My Reckless Heart (The Thorne Brothers Trilogy, Book 2)

By Jo Goodman

Decker Thorne learned early life-lessons on the streets of London, stealing to earn his way. That devil-to-pay existence does not prepare him for someone like Jonna Remington, a fiercely independent woman who is not impressed with his charm or cunning. As owner of Remington Shipping, what Jonna needs is Decker's deft touch at the helm of her finest clipper.

With the Remington fortune riding on Decker's success, Jonna is vulnerable and beholding, and when her daring plan gives rise to new dangers, it is Decker who puts his life on the line to save hers. On board Huntress, the clipper she owns but where he is master, Decker can keep her safe from everyone but himself. As they make the Atlantic crossing from Boston to London, Jonna must decide how safe she wants to be, or if Decker has stolen the one thing she did not know she had to give...her own reckless heart.

AWARDS:
USA Today bestselling Author

REVIEWS:
"...a fabulous read. Jo Goodman writes with a unique and impressive style" ~Virginia Henley
"Jo Goodman hooks you and keeps you glued to the pages." ~Kat Martin
"...a treasure. The characters are guaranteed to steal your heart." ~Lisa Jackson

THE THORNE BROTHERS TRILOGY, in series order:
My Steadfast Heart
My Reckless Heart
With All My Heart

• Language: English
• Publisher: ePublishing Works
• Release date: Oct 1, 2012
• ISBN: 9781614173236

Jo Goodman

Jo Goodman is a licensed professional counselor working with children and families in West Virginia’s Northern Panhandle. Always a fan of the happily ever after, Jo turned to writing romances early in her career as a child care worker when she realized the only life script she could control was the one she wrote herself. She is inspired by the resiliency and courage of the children she meets and feels privileged to be trusted with their stories, the ones that they alone have the right to tell. Once upon a time, Jo believed she was going to be a marine biologist. She knows she is lucky that seasickness made her change course. She lives with her family in Colliers, West Virginia. Please visit her website at www.jogoodman.com

Book preview

My Reckless Heart

The Thorne Brothers Trilogy

Book Two

by

Jo Goodman

USA Today Bestselling Author

MY RECKLESS HEART

Reviews & Accolades

...a fabulous read. Jo Goodman writes with a unique and impressive style

~Virginia Henley

Jo Goodman hooks you and keeps you glued to the pages.

~Kat Martin

...a treasure. The characters are guaranteed to steal your heart.

~Lisa Jackson

Published by ePublishing Works!

www.epublishingworks.com

ISBN: 978-1-61417323-6

By payment of required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this eBook. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented without the express written permission of copyright owner.

Please Note

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

The reverse engineering, uploading, and/or distributing of this eBook via the internet or via any other means without the permission of the copyright owner is illegal and punishable by law. Please purchase only authorized electronic editions, and do not participate in or encourage electronic piracy of copyrighted materials. Your support of the author's rights is appreciated.

Copyright © 1998, 2015 by Joanne Dobrzanski. All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions.

Cover by Kim Killion www.thekilliongroupinc.com

~

eBook design by eBook Prep www.ebookprep.com

For Donna Doo-dah...

This is small thanks.

Prologue

London, October 1820

It started with a handkerchief. Edged with lace, monogrammed with the letter R and hinting of the scent of musk and roses, Decker would never have difficulty calling it to mind. It was the first thing he learned to steal.

Here, boy. Keep your wits about you and take it out of my pocket. The trick, of course, was to do so without being detected. A difficult maneuver at best, what with two pairs of very interested eyes following his every move. An impossible maneuver, perhaps, given the fact Decker Thorne was only four.

"He's nervous, cher." This observation was offered in a lightly accented, melodious voice. The owner of the voice was a woman whose kind and concerned expression softened her sky blue eyes. And the carriage is bouncing. How can he do it?

The badly sprung carriage was indeed bouncing. Decker toppled forward as the driver veered around a milk wagon. He was caught between the man and woman and set back in his place only to have a collision with a rut almost unseat him again. His small, sturdy legs churned to keep him from being ejected from the padded leather seat to the floor. The movement twisted him around, and he caught a last glimpse of Cunnington's Workhouse for Foundlings and Orphans just before the carriage turned the corner.

