Mr. Elijah Decker was many things. Scoundrel. Rakehell. Skilled kisser. Strike that—exceedingly skilled kisser. Handsome rogue. Sinfully charming. Observant. Peculiar. Witty.
Tempting. So very, very tempting.
Sigh. What was it about him that was turning her into a ninny? Mere days ago, she had considered him the enemy. And now? Now, he was decidedly something else. Something she would not contemplate.
“Is something amiss, dearest Jo?” Her friend Callie’s voice interrupted her musings. “You look as if you are about to fall asleep into your tea.”
Jo was sure she was flushing. Again. Ever since a certain man had entered her life, she had been doing a more than reasonable amount of that.
Lady Helena Davenport, who had joined them for tea at Callie’s townhome this afternoon, chimed in before Jo could answer. “Please tell us it is something exciting that has you nodding off at your cup and not that we are boring you dreadfully.”
Golden-haired and statuesque, Lady Helena was a welcome addition to their coterie of friends. She was outspoken and had an excellent sense of humor.
“Of course you are not boring me dreadfully,” Jo denied. “I have spent a few nights staying up late reading. That is all.”
“What book is it?” Callie asked. “I have been looking for something to keep me occupied while Sinclair is busy arranging improvements upon Helston Hall.”
Drat. Perhaps she ought to have crafted a better excuse. Jo had not read a book in ages.
“It is the most entertaining book,” she hedged, her voice sounding weak, even to her own ears. “Filled with inappropriate humor and…desserts.”
That was a rather pathetic attempt, Josephine.
Moreover, it sounded as if she had just described her evening with Decker, sans kisses of course.
“What is the title?” Lady Helena asked. “I am in desperate need of an escape from the tragedy otherwise known as my life.”
Unfortunately for Lady Helena, her father was pressuring her to marry one of his political cronies, the odious Lord Hamish White. Lord Hamish was an unforgiving, cold stickler for propriety who promised to make a lively young woman like Lady Helena utterly miserable. A marriage between them would end in one of two ways: she would make him mad with her refusal to bend to his dictates, or he would crush her spirits.
Jo cleared her throat, searching her mind for the title of the last book she had read. When nothing came to mind, she decided to do what she must—invent one. “The Devil of London, I believe it is called.”
There. One could only hope Callie and Lady Helena would forget all about the book’s title before going off in search of it. Moreover, it was a fitting way to describe the man who was haunting her thoughts and keeping her up so late at night. Not just with their illicit jaunts. After she returned home, she would lay awake in her lonely bed for hours, staring at the ceiling, thinking of him, and tossing and turning and burning alive.
“Sounds thrilling,” Callie said, taking a sip of tea. “I shall borrow your copy when you are finished reading it.”
“And I will borrow it from you afterward,” Lady Helena decided.
Wonderful. Now her friends were expecting to borrow a book that did not exist. She ought to have known better than to offer a prevarication instead of the truth.
“Er, it is a very long book,” she said. “Long and exceedingly complicated. I have many, many pages awaiting me. Indeed, I will probably be reading it for several more weeks, at least.”
Lady Helena frowned. “Complicated? I thought you said it was entertaining and filled with inappropriate humor.”
“And desserts,” Callie added, grinning. “I have been ravenous for desserts recently. All I want is sugar and kedgeree, all day long. It is the strangest thing, I vow. Poor Sinclair has been suffering through breakfasts and dinners of kedgeree each night for the last week alone on my behalf.”
Callie was expecting her first child with her husband, and though her delicate condition was cleverly hidden beneath the fabric of her handsome gown, she would soon begin to show. Although she had been ill at the onset of her pregnancy, recently, she had been spending her days looking like a glowing goddess.
“That is because Lord Sinclair is a wonderful husband,” Lady Helena said with a wistful smile. “I am happy for you, that you have been fortunate to marry a man who adores and worships you. When I think of spending the rest of my life tied to Lord Hamish, I want to retch.”
Thank heavens they seemed to have fled the topic of the nonexistent book which was decidedly not the reason for her recent lack of sleep. While Lady Helena was a newer acquaintance, Callie knew Jo far too well, and Jo was more than aware her story would collapse like a house of sticks with too much prodding from her friend.
She was not ready to reveal the nature of her agreement with Decker to Callie yet. Not to anyone. Keeping it a secret between herself and Decker made it seem somehow more intimate and potent, all at once. Besides, she was certain Callie would deliver a stern sermon on all the reasons why Jo should not trust Decker. Jo had already told herself as much too many times to count. The man’s charm had blasted right through any impediment, including Jo’s good sense.
“Surely your father will see to reason and not force you into marrying Lord Hamish,” Callie was saying to Lady Helena now, frowning mightily. “Can he not see you would be miserable with the man? You deserve to find a husband who will appreciate your wit, a husband who will not dull your shine but will seek to enhance it. Lord Hamish deserves a bride who is as salty, crusty, and sleep-inducing as he is.”
“That is rather harsh of you, Callie,” Jo interjected dryly. “I think Lord Hamish deserves to marry one of his own kind. An eel.”
Lady Helena laughed wryly. “I do wish Papa shared your opinion of the man. But I am afraid my father is more concerned with his political connections and the state of his coffers than he has ever been about his daughter. I am nothing but an impediment to him, unless I can prove myself useful. As he has told me on numerous occasions, a daughter’s worth is in the credit she does her father.”
