Full Steam Ahead (21 page)

At least that’s what he told himself as he called to Jake and strode out of the café.

W
hen Darius reached the yard at Oakhaven, he lowered Jacob down from the horse, knowing how anxious the boy was to show off his new blade. “Don’t forget to send Miss Greyson out to meet me in the workshop after the two of you are through,” Darius called as Jake dashed toward the house.

“I will,” came the answer, though Jake never turned.

Darius grinned at the boy’s eagerness, yet very little of the weight pressing into his chest lightened. Exhaling a ragged breath, he dismounted and led his horse into the barn. His mind churned while he rubbed the horse down and put up the tack.

There had to be an answer, an answer that didn’t involve Nicole breaking her vow to her father
or
marrying someone besides him.

Darius leaned against the barn wall and forked his fingers into his hair, clutching an overlong hank in his fist. The roots tugged painfully at his scalp, but he tightened his grip.

You opened the Red Sea
for the Israelites, God. You made
the sun stand still
for Joshua. Surely you can provide a solution for us,
as well. I love her. I don’t want to
lose her. Please, please work this out for our good.

Darius surged to his feet, crossed to the barn opening, and slammed the heel of his hand against the doorframe. He hated feeling helpless, powerless. He wished he could hem Nicole in like one of the variables in his experiments, controlling everything around her to ensure the outcome he wanted. But she had a mind of her own. A stubborn mind. A clever mind. And hemming her in would only alienate her further. The only trump card he held was his connection to King Star Shipping. However, playing it too early could lead to losing the hand. No. Better to hedge his bets and wait to see what Wellborn learned at the docks this afternoon. So much depended on what Whistler might reveal.

No,
he corrected himself, letting his palm trail down the wooden beam until his arm hung loosely at his side.
Everything depends on God. That’s
where my trust belongs.

Yet even as that truth settled over him, he couldn’t completely banish the slithering fear that wound itself around his heart and squeezed with increasing strength.

What if God said no?

By late afternoon, anxiety had worn Darius’s mind down to mush. He hissed out a pain-filled breath as the hammer he’d been using to pound out a dent in a section of boiler plate collided with his thumb. For the third time. He lifted the digit to his mouth, then shook his hand out in an effort to ease the throbbing.

“Are you all right?” Nicole glanced up from the inventory list she was compiling, her brows arched with concern.

So much for hoping she hadn’t noticed.

Nicole stepped toward him as if to offer aid, but Darius quickly waved her off. “I’m fine. Just a bit distracted. So many possibilities running through my head, you know.”

She frowned but thankfully remained on her side of the workshop. “All right, but you might consider setting the hammer aside while working through experimentation ideas next time.”

“Perhaps you’re right.” Darius smiled, and made no effort to correct her misconception. Boilers were the last thing on his mind. He hadn’t given a single thought to his next experiment. How could he when every piece of his brain had been consumed with thoughts of what was happening in Liberty?

He tossed his hammer onto the worktable. Iron plating, rivets, and soldering gear jangled in protest, as loudly as if Mrs. Wellborn had just upturned the box of good silver onto the floor.

“Darius? Are you sure you’re all right?”

Back turned to Nicole, he closed his eyes. Of course he wasn’t all right. The woman he loved was bound and determined to leave him in six days, and he had no feasible plan to stop her. His hands balled into fists.

How had he thought working alongside her would make the waiting more bearable? It was killing him. One minute he wanted to storm across the workshop, confront her with what he knew, and demand answers. The next he wanted to pull her into his arms and make her promise never to leave him. With a grunt, Darius yanked the protective apron he wore over his head and strode for the door.

“I’m going to get some air,” he announced without meeting her eyes. “Continue your work. I’ll be back shortly.”

Closing the door behind him, Darius made for the pond.
If ever he needed a swim, it was today. The enforced quiet under the water. The strain of muscles. The soothing rhythm of the strokes.

He reached the landing and barely paused long enough to pull the boots from his feet and the shirt from his back before launching his body into the water in a shallow dive.