Decker couldn't read the name of London's venerable children's institution on the iron gate, but he understood it was the place he had been living these past four months, ever since the death of his parents. He righted himself in his seat and regarded the couple across from him with the deliberately frank and curious look that was peculiar to four-year-olds.

Shall you be my parents now? he asked forthrightly.

The question startled them. The woman blinked, and the man cleared his throat. For the time being, the handkerchief was forgotten. They exchanged uncertain glances. It was rather more than they had expected when they had approached Mr. Cunnington about taking one of his wards from the workhouse. Posing as missionaries, they had quite purposefully deceived the headmaster. Not, as they realized now, that their occupation would have made a whit of difference to the man. He had been cooperative, perhaps eager, to find a boy that would suit their needs as they described them. Cunnington would have been an even happier man if they had agreed to take Decker's older brother as well.

It wasn't possible. They had concurred privately before going to the workhouse that one child, properly trained, could be an asset. A second mouth to support posed a liability. What they had not considered was that rescuing a child from Cunnington's Workhouse—and surely a rescue was what it was—gave them certain responsibilities, if not in their own minds, then at least in the mind of this child.

He was still regarding them with that maddeningly candid and expectant expression. His gaze didn't waver, but seemed to encompass them both. His small mouth was slightly pursed, and the effect would have been cherubic if it had not been for those very wise blue eyes.

The woman spoke first. Not parents exactly, she said. But family.

Yes, said the man. Most assuredly family.

Decker considered that. The distinction they made was not entirely understood, but neither was it missed. He nodded, filing this information away. That's all right, then, he said solemnly.

That air of gravity in one so young was the woman's undoing. Tears made her clear eyes luminous. She tried to blink them back.

Seeing the tears, the man reached for his handkerchief. The lace-edged corner was no longer peeking out from his pocket. He thrust his hand inside to dig deeper and was genuinely puzzled when it came away empty.

It was then the couple witnessed Decker Thorne's incorrigible grin and heard his bubbling laughter. Resistance wasn't possible. Jimmy Grooms and Marie Thibodeaux, for all that they were hardened to life's inequities, were not proof against the purity of a child's joy. Decker Thorne hooked their hearts as easily as he had snared Jimmy's handkerchief. That article of linen and lace now dangled from his chubby fingers as he offered it up to Marie.

He's a charmer, Marie said as she took the handkerchief.

Jimmy was thinking much the same thing. Their choice had been a good one. He patted Marie's knee as she sniffed elegantly and dabbed at her eyes. That was quite something, boy, he said. From Jimmy Grooms, who had been practicing light-fingered feats since he was eight, it was high praise. When did you— He broke off as the carriage slowed suddenly and Decker was catapulted out of his seat. Jimmy caught him easily and set him on his lap. So that's the way of it, is it? he said approvingly. When you were tossed from your seat before. Good boy. Diversion is everything in the trade. And you are a diverting sort of fellow, aren't you? Jimmy chuckled at his own play on words. Ain't he a diverting sort, Marie?

Marie tucked the handkerchief into her cuff, then held out her hands to Decker. He went into her arms willingly, and she cuddled him close. He's beautiful, she said against the crown of his head. Her breath fluttered strands of his dark hair, and the silky threads tickled her lips. Beautiful. That's what he is.

Marie Thibodeaux had never given any thought to her maternal nature or, until this moment, the lack of it. The urge to protect and nurture was strong in her now, almost overwhelming. As the oldest of five children she had mostly raised her siblings, yet she had never experienced this tug on her emotions. She'd cared for her brothers and sisters while her mother and father managed their tavern, and when she'd become more valuable on the Paris back streets than she was as a surrogate parent, she'd been sold as matter-of-factly as a skin of wine, and perhaps with less regret.

It was Jimmy Grooms who eventually rescued her from that life. While he was in Calais to ply his trade during a summer festival, she caught his eye. He stole a pair of ivory combs and used them as barter with her pimp. They left France that very evening in typical Jimmy Grooms style, stealing aboard a merchant ship scheduled to make a channel crossing. Marie had not known where she was going with the young Englishman, but she knew where she had been. Throwing her lot in with Jimmy Grooms was not a difficult decision. In the eleven years they had been together, he had never made a misstep or caused her to regret her decision. Marie's trust in him was absolute.

