at his familiarity. "Step one way or the other. In or out."

"It's all right, Mrs. Davis," Decker said.

The housekeeper raised her eyes heavenward, but she moved to one side.

Jonna's whisper was harsh, and she accomplished it without moving her lips. "You have no idea who he has with him."

"You're right. I don't." He wasn't at all perturbed. "Who's with you, Jack?"

Jack walked into the room. He tipped his hat in a gentlemanly greeting to Jonna, not at all discomfited by finding her on Decker's lap. He jerked his thumb behind him to indicate the shadowy figure still in the hallway. "He just arrived from Charleston on
Remington Siren.
He was inquiring at the harbor after you, Decker, so I brought him here."

Decker's eyes narrowed as he strained to see past Jack. Jonna's attention was also riveted in that direction.

Graham Denison stepped into the room. "Evenin', Decker," he drawled softly. "I wonder if I might have a word with you."

Chapter 13

Graham sat in one of the library's brocade wing chairs, but his body leaned stiffly toward the fire. He gratefully accepted the tumbler of whiskey that Decker thrust in his hand. The first large swallow went down smoothly and warmly. "Winter," he murmured. "Another peculiar Yankee notion."

Decker said nothing. Cold alone did not explain his friend's pale-as-salt complexion or the tense way he held his body. It was almost as if he were protecting himself from the very heat he craved.

Graham took another swallow, a smaller one this time. He glanced at Decker and wasn't at all surprised to find the other man watching him closely. "Tell me about the very lovely lady in the other room," he said. "You were remiss in making introductions. I imagine the oversight was intentional."

"It was, but not because I was afraid she'd succumb to your singular charm. You didn't look as if you could stand much longer."

Graham's small, self-mocking smile became more of a grimace. "You noticed that, did you?" He inched himself back in the chair so that only his long legs were extended toward the fire. His boots, usually polished to a sheen that would reflect the flames, were dull with dust. It had taken a great deal of strength to hide his injury from Jack Quincy, and he wasn't even certain how effective his efforts had been. There seemed no point in making the same effort for Decker. Still, he wasn't ready to reveal the extent of the problem. One of his dark brows lifted archly, and his smooth drawl came forth. "You still haven't told me about the lady," he said. "Would she be Miss Remington?"

"She would be Mrs. Thorne," Decker said.

Graham's flinty, blue-gray eyes sparked appreciatively at the hint of possessiveness in Decker's tone. "Congratulations. Mr. Quincy never breathed a word of your good fortune."

"I doubt he was certain what to make of you," he said. "Frankly, I'm not sure myself." Decker picked up the crystal decanter of whiskey from the serving tray and topped off Graham's glass. He sat in the opposite wing chair and placed the decanter on the floor beside him. Sipping his own drink, he regarded Graham over the rim of his glass. "Should I send someone for a doctor?" Decker expected Graham to deny there was any need, or to put him off. The first indication of how serious the problem was came when Graham simply acquiesced.

Decker rose to his feet immediately and disappeared in the hallway. He was gone less than a minute. "Mr. Quincy had already advised Jonna that a physician might be necessary. She sent for Dr. Hardy. He should be here within the hour. A room is being prepared for you. Do you want to go there now?"

Embarrassed that his weak condition was so obvious, Graham summoned a small amount of color to erase the pallor in his cheeks. It lasted only a moment. "Didn't mean to put you out," he said. "I didn't know about you and Miss Remington."

"Don't concern yourself," Decker said. "And don't waste your energy with apologies. You can't appreciate how little of a problem this is for Jonna. I'd rather hear what you're doing in Boston and who the hell it is they have in a Charleston jail."

Graham knocked back another mouthful of whiskey. It was not the anesthetic he hoped it would be. "You know about Matt Willet, then."

"Just learned of it today. Grant Sheridan took great pleasure in telling me. This was after I offered to arrange for him to meet Falconer. He thought I was trying to make a fool of him."

One of Graham's dark eyebrows lifted. "And weren't you?"

Decker permitted himself a small, sly smile. "A fool's born, not made."

Graham chuckled softly. "No love lost there, I see."

"None."

"Too bad. It doesn't seem right somehow, not with the two of you working for the same cause. Do you know, if I hadn't been able to find you, I was going to look up Sheridan. I wasn't sure where else I might apply for help."

"Boston's a sympathetic city," Decker said. "You could have gone almost anywhere."

"But not without considerable explanation. Sheridan's views are well known. He seemed a better alternative than simply choosing blindly. I thought he might offer some protection or introduce me to some friends who would."

"I think he would have done that for you," Decker said. "But only if you had refrained from using my name as a way of ingratiating yourself. Doing so wouldn't have moved him to help you."

"I take it this has something to do with the fact that Jonna Remington is not Mrs. Sheridan."

Decker nodded. "That's part of it. Sheridan knew my brother Colin. They didn't see eye to eye much, especially where Jonna's future was concerned. After Colin established himself in London and I came here, Sheridan just shifted his animosity." Decker put his glass on the end table beside him. Withdrawing his pocket watch, he glanced at the time. "By my reckoning," he said, "you have forty minutes before the doctor arrives, perhaps even less before Jonna's curiosity gets the better of her and she invites herself in here. I won't turn her out, Graham, and you won't be able to. What you need to say in confidence needs to be said now."

Graham had wedged his upper body between the back and the wing of the chair. His right elbow rested firmly against his ribs, applying steady pressure to the small puncture wound in his side. His jacket, shirt, and vest hid the bandage which was wrapped around his middle. In spite of the layers of clothing, Graham could sense that the bandage was becoming damp. He hoped it was sweat breaking from his fevered body. He was very much afraid it was blood.

"Matthew Willet is one of my Carolina neighbors," Graham said without inflection. "He owns a few thousand acres of prime cotton and tobacco land, and calls his place Spring Hill. I've never known him to free a slave or to ever mention that he was considering it. That would be true of Willet's father and grandfather, too. His family helped settle the colony, and they've used slaves ever since indentured servitude went out of fashion. That's a fairly long acquaintance with the institution. I don't think there's a more unlikely candidate to take Falconer's identity than Matt Willet."

"And yet he's the one in jail."

Graham waved his hand holding the drink dismissively. "Not for long. He'll be cleared."

"If he's not lynched first."

"Willet's not some dirt farmer or shop owner trying to do right by his conscience. A man like that would be strung up in no time. Willet's daddy and granddaddy will see that he has protection. He won't be incarcerated long." Graham's reserved smile was wry. "After all, he's innocent."

That was true enough, Decker thought. But it didn't explain anything. "So why is Willet in jail?"

"He had the misfortune to be in Michele Moreau's establishment the evening it was visited by the authorities. Apparently they had some information that Michele's whorehouse was being used as a station on the Underground. They searched the premises and found the closet in the attic."

"Empty?" Decker asked.

Graham shook his head. "There wasn't enough warning to get them all out. We were fortunate to only have to account for three. The two women were moved downstairs, but the man, a runaway from Georgia, stayed behind. I only know what Michele told me. She accompanied the authorities on their search, protesting her innocence all the time, while I was shown to one of the bedrooms. Apparently they dragged Seth out of the closet and on threat of ending his life right there, forced him to tell them how he had come to be at Michele's."