Jo Goodman Read Free Page A

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