The frigid temperature shocked his system, and for a blessed moment, freed his mind. Scissoring his legs and thrusting his arms, he propelled himself deeper and faster, as if the key to winning Nicole’s hand lay on the opposite side. He didn’t surface when the water began to grow shallow, as he usually did. He let his lungs burn until his hands collided with the muddy bank. Then, finally, he planted his feet and shot up.

Gulping in a deep breath, he turned to continue back to the landing, his muscles aching but ready for more. That’s when he heard a voice. High pitched. Excited. Sharpening his focus, Darius scanned the yard.
There.
Jacob, his legs flying, waved wildly as he ran toward the landing.

“Wellborn’s back!” he shouted. “Wellborn’s back!”

Darius surged off the bank. His arms cranked through the water as his legs powered him forward.

He reached the landing in record time, hoisted himself out, and made a grab for his shirt as he leapt from the dock to the grass. Not taking the time to replace his shoes, Darius rubbed his head and face with the dry cotton of his shirt while he picked his way, barefoot, up the hill that led to the house. He gave his chest a cursory swipe before cramming the wet shirt over his head. His arms got stuck in the sleeves, but he muscled his way into them, ignoring the small seam-popping sounds that accompanied his efforts.

Jacob came alongside, trotting to keep up with Darius’s
long, hurried strides. “Do you think he’s got news from that whistling fella?”

Darius jerked to a halt and spun to face Jacob. “You know about Whistler?”

The boy shrugged. “Only what I heard Wellborn tell you at the restaurant. But don’t worry. I didn’t say nothin’ to Miss Nicole.” He paused, his little throat working up and down as he swallowed. “I don’t want her to leave, neither. She saved my life. I figure I owe her.”

He planted his hands on his hips and gave Darius a man-to-man look. “I don’t want nobody hurtin’ her. She might be good with a knife an’ all, but she’s still a girl. And girls tend to get hurt when they get in the way of angry men.”

A sheen shimmered across the boy’s eyes for a moment, a sheen that proclaimed Jacob’s firsthand experience in the matter. But before Darius could comment, the kid blinked it away and resumed his march to the house.

“Come on, Mr. T.” He gestured for Darius to follow. “Time’s a wastin’.”

No one had to tell him twice. Darius overtook Jacob in three strides, threw him a wink, and set off at a run. Jacob hollered and gave chase, moving ahead when a rough-edged stone hiding in the grass stabbed Darius’s arch. He pulled up like a lame horse, hobbling the last few yards to where Wellborn was climbing down from the wagon seat.

“Well, I suppose we won’t be having our discussion in the study, will we?” Wellborn commented dryly, his brow lifting as he took in Darius’s soggy trousers, muddy feet, and torn shirt. “Flora would have my head if I let you set foot on her carpets in that condition. You’re like a wet dog in need of a good shake. An
outdoor
shake.”

Darius gave his head a quick wag, causing Jacob to sputter
with laughter as he moved to unhitch the horses. As soon as the boy was busy, Darius sobered. “The barn will do.”

“What of Jacob?” Wellborn murmured. “If he’s seeing to the horses, we can’t be assured of privacy.”

“He already knows.” Darius made for the barn door, ignoring the sore spot on his foot.

Wellborn kept pace, glancing over his shoulder at the boy as he went. “He overheard at the café?”

“Apparently. But he’s got sense enough to hold his tongue.” Darius crossed into the barn’s dim interior and immediately headed for a back stall, his eyes adjusting as he went. “Nicole knows nothing.” He dropped his voice. The subject of their conversation remained safely ensconced in his workshop fifty yards away, yet he’d take no chances. Too much depended on the proper timing of his challenge. If she discovered what he was up to before he had his arguments in order, he’d be sunk.

“Jake sees himself as her protector,” Darius continued, sliding into the last stall and bracing his back against the end wall. “He’ll keep quiet and do what he can to aid us.”