And now he had given her this child. If Jimmy had any sense he'd make another proposal of marriage. This time Marie Thibodeaux was of a mind to accept.

What shall I call you? Decker asked, raising his head from against Marie's breast. He saw them exchange glances again. Clearly they had not given this much thought.

Jimmy Grooms rubbed the underside of his chin, his mouth screwed comically to one side. Well, there's a poser, he said. Uncle Jimmy sets nicely now that I say it out loud. What do you think, dear? Uncle Jimmy... Aunt Marie? We did say the boy was family.

Uncle Jimmy, she repeated softly. Yes, that's fine. There was a small hesitation, then she added in a rush, But I want him to call me Mere.

Jimmy's brows lifted. He stopped rubbing his chin and studied her face. Marie was a handsome woman, not an especially pretty one, but she had a calming smile and a quiet way about her that transcended the notion of physical beauty. Mere, he said in his deep, rich baritone. Mother. I suppose the boy and others would think it was short for Marie. Who would know it means mother?

"I would know."

He saw that it was important to her, and it was not in his nature to deny Marie. Then Mere it is. Jimmy tapped Decker lightly on the tip of his nose. Do you hear that, boy? It's to be Uncle Jimmy and Mere from now on.

The moment was not as auspicious to Decker as it was to the two adults. He nodded absently, his thoughts having taken flight in another direction. Are we going to the ship? He pushed slightly at Marie, restless now. She let him go, and with remarkable self-sufficiency, Decker climbed back onto the opposite seat and knelt at the open window. Where is the ship?

Jimmy looked to Marie for an explanation. What's he saying, dear?

He's asking about the ship, she explained patiently.

I got the gist of that. But what ship?

"It's clear his memory is better than yours, cher. Do you not recall you told Mr. Cunnington we were prepared to make a voyage? We went to great pains to convince the headmaster that we would be long gone from London on the Lord's work."

"Oh that. Jimmy chuckled. You might as well know it now, boy, we were lying. It's a sad fact, but there you have it. Lying through our teeth."

That got Decker's attention. My mother says I shouldn't lie. I think Papa said it, too. I'm not sure. His brows furrowed in adult like consternation as he tried to recall an admonishment from his father on the subject of lying. Yes, when I said Grey sat on Papa's hat and crushed it. That wasn't right.

Is that so? Jimmy remarked.

Yes, sir. I should have said it was Colin.

Marie raised a hand to hide her smile. When she could ask the question with the import it deserved, she said, And why should you have done that?

Decker looked at her as if she had cotton wool between her ears; the answer was so patently obvious to him. Because Grey's a baby and Colin's big.

I see, Marie said. She looked sideways at Jimmy. "Apparently he has it in his mind that lying isn't wrong, but to do it badly is."

A remarkably bright boy. I was much older when I learned the truth about lying. He chuckled deeply, amused. The truth about lying. That's got a ring to it, damn me if it don't.

"Don't be vulgar, cher. Marie ignored Jimmy's surprised look and leaned forward in her seat. When she was at eye level with Decker she said, We're not going aboard a ship. Perhaps one day we will. Uncle Jimmy thinks he'd like to see America. She gave her partner another sidelong glance. That is if Van Diemen's Land doesn't get him first."

Now see here, Jimmy interjected quickly, there's to be no talking about Van Diemen's. Are you of a mind to scare the boy? But when he looked at Decker he saw Marie's reference to the Australian penal colony was not understood. The child was simply raptly attentive to Marie's sweet voice.

Is Grey your brother? asked Marie.

Decker nodded.

And Colin?

Decker nodded again. He glanced out the window as if he might glimpse his brother among the passersby. His mouth puckered; then the corners turned down when he didn't spy the familiar face in the crowd.

