Jo Goodman (7 page)

Jonna sighed and found a measure of patience she hadn't had a moment before. "I'm not agreeing with you," she said carefully. "That doesn't mean I haven't heard what you've said." She watched Grant react visibly to that. His head jerked back as if she had slapped him lightly on the cheek. "I know you believe you've presented your opinion in language so clear I
must
agree with you, but"—now she shrugged to emphasize her point—"I don't."

Grant's first instinct was to tell Jonna that she couldn't possibly have been listening. He held the words back because he knew he would win no favor by insisting on his point again. He waited until he had reined in his anger before he pushed away from the desk. He walked to the window on the other side of her office, where he had a clear view of the harbor. Rain pounded the wharf and churned the waters. In spite of the downpour Grant could make out his own ships from this vantage point. Bad weather hadn't stopped work and he watched one of his sleek clippers being loaded while he considered his position.

Jonna was quiet. Her eyes followed the rather stiff line of Grant's back to the breadth of his shoulders. His jacket stretched tautly across his solid frame as he crossed his arms in front of him. Jonna's gaze dropped from the fringe of sandy brown hair touching his collar to his narrow waist. He dropped his hands to his sides, but his shoulders didn't relax. There was tension in the hard muscles of his back and at the nape of his neck. It was clear he felt strongly about his view. Jonna only wished he would respect hers. She stared at him, wondering what she might say—or do—to convince him. Her eyes dropped to his lean but powerfully built legs, and her mind wandered. When he turned on her suddenly her cheeks were hot with the direction of her thoughts.

"Are you all right?" he asked.

She nodded and reached for the cup of tea that had been ignored this past hour. It was cold now and faintly bitter—just what she needed. Jonna pretended not to notice that Grant was still studying her. There was concern in his expression, but more than that, there was interest. His eyes were so brown they were very nearly black, yet Jonna could tell they had just darkened as he watched her. She could feel herself going warm again, and she took another sip of tea.

Grant smiled slowly, a beautifully telling smile that said he knew something of what was going through her mind. His features were transformed by that smile from merely handsome to arresting. He shook his head slowly, and the lift of his lips became a trifle self-mocking. He ran a hand through his hair. Anger had dissipated to mild exasperation. "There's nothing I can say that will change your mind?" he asked.

"I think you've said it all," she told him, setting her cup aside. "I'm not throwing Captain Thorne out of my home."

"You make it sound as if you'd be tossing him into the streets. He has a place of his own, doesn't he? He could stay aboard
Huntress
for that matter. It's been two weeks, Jonna." Now he added something he had
not
said before. "There's been talk."

Jonna did not take the bait. "I assumed that's why you brought this up again," she said. "I'd find it very odd indeed if people weren't talking, but I have no control over it, and neither do you." She knew that did not set well with Grant, especially when he still harbored some notion that he had control over her. "Tell me, Grant, do people know how it is that Captain Thorne came to be bedfast?"

"They know about his rescue of you," he said.

"But I was in that water, too. And worse for the experience than the captain. Why do they think he hasn't recovered?"

"I couldn't say."

Jonna noticed he hadn't the grace to look at all contrite. That irritated her. "Then you haven't told anyone that you knocked the man senseless."

"He deserved it."

"He was
trying
to help me."

"He was interfering," Grant said.

"You were hurting me."

Grant's dark eyes softened, as did his tone. "And for that I'm profoundly sorry, but I thought you were having a nightmare. I was trying to comfort you. Must I apologize the rest of my life for mistaking the situation?"

"No, of course not," she said immediately.

"Then..." His voice trailed off, but his expression was hopeful.

Jonna frowned. "Then what?" she asked. "Your apology to me changes nothing about Captain Thorne's situation. Until Dr. Hardy releases him from my care, he will remain a guest in my home."

"You're maddening. Do you know that? Absolutely maddening."

"If you want to be mad at someone, try being mad at yourself. You're fortunate that the blow you gave Captain Thorne only set back his recovery instead of killing him. In his condition he was in no way prepared to fight you."

"That's not how I remember it."

Jonna ignored that. She pressed her fingertips to her temples, closed her eyes, and began massaging away the first hint of a headache. "I can't discuss this any longer, Grant. You're not wearing me down. You're wearing me out. There's a difference, you know."

He crossed the room again and this time rounded her desk. Pushing aside the ledger, he sat on the edge. "Jonna," he said quietly, persuasively. "Jonna. You must listen to me. For appearance's sake, if not for reason's, you should put Thorne up somewhere else. I'll take care of the arrangements and pay for them. That should show you I'm willing to make amends for my behavior that morning. Think what you're doing, Jonna, by having him live in your home. You're my fiancée. Surely you can see it isn't right."

Jonna's hands dropped to her lap. She leaned back. The soft leather upholstery cushioned her head. She opened her eyes and stared at him. "Saying it often doesn't make it so, Grant," she said tiredly. "I've never said I would marry you. Don't press that point on top of the other."

He said nothing for a long minute, then reached for her wrists. Taking them in one of his large hands, he easily pulled Jonna to her feet. She came without resistance to stand between his splayed and outstretched legs. For Grant it was something of a surprise and a disappointment. Overpowering her would have made the moment sweeter. He let go of her wrists and placed his palms on either side of her face. She was watching him intently now, the centers of her violet eyes darkening.

He bent his head and kissed her. Long and thoroughly. There was no consideration for her lack of response. In his own time, he set her from him carefully, with more thoughtfulness than he had shown in taking her. "I'll concede victory to you on the matter of Thorne," he said quietly. "But not on the matter of the other. You
will
be my wife."

* * *

It was after eight o'clock when Jonna arrived home. The long day in Remington Shipping's offices had been largely unproductive. Grant Sheridan's departure had in no way meant she could return to business as usual. Not with the imprint of his mouth on hers. Not when he left her feeling uncertain and unsettled.