Wellborn grimaced at the pile of droppings left behind by the previous occupant and gave it a wide berth, taking care not to brush up against any of the walls as he followed Darius inside.

“So what did you learn? Did you find Whistler?”

The butler cleared some old hay from the floor with a brush of his shoe, as if checking for hidden muck before settling into a spot. Darius bit his tongue to keep from snapping at the man. Who cared if a little manure ended up on his shoe? Darius would plant his bare foot in the stuff if it meant getting to the answers he sought more quickly.

After an agonizing minute that seemed to stretch into eter
nity, Wellborn finally ceased playing with the straw and turned his attention back to Darius.

“When the
Polly Anne
docked, her captain pointed Whistler out to me. After I promised to buy him a bottle of his favorite beverage at the local saloon, he became rather friendly. Chatted with me for over an hour at one of the back tables.”

Tension radiated through Darius. He leaned forward. “And . . . ?”

“And I believe I may have ascertained the source of contention between Jenkins and Renard, though it seems a bit of superstitious nonsense, if you ask me. I can hardly countenance our sensible Miss Nicole crediting such a tale.”

Impatience rumbled in Darius’s throat. “I don’t care if it involves purple monkeys riding orange dolphins. I need to know what I’m up against so I can plot a course around it.”

“Yes. Well. Thankfully, there are no monkeys or dolphins of any variety involved, at least not to my knowledge.”

“Wellborn.” The man’s name vibrated between Darius’s clenched teeth in a clear warning.

“It does involve a pirate, though,” the butler announced. “A fellow by the name of Lafitte.”

Jean Lafitte?
The man was a legend. Pirate. Privateer. Spy. What young boy growing up along the coast hadn’t pretended to be one of Lafitte’s men, living in the pirate colony of Campeche? Darius had taken on the role of Lafitte himself more than once, strutting around with David and the other boys as they each took their turn as the mighty leader. “If I recall correctly,” Darius said thoughtfully, “Jean Lafitte established a pirate colony on Galveston Island.”

“That’s correct. And according to Mr. Whistler, before the Navy forced the pirate to evacuate the island in ’21, he bequeathed a jeweled dagger to one of his trusted men who
opted to remain behind. Legend holds that whoever possesses the dagger will rule the Galveston shipping trade. Both Jenkins and Renard claim the dagger belongs to them, yet the dagger has been in a Renard’s possession for the last two generations. Jenkins believes Renard’s success is due to his retention of the dagger and is determined to gain control of the talisman for himself.”

A frisson of anticipation reverberated along Darius’s nerves as doors previously locked to him began to open. Snippets of memory flashed as his mind assimilated what Wellborn was telling him.

Nicole’s insistence on seeing the goods Jacob had stolen from the house.

Her father’s desperation for an heir.

Her fear that Jenkins’s sons would catch up with her.

Her odd hesitation when she mentioned the gift she was supposed to present to the man she chose to marry.

“God save us, Wellborn,” Darius erupted. “Nicole’s got the blasted pirate dagger with her!”

N
icole forced herself to finish the inventory of arched flues, cylindrical flues, grate bars, steam drums, water gauges, and blow cocks after Darius left, determined she’d not become one of those weepy damsels who moped just because life handed her a disappointment or two. Things could be much worse, after all. Poor Jacob was a perfect example. All alone in the world. No family. Stealing food to survive until Darius took him in. She’d be self-centered indeed to think her momentary troubles could even compare.

Closing the logbook, she meandered toward the small window along the back wall, not really paying attention to the scenery before her. She tapped the side of her pencil against the window ledge. There were bound to be kind gentlemen in New Orleans—gentlemen she could respect, perhaps even come to care for in time. She’d make her choice and live a good life. A life that would make her father proud. And eventually, if God blessed her, she’d have children to spend her love upon, children who would be free to follow their hearts when the time came for them to choose a mate. She’d see to that.

Nicole tried to convince herself she could be content with such a scenario, but her heart rebelled.