Marie sat back. I don't think he realizes he won't see his brothers again, she whispered. I wish... She let her thought go unfinished. It had been cruel of the headmaster to march out Decker and his older brother for a look-over. Jimmy had been quite clear they could only take one child. Apparently Mr. Cunnington was eager to be rid of the older boy. Marie could understand why. Colin had looked sickly, even consumptive. She doubted the child, who couldn't have been more than eight or nine, would live out the year. No, it would have been impossible for her and Jimmy to have taken him, too. Still, for a moment back at the workhouse she had been powerfully tempted. What about the baby? she asked softly. Did Mr. Cunnington tell you anything about the other child?

Only that he was first to be taken. Greydon, I think he called him. Jimmy saw Decker's head swivel in their direction as he recognized the name. When Jimmy remained silent for a few moments Decker's attention went back to the window. I must have remembered it right, he said. A couple from America took him. Apparently they had it in their minds to pass him off as their own. That's why they refused this little fellow and his half-starved brother.

Half-starved? Marie's insides knotted, and her eyes grew troubled. She looked over Decker from head to toe. Here was a sturdy little boy with strong legs and arms and a bit of baby fat on his belly. This child hadn't lacked for food. Why had the other? I thought Colin was consumptive.

Jimmy Grooms shook his head. He was hungry, he said quietly. "I know that look. I've felt that look. So hungry he was ready to eat his own insides."

"Mon Dieu, Marie said. I didn't know."

Jimmy was suddenly sorry he had told her. It would deepen her regret at not taking the boy. Of course you didn't. Starvation like that is as bad as consumption. Just as deadly. He put an arm around her. Listen to me, Marie. We did the best thing by the boy, taking this one away.

Marie's look was uncertain. What do you mean?

How do you think this child stayed so round and rosy? Did you see any others in that damnable workhouse that looked as healthy? I can't be wide of the mark when I tell you that his brother was giving up his own food for this one. Now that we have him, the brother can go about the business of eating for himself.

Decker stared out the window. With a wisdom that owed nothing to his age and everything to his upbringing, he remained quiet. More than that, he pretended not to have heard. He pressed one hand to the pocket in his black coat. Through the wool he could feel the outline of Colin's last-minute gift. Decker didn't even know what it was. He had been too excited and frightened to look at it when Colin thrust it into his pocket. If he had had to make a guess, he would have said it was food. Colin had always been giving him scraps and spoonfuls from his own plate. Now he could tell that the object was not something to eat.

For the first time ever he was fiercely glad of that.

He blinked rapidly, shielding tears. His chin trembled slightly. He hadn't cried when his parents died or any time since. That Colin hadn't let him had only been part of the reason. Mostly he had been too scared. Fear, it seemed, could give one a stiff upper lip as easily as an older brother's severe but silent glance.

What have you got there, boy? Jimmy Grooms asked.

Decker stopped rubbing his pocket and let his hand fall away quickly. The expression he faced Jimmy with was a composed one, if shaded with guilt. Nothing.

A poor lie if ever there was one, Jimmy told him. His shrug was philosophical. No matter. One has to start somewhere. He held out his hand. Show me what you have in your pocket.

Leave him be, Marie said gently. And you may as well start calling him by his name. He can't be 'boy' forever.

Jimmy conceded one point but not the other. To his way of thinking, life was full of compromises. All right, Decker. Let's see what you have in your pocket. Instead of holding out his hand, Jimmy picked Decker up and tickled him until the child was helpless with laughter. The musical giggles were like a melody above the clatter of carriage wheels and the deeper rumble of voices on the street. The tempo was stamped by the staccato clip of horses' hooves. By the time Decker was set, breathless, back in his seat, Jimmy was smiling widely and Marie's eyes were brimming with happy tears.

Jimmy Grooms held up the object that Decker had been so carefully guarding minutes earlier. Decker made a swipe at it, but Jimmy retracted his hand. Made my own diversion, he said with a touch of pride.

"Really, cher, " Marie scolded lightly, you shouldn't be so full of yourself for besting a boy. It's not becoming.

Jimmy sobered. Right you are.

Mine! Decker declared loudly, surprising both adults. Mine!