It was the first time he had kissed her on the mouth. He had taken her hand before and pressed it to his lips. He had unbuttoned her glove and kissed the back of her wrist. He had touched her cheek briefly in greeting when they were in the privacy of her salon or his carriage, but he had never asked for nor taken a more intimate liberty. Until now. She wondered at it, wondered at his timing.

Before this morning all she had wondered about was the kiss. At least the dreaded anticipation of that was behind her.

Jonna slowly removed her damp coat and hat and handed them to Mrs. Davis.

"Is everything all right, Miss Remington?" the housekeeper asked, her brow furrowed.

"What? Oh, yes. Nothing's wrong." Realizing her thoughts were still back at her office, Jonna made an effort to come to the present. "I think I'd like to have dinner in my room," she said. When she saw the housekeeper frown she asked, "Is there some problem with that?"

Mrs. Davis quickly shook her head. "No, not at all..." She glanced down the hall toward the dining room. The crease between her brows deepened.

"Mrs. Davis?"

"It's just that Captain Thorne dressed for dinner this evening," the housekeeper said in a rush. "He's waiting for you in the dining room. It was supposed to be a surprise." Her worried expression remained unchanged. "And now I've given it away."

Jonna was not able to school her reaction. It was still a surprise. "Should he be up?" she asked. "What did the doctor say?"

"Dr. Hardy hasn't been here today. As for Captain Thorne, well, there's really no telling him one way or the other what he should do. He has his mind quite made up on the matter."

Just like someone else she knew. Unbidden, her fingers came up to lightly touch her lips. She wished the kiss had gone on longer, wished she knew if time and familiarity would have made her more responsive. Jonna's hand dropped away slowly, and she became aware that the housekeeper was waiting for some answer from her. "I'll join the captain, then," she said. "He is a guest, after all."

Decker came to his feet as Jonna opened the pocket doors to the dining room. He made a slight bow and crossed over to close the doors behind her. His light step hardly made a sound on the hardwood floor.

"Captain," Jonna said in acknowledgment.

"Miss Remington."

"You're looking well," she said, surveying him from head to toe. She was vaguely aware that her scrutiny, bold as it was, could have been interpreted as improper. It was justified in her own mind because she had some stake in his good health, or the lack of it.

Amusement brightened Decker's blue eyes. "Are you going to make a bid on me?" he asked. "Shall I show you my teeth?"

"Don't be vulgar."

Rather than being offended by her reprimand, his grin merely deepened. He offered her his elbow. "Allow me, Miss Remington."

Jonna's mouth flattened slightly at his air of gallantry, but she laid a hand lightly on his arm and allowed him to escort her to the table. He held out the chair at the head, seated her, then returned to his place at the other end.

The hearty meal of thinly carved roast beef, baby carrots, and buttered potatoes was served by a young black woman under the watchful eye of Mrs. Davis. Jonna noticed the maid's trembling hands as she held out the platter of meat. "You're doing fine," she said gently.

The young maid said nothing, but in her dark eyes there was instant relief as well as gratitude for the encouragement.

Decker watched this exchange with interest. When the maid came around to him and offered the platter he told her, "Mrs. Davis isn't watching you. She's watching me." His voice, though it was lowered in a confidential tone, was perfectly audible to everyone in the room. "She's afraid I'll steal the silver."

The maid's sloe eyes widened, and she swallowed visibly. It was the very thing she had been warned about. "Yes, sir. I count it myself." She jumped back in alarm as Mrs. Davis called her name sharply. The platter bobbled, but Decker helped her keep her grip on it. As soon as he had served himself, the maid hurried out of the room with the housekeeper only a narrow step behind her.

Decker looked down the length of the table at Jonna, fully expecting her to be scolding him with her sharp glance if not her sharp tongue. Instead, she seemed to be concentrating hard, perhaps too hard, on cutting her meat. Was that a glimmer of a smile he saw her fighting back? He thought he spied the shadow of a dimple at the corner of her mouth.

"I sent Mr. Daniels to the harbor today," Decker said conversationally. "I wanted my clothes from
Huntress."

Jonna looked up politely and nodded. She had noticed as soon as she walked in the room that Decker had not borrowed the clothes he was wearing from her father's armoire. The shirt and jacket fit him too well, and the trousers were trim around his waist. These clothes were tailored in London. Jonna recognized the precise workmanship because Grant also had his suits made for him there. She was struck by the odd thought that their clothing may have been cut from the same cloth. She wondered about the men.

"It was good of Mr. Daniels to go," he said.

"I'm sure he thought it was what I would have wanted him to do," Jonna said. It was a subtle message that
her
orders were being followed, not his.

"And wasn't it?"

Jonna didn't answer the question directly, but asked one of her own. "Has Dr. Hardy given you leave to be out of bed?"

"He didn't say I couldn't."

Raising one brow, Jonna gave him a knowing look. "Mrs. Davis said the doctor wasn't here today."

"Then you already knew the answer to your question. I think you were trying to trap me in a lie, Miss Remington."

"What I was trying to do was make certain you're well enough to be down here. I wouldn't think you'd want to prolong your recovery."

Decker considered that. He let his eyes wander about the room, making a point to take in the superbly carved mahogany sideboard, the expensive damask drapes, the crystal vase, and the silver candlesticks clustered at the center of the table. When his eyes finally rested on Jonna's face again he said carelessly, "Why not? I find I quite like it here." He regarded her steadily, his expression going from straight-faced to curious. "Are you going to throw something at me?"

Jonna blinked. She realized she was holding her breath and her hands were clenching and unclenching around the napkin in her lap. Her smile was too sweet to be sincere. "Do you think you deserve it, Captain Thorne?"