Perhaps her father would be satisfied with an heir who excelled at building steamboat machinery. The pencil slipped from her grasp as the idea wormed its way into her mind. Darius might not have business connections or intimate knowledge of the shipping industry, but the man was certainly intelligent enough to learn. He’d gone from some kind of bookkeeper in his father’s company in New York to a mechanical engineer in a matter of months, conducting scientific experiments that she was sure would lead to safer steam engines in the near future. He might not be the most congenial of men, but she could aid him in that area, smooth out his rough edges when necessity demanded they make social appearances. Surely that would satisfy her father, wouldn’t it?

Yet in her mind’s eye she pictured Anton Renard as he’d looked the day she left on this crazy journey. Weak. Pale. Barely able to stand. He needed someone who could step in immediately and run the company, not simply a man with a penchant for learning.

Her father had entrusted her with the Renard family legacy. Hope and pride had radiated from him the morning she’d set out, and oh, how she longed to be the daughter who saved the day. Nicole’s teeth pinched the inside of her cheek. She couldn’t disappoint him, not even for the sake of her own happiness.

Bending down, she retrieved the fallen pencil and, with it, her practicality. Wishing for things one couldn’t have only led to bitterness and melancholy. She’d do better to count her blessings and turn her mind to making the best of her situation. After all, God could bring good out of any hardship.
Hadn’t she said as much to Darius? She’d not prove herself a hypocrite by denying that truth now.

As she turned away from the window, she caught a glimpse of a familiar wagon standing abandoned outside the barn. So Wellborn had finally returned. The man had become a regular visitor to town of late, but this trip had lasted nearly all day.

Had something happened? It had been nearly an hour since Darius left, and he wasn’t exactly the type to let frivolous distractions keep him from his work. A sudden thought cut through her calm. The Jenkins brothers. Wellborn had promised to report to her at once if he spotted any strange men around Oakhaven. But if Darius got to him first . . .

Her stomach lurched. She needed to get back to the house. Check on the dagger. Question Wellborn.

Nicole clutched the logbook to her breast and hurried out of the workshop. Intent on her destination, she failed to notice Darius until he strode out of the barn directly into her path.

“Mr. Thornton!” Somehow she managed to reverse her momentum before ramming into him. “I . . . ah . . . didn’t see you there.” A movement to her left drew her gaze. Dread nestled in her stomach. “And . . . Wellborn. What have the two of you been up to?” She forced a laugh from her throat, trying to emulate a teasing tone, but she doubted the strangled sound fooled anyone.

The butler, who was busy extracting a piece of straw from where it had caught near his cuff as he exited the barn, jerked his head up at her comment. The trace of guilt that flashed in his eyes set fire to her belly.

They’d been discussing her. For certain.

Nicole bristled. They had no right to scheme behind her back. Who knew what inadvertent damage they could have
caused, no matter how well intentioned their investigation? At once, the mystery behind Wellborn’s repeated town visits cleared like a freshly washed windowpane. He’d been asking around about her. On Darius’s order.

Heaven help her. Her anonymity was as good as gone.

“What have you done?” She whispered the accusation, the sound barely audible as she pierced Darius with her stare.

He reached for her, but she stepped away, sure if he touched her she’d fall apart. “Nicole, I . . .” His words died when she shook her head at him.

“You can’t always fix everything, Darius. Sometimes tinkering just breaks a machine further, leaving it beyond repair.”

“But it’s only through tinkering that improvements can be made, that new solutions can be found that would have remained undiscovered otherwise.” Darius closed the distance between them, his eyes imploring. Her heart thudded in her chest, wanting to believe him, wanting to clasp the hope he offered. “I can help you, Nicole,” he said. “Please, let me.”

It would be so easy to shift her responsibilities onto his broad, capable shoulders. To let him take charge for a while. Yet, even if he could protect her from the Jenkins brothers, that didn’t change the fact that she’d still have to search out a husband in New Orleans—a man other than Darius—to fulfill her pledge to her father.