Jimmy closed the object in his fist and eyed Decker steadily. Yes, it's yours. In a moment. When Decker pushed backward into one corner of the carriage, his expression mutinously sullen rather than cowed, Jimmy unfolded his fingers to examine his prize.

An earring, Marie exclaimed somewhat breathlessly.

It is indeed, said Jimmy. And what an earring. Here was an exquisite piece of jewelry, a pearl stud with a raindrop of pure gold dangling from it. The letters ER were engraved in script on the drop, and the pearl was set in a gold crown. Jimmy whistled under his breath. Do you realize what this is, Marie? This is our passage to anywhere we want to go.

To Van Diemen's Land more likely, she said quellingly. Where did you get this, Decker?

Decker shrugged.

Marie tried to mask her own anxiety. You mustn't be afraid. I'm certain you haven't done anything wrong, but Uncle Jimmy and I need to know where you got this.

Jimmy Grooms wasn't sure he liked being referred to as Uncle Jimmy by Marie. Before he had a chance to comment on this, Marie was posing the question again to Decker.

Colin gave it to me, he said. The truth was offered reluctantly and because of that he was believed.

Colin? Your brother gave this to you? Marie said just to be certain.

Decker nodded.

Where did he get it?

Decker shrugged.

That's no answer, boy, said Jimmy. Did he steal it?

No. Decker was confident in his answer. He recognized the earring, knew he had seen it before. He was less clear about the circumstances.

Marie's voice was gentler. Do you suppose he found it somewhere? Perhaps at the workhouse?

Decker didn't respond at all this time. He stared straight ahead, his mouth flat as if a secret pressed his lips closed and it could not be released.

After more than a minute of silence, Marie sighed. "Give him back the earring, cher."

What if it belonged to the Cunningtons? Jimmy asked. He knew that had been Marie's first concern when she saw it. It certainly had been his. The last thing they needed was for the headmaster or his wife to set the authorities on their trail.

Marie took the earring from Jimmy and held it out to Decker. It was taken from her quickly and pocketed with speed and deftness. Do you really think the Cunningtons would have an exquisite piece like that in their possession? They'd do what we would do.

Jimmy cocked one cinnamon-colored brow. And that would be?

"Sell it, cher." She held up one finger to silence him when she saw the hope in his eyes. "That's what we would do if the piece were ours. It's not. It belongs to Decker. I'm quite clear on that even if your thinking is a little muddled."

Marie Thibodeaux snuggled next to Jimmy. "If that is his good-luck piece, then he's ours. Good things are going to happen to us, cher. You'll see."

Jimmy had to be satisfied with that. He doubted the boy would ever give up the earring again willingly, and Marie would never forgive Jimmy for taking it with cunning. Decker was on his knees again, looking out the window. As far as Jimmy could tell, he and Marie were out of the child's mind.

Who do you suppose he's looking for? Jimmy asked.

Marie didn't answer immediately. She couldn't say with any certainty. "His brothers, peut-être. His family. Who is to say what he knows about them?"

Cunnington told me there was a search for more family but that none could be found. I suppose he thought there might be money in it for him if he could have located a relative to take the children. The earring in Decker's possession seemed to bear that out, but Jimmy was just as certain that the headmaster hadn't seen it. Cunnington would have confiscated it as payment for boarding the children. No matter that the heirloom piece would have paid the room and board of an army of children for a score of years. Cunnington was lacking in more scruples than Jimmy Grooms. Jimmy, at least, had Marie to rein him in when greed got the better of his common sense. Mr. Cunnington had only Mrs. Cunnington. Jimmy's meeting with the headmistress had been brief, but it was long enough to learn there was no conscience in that quarter.

What do you think he knows about the night his parents were killed? Jimmy asked under his breath. He was there, Cunnington said. All the children were.

Marie shook her head. Don't talk about it. It would be God's blessing if it were all forgotten.

Decker chose that moment to slump sideways in the corner of the carriage seat. His eyelids fluttered once then closed. The long thick lashes lay darkly against his cheeks. His sweet mouth was slightly parted and a bubble of dew swelled on his bottom lip as he expelled an exhausted breath.

God's blessing, Marie said again, giving thanks that sleep had at last caught up with the child.

* * *

But he hadn't forgotten. For Decker the difference was more subtle. He chose not to remember.

Chapter 1

Boston, November 1844

Her life had become a cliché.

Jonna Remington was standing on the fog-shrouded docks of Boston Harbor waiting for her ship to come in. It hardly mattered that she was waiting for the ship in a very real way. When she heard the words roll through her own mind, when the truth of her position on the wharf became known to her, she could find no humor in either.

She was only twenty-four years old, and suddenly she was very weary.

An icy burst of wind shot over the water. White caps hurled the chilled air onto the dock, and Jonna had to grip her cape to keep it about her shoulders. She hugged the dark gray wool closer to her body, but the hem still beat a tattoo against her legs. Her skirt and underskirt and all four of her petticoats were pressed flatly to her slender frame until the wind subsided. At one point the wide brim of her bonnet lifted and curled back. It remained on her head only because of the large, tightly drawn bow under her chin, and for one humiliating moment, Jonna thought she would be choked by it.

Hanged by her own hat. It only got worse.

In anticipation of another blast of arctic wind, Jonna removed one hand from her cape and placed it firmly on her head. She was painfully aware of the sight she presented, but she was also aware that no one would comment—at least not so they could be overheard. She was, after all, Jonna Remington. And she was waiting for her ship to come in.

* * *

Decker Thorne, master of Remington Huntress, the new flagship of the Remington trading empire, called out orders to his second in command. His voice was calm and clear, as if he had been issuing such orders all of his twenty-eight years rather than only in the last twenty-eight days. He didn't show it by so much as a raised brow, but he was still a little surprised when the words coming from him were translated into action by all the men under him.

Standing at Decker's side, Jack Quincy nodded approvingly. You've got the way of it, he said quietly. Damn if you don't. He shifted his weight to loosen one of the crutches under his arms and pound it sharply on the deck to punctuate his point.

Careful, Jack. You'll slip and break your other leg.

Jack shrugged awkwardly. These sticks aren't what's keeping me up, boyo. It's the wind at my back and saltwater spray in my face that does the trick.

There was a surfeit of both this morning. And fog as thick as any Decker had experienced. Of course Jack said it could be worse, and Decker took him at his word. His own three years on the world's oceans were of little account against Jack's two score. Decker relayed another order to his second. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Jack nod with satisfaction.

Decker grinned. There's no danger that I'll run her aground, he said.

That had never been in Jack's mind. Jack Quincy's approval was for the way Decker had taken to this command. It had been thrust on him soon after they left Charleston for London on the second leg of their voyage. When Jack's ignominious fall down the gangway stairs injured his leg and made him bedfast, it was Decker he gave command of the ship.

And Remington Huntress was not just any ship. She was designed to exacting specifications to be the swiftest clipper plying any of the world's trade routes. This voyage was meant to break a record, not a leg. Now it was left to Decker Thorne to prove it could be done.

Setting out to make a record run was a risky proposition at best. Rarely was that the purpose of any voyage. There was money to be made from the effort and certainly there was notoriety for the captain of the clipper and his crew, but it was only a short-term gain for the owner of the line. Steady and reliable transportation was important over the long haul. If the China or Liverpool run was made a few days or even a few hours faster than the last time, it was a feather in someone's cap, but not as critical as delivering the goods to their destination ahead of the competition.

There was the key to market success. It was not that every clipper run had to break a record; it was that each clipper had to outrun others carrying the same cargo. The real money was in being the first to bring the trade goods to port. That was when tradesmen were willing to pay the highest prices and would put up the least haggling.

Huntress had been two hours too late arriving in London from Charleston to capture that record, but the record for the complete voyage back to Boston was still in her grasp. Every man aboard her knew it, most especially the one who was now charged with her command.

Watching Decker as he went through the orders that would bring the clipper about to fill her sails, Jack Quincy was again struck by the rightness of his choice. Decker's easy smile, his loose and relaxed bearing, could be mistaken for carelessness or lack of purpose. Jack had never seen him in quite that light, though he was aware that others had and continued to do so. The fact that Decker knew and never appeared bothered by it was a mark to the good in Jack's log.