She couldn’t let him risk his life, the lives of his staff, the life of young Jacob, to help her when the ultimate outcome would not change. If anyone suffered on her behalf, it would haunt her the rest of her days, knowing she could have prevented it if only she hadn’t weakened and accepted his offer.

“You’re a good man, Darius Thornton,” she said, lifting her hand to his cheek. His eyes closed a moment as he leaned into her touch. When they opened, they glowed with
an intensity that wrenched her heart. Emotion clogged her throat, but she forced the rest of what had to be said past her lips. “I believe in you. In your work with the boilers. In your scientific mind. You will accomplish great things. I know it in my heart. Never forfeit your passion, Darius.”

It was good-bye, and they both knew it. His slate-blue eyes blazed denial, but she turned from him before he could give it voice. Not caring that she would appear the coward, she grabbed up her skirts and ran to the house.

Darius lunged after the fleeing Nicole, but a firm hand grabbed his arm from behind.

“Let her go, Mr. Thornton,” Wellborn cautioned.

“No.” He’d never let her go. He couldn’t.

“Not forever. Just for now.”

Darius flung an impatient glare over his shoulder. “
Now
may be all I have.” She’d had a look of finality about her as she’d spoken that terrified him. She was leaving Oakhaven. Leaving
him
.

“It’s too late in the day for her to go anywhere,” Wellborn stated in an annoyingly logical tone as he released Darius’s arm. “You have time to convince her. Time to woo her over to your way of thinking. And that will be easier to accomplish once you’ve both calmed and you no longer have an audience looking on.”

Darius pressed his lips together to keep the growl building inside his chest from erupting. Wellborn was right—if Nicole felt backed into a corner, she’d run. Shoot, she was already running. Stubborn, infuriating woman.

If he pursued her now, his attempts at persuasion might become a tad too adamant for her taste. She’d likely accuse
him of bullying her, and his chances of talking sense into her thick head would go right out the window.

“Why do women have to be so complicated, Wellborn?” he grumbled.

The butler shook his head, a hint of a smile lighting his eyes. “I suppose God wanted to ensure we never grew bored, sir.”

Darius exhaled a long breath and concentrated on relaxing his muscles. He’d give her time to compose herself, but he wasn’t so generous as to leave her to her own devices for long. She might not believe the two of them had a chance to find their way out of this crazy maze together, but until she wore another man’s ring on her finger, he planned to do everything in his power to change her mind. Nicole Renard was a woman worth fighting for, even if he had to fight the woman herself.

“Have Mrs. Wellborn set the dining room for two tonight,” he ordered the butler, “and see that we’re not disturbed.”

His man bowed. “As you wish.”

“Oh, and . . . make sure she shows up, will you?” Darius glanced sideways at Wellborn, embarrassed by the request. “I have a feeling she won’t be particularly eager for my company this evening.”

“I’ll set Flora to the task. That woman can talk a cat into a bath before the poor creature even grasps what has happened. She’ll get your young lady to the dining room. Have no fear.”

Darius nodded, a portion of the weight lifting from his shoulders. He scrubbed a hand over his whiskered chin. Perhaps a shave was in order. Hard to properly woo a woman when he looked like a disreputable brigand.

“Do you suppose you’d have time to press a pair of trousers for me, Wellborn?”

The staid fellow’s face split into a grin as wide as the Mississippi. “I’ll see to it at once, sir. A shirt, as well. Your suit coat should be in adequate condition. I brushed it out after services last Sunday. Would you like your shoes polished?”

“Whoa.” Darius held up a hand, a sudden urge to laugh welling up inside him. “Let’s not get carried away, man. We wouldn’t want the woman fainting dead away from shock, now would we? I need her conscious. Hard to have a productive conversation otherwise.”

And that’s what scared him. He was lousy with words on a good day, and today was far from a good day. Not when the woman he loved was almost certainly packing up her trunk this very moment, determined to leave him. If a few social trappings could give aid to his cause, he’d swaddle himself gladly.

The most critical conversation of his life awaited him in the dining room tonight. He needed every possible weapon at his disposal.