Jack's broad face split in a crooked, dryly amused grin as Decker walked away. Had he ever been as trim and agile as this young man? he wondered. Decker Thorne was light on his feet, like a cat, with a rolling stride that was beautifully synchronized with the rhythms of the clipper and the sea. Youth, Jack muttered to himself. He was surprised by the surge of envy he felt. It was best not to dwell on things that couldn't be changed. Jack's age and his growing list of infirmities were two of those things. You lived with them or died from them. There wasn't any in-between.

Jack Quincy knew this was his last voyage. It had been two years since he had taken out a clipper except on a trial run. He had agreed to master Huntress at Jonna's request, even though he had pressed hard for her to accept Decker Thorne as captain. It was one of the few times in his long association with Jonna Remington that she did not embrace his advice. Huntress was too valuable, her mission too important, for her to be given into the command of an untried captain. If Jack wouldn't do it, then she had other masters she could entrust, but she was adamant Remington Huntress would not have Decker Thorne at the helm.

Jack Quincy grimaced as the clipper lurched when the sails were strained by the wind. His weight settled uncomfortably for a moment on the crutches, and they dug in under his arms. He gripped the braces in his large hands and raised himself up. The splints chafed his calf. He had been too long standing topside already, but he wanted to see Decker bring Huntress into Boston Harbor.

More than that, he wanted to see Jonna Remington's face when she realized who was in full command of her clipper. He was thinking that breaking the record was not going to be enough. He was still going to feel the sharp edge of her tongue. Hell to pay, he said to himself. Damn if there won't be hell to pay.

But it would be worth it just to see her face.

* * *

A crowd had begun to gather on the dock behind Jonna. As word spread that she was on the waterfront, and as the reason for her early morning outing became common knowledge, work in the busy harbor slowed. Wagons moving from ships to warehouses crawled along the dock now as the drivers, taking advantage of their high perches, looked out over the water for a first glimpse of Huntress.

It said something about Jonna Remington's reputation that men found their eyes trying to pierce the thick wall of fog for the curve of the horizon. There was no way the owner of the Remington line could be certain her ship would appear in the next hour or the next day, but the fact that she was waiting told others she expected it to be sooner than later. The timetable, they knew, was one Jonna kept in her head, along with a plethora of other facts and figures, of debits and credits, of manifests and maritime laws. Not a man working the harbor that morning doubted that Jonna Remington had plotted her flagship's course and anticipated the vessel's arrival within the accuracy of a heartbeat. In a business that was fraught with risk, things that could be plotted and planned were never left to chance.

Jonna turned only once to survey the gathering at her back. They were careful to keep their distance, a sign of their respect but also an acknowledgment of Jonna's natural aloofness. She was not unapproachable but neither was she casually available. Her mien was sober and steady, even dispassionate, and her manner was straightforward. She worked hard and she expected others to do the same. She never said as much; it was there by example. Men in her employ who did not understand that were quickly given their leave. Jonna Remington did not suffer fools in any fashion.

Her brief study of the crowd had laid a blanket of silence over it. To a man they felt they were shirking their duty by waiting for Huntress. This guilt didn't move them to go back to their work, but they were aware of their discomfort now where they hadn't been a moment before. A few of them, in a paltry show of defiance, stared back hard at her. If she knew they were doing it, she remained unmoved.

Another biting breeze swept over the dock. Jonna felt her bonnet lift again, and the purple satin bow caught her under the neck. This time she unfastened the ribbon rather than hold the hat to her head. The wind tore at the bonnet as soon as it was loosened, and Jonna barely managed to keep it in hand. She held it in front of her, letting the salt spray sting her unprotected face and whip at her hair.

She had had no patience with having her hair dressed that morning. Instead of fashionable ringlets, she'd told the maid to simply tie it back and tuck it into a bun. The wind made short work of the maid's efforts. The anchoring pins lost their moorings as glossy black tendrils slipped free. Jonna's hair unfurled and was beaten back. In moments it came to define the invisible currents of air that lifted it behind her.

Jonna had an urge to glance over her shoulder. Had anyone noticed, or were the men still watching for the ship? With an uncharacteristic consideration of feminine vanity she wondered which of the two possibilities would be more insulting. She quelled the impulse to look around and clutched her bonnet tighter.

It wasn't that she was unused to being stared at. She was. But it had been her experience that it was for reasons not to be regarded as truly flattering. The first thing that usually struck people was her height. At just three inches under six feet she was taller than all the women of her acquaintance and stood eye to eye with most men. If her height went unremarked—and truly, she thought, why did people think they had the right to make some comment on it, or more to the point, think that she should accept their observations graciously—then something was said about her eyes.

Why, they're purple, my dear. How very unusual. Actually they were violet, but when someone was visibly caught off guard by the odd coloring, purple was the word that came quickly to mind and was voiced. To make it more maddening, her eyes seemed too large for her face and did not remain a constant hue but captured shades of blue and gray depending on the predominant colors of her costume. Until she had removed her bonnet and its purple ribbon, Jonna had been assured her eyes would remain violet. Not that it was a matter of great importance to her. She only had to look out of her eyes, not into them. For that she was grateful.

Jonna raised one arm to shield them now. Behind the fog the sun was burning brightly. The light was diffused throughout the gray mist, the effect almost blinding. She waited for the sun to break through. She was selfish enough to want the sighting of her flagship to be unfettered by the low-lying clouds.

Soon, she thought, let it be soon.

* * *

Huntress rolled through a bank of fog and into a clearing. She rode the crest of each wave smoothly as the wind swelled her sails. Like an albatross with great white wings spread, Huntress seemed to take flight just above the surface of the water, moving forward in defiance of the laws of nature that commanded friction and gravity. Her swift progress brought a rush of pride to the men who labored in her yardarms and on her decks.

Land Ho!

It was the cry they had all been waiting for. Twenty pairs of eyes, all of them unaided by a telescope, strained to see what the one man with a spyglass could. It was two long minutes before they saw the same New England shoreline. The cheer that went up was deafening, and in that moment the swell of voices seemed to add substance to the burgeoning sails.

The spyglass was passed to Decker, but he handed it to Jack before he looked himself. He ran a hand through his dark, wind-ruffled hair. His mouth was set in a quirky, yet somehow rueful grin. Tell me if you can see her, he told Jack.

Jack Quincy raised the telescope. He knew Decker wasn't talking about the coastline in general. His reference, in spite of its lack of specificity, was to Jonna Remington. The older man gave a bark of laughter as he pressed the 'scope to his eye. Another chuckle rumbled in his barrel chest. You're not afraid of her, are you? he asked.

Down to my toes, Decker admitted easily. His loose and relaxed posture didn't change, and there was nothing about his quietly amused expression to suggest he was telling the truth.

Jack dropped the spyglass a fraction, looked sharply at Decker, then raised it again. Damn liar, he said. Had me going there, just for a moment, mind you. Can't imagine why anyone would be afraid of Jonna. Just the same, I know it's true. She just doesn't warm up to people the way she did when she was a young'un. I never figured out whether she puts them off or t'other way around.

Decker didn't comment. He had his own thoughts on the matter, and he was determined they would remain just that—his own.

She'll be as mad as my great-aunt Lottie, Jack said.

Mad crazy? asked Decker. Or mad angry?

Lottie was both. Jack looked up, interested as Decker groaned softly. Didn't I ever tell you about her?

Decker took the spyglass. No. And I'm not listening to one of your tales now.

Unperturbed, Jack went on. Lottie would raise her fist at the sun if it got too hot to suit her, then strip down to her skin to get the better of it.

Decker raised a single dark brow and spared Jack a sideways glance.

Jack Quincy leaned his large frame on one crutch and crossed himself awkwardly. I swear.

Raising the telescope, Decker said dryly, No chance of that happening here. He had never seen Jonna Remington truly angry. He had seen her frustrated and flustered, aggravated and annoyed, but she invariably had some brake on her emotions that kept her anger in check. When he thought of it, he imagined she was more likely to

Reviews for My Reckless Heart (The Thorne Brothers Trilogy, Book 2)

[janiceliedl · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

It took me time to warm up to the lead characters but I was quite taken by the end.