“Forgive me for being blunt, but your father ought to be tossed out a window,” Callie said. “You are not a cow to be sold at the market. You are your own person, and your worth is immeasurable.”
“There must be some way to ruin your father’s plans,” Jo suggested, grateful to have something to think about other than Decker for the time being.
“I have begged and pleaded, and so have my brother and mother.” Lady Helena rolled her lips inward, as if suppressing her emotions.
“You need to ruin your reputation,” Callie said. “Lord Hamish detests impropriety. His reputation is spotless. If you cause as many scandals as possible, he will no longer want you as his wife.”
“That is the perfect plan,” Jo agreed. “You need someone who is wicked. A rogue of the worst order who will agree to be caught in a compromising position with you.”
“That could work,” Lady Helena said slowly, seemingly turning the notion over in her mind. “It is something I have considered, but I have never had the daring to try it. Nor had I an inkling of who I ought to enlist for the task. My social circle is frightfully small.”
“I have just the man in mind.” Callie grinned, her voice triumphant. “Mr. Elijah Decker, Lord Sinclair’s good friend.”
“No!” Jo blurted with more vehemence than necessary.
Two pairs of eyes shot to her.
Drat. You are not acting suspiciously at all, Josephine.
“Why not?” Callie continued. “He is the perfect gentleman for such a job. He would not think twice about ruining a lady at her request if it is for the noble good. His reputation is already quite dark and I—”
“No,” Jo repeated, interrupting though she knew she should hold her tongue. But the thought of beautiful, golden-haired Lady Helena and Decker together was enough to split her in two. “That would never do. Mr. Decker is…his reputation is too outré, certainly. He is too m
uch of a rogue. Lady Helena needs someone else.”
Someone who was not Decker.
Both Callie and Lady Helena were eying her strangely.
“You only need to ruin your reputation enough so that Lord Hamish will not want to marry you,” she added for good measure. “You do not want to damage yourself for any future prospects. What if you wish to marry someone else someday, have children of your own?”
“Improper behavior with Mr. Decker would not necessarily ruin Lady Helena for all others,” Callie countered. “Besides, what if she and Mr. Decker like each other? What if they fall in love and wish to marry? I do adore matchmaking. You know, I hold myself responsible for my brother marrying his wife. If I had not thrown them together as often as possible, they would have both been too stubborn to see they belonged together.”
What if Decker and Lady Helena fell in love?
Now it was Jo who wanted to retch at a notion.
“That would be horrible, Callie,” she snapped. “Why should Lady Helena wish to marry a man who keeps erotic pictures on the walls of his library?”
“What manner of erotic pictures?” Lady Helena asked, sounding intrigued.
“Yes, what manner of erotic pictures?” Callie probed. “And how would you know what is hanging in his library?”
Blast. Collect yourself, Josephine. First, you invented a book, then you interrupted your dearest friend, and now you are treading dangerously near to revealing you were in Decker’s library, of all things.
She cleared her throat. “That was the rumor I heard, I believe. And also in his club, the Black Souls.”
“I wonder what is depicted in them,” Lady Helena said, then flushed prettily. “Oh dear, I do hope the two of you will not think me shockingly forward and vulgar. My poor mother would be horrified.”
Callie laughed. “If you have not noticed by now, my dear, we are hardly cut from the same cloth as the paragons of society. And truthfully, I wonder what is depicted in them as well. I do not recall ever having been inside Mr. Decker’s library as yet, and of course, I have never gone to the Black Souls. Perhaps I will have Sinclair take me one of these days…”
But Jo did not miss the speculative look her friend sent in her direction. And nor did she fool herself that she was not flushing. She was dreadful at keeping secrets, and Callie knew it.
Jo busied herself with taking a sip from her tea, which was growing cool, studiously avoiding her friend’s gaze lest she read too much in Jo’s eyes. Namely, the scorching kisses she had shared with Decker the night before, in his carriage and at his club. She had gone home and immediately crossed item number one off her list.
“I have an excellent idea!” Callie exclaimed, grinning like the cat who had gotten into the proverbial cream. “Sinclair and I shall host a dinner party. I will see that Mr. Decker is included. That way, you can see if the two of you suit. And if you do, my brother and his duchess are hosting a country house party in a few weeks’ time. I will make certain you are all included in the guest list.”
Jo liked the idea of more opportunities to see Decker. Perhaps the potential to find him alone and cross off more items on her list. However, the aim of throwing him together with Lady Helena aggrieved her mightily. How to suggest as much without garnering further suspicions from her friend, however?
“Do you have anyone else in mind?” Jo asked Lady Helena. “Another man who might aid you in your quest to make yourself decidedly de trop to the officious Lord Hamish?”
Lady Helena’s gaze lowered to her teacup, her lashes sweeping over her eyes. “There is one, but I fear he would not enlist himself in helping me to accomplish such a feat. He is close friends with my brother and I have known him since I was a girl. The Earl of Huntingdon, but he is nearly betrothed to another.”
Jo’s hopes flagged. Huntingdon was notoriously proper and cold. He seemed a lost cause.
“I shall invite him as well,” Callie decided. “The worst he can do is refuse. I do, however, believe him to be friends with Westmorland. Surely we can use the connection in our favor.”
“Thank you for wanting to aid me,” Lady Helena said with a tremulous smile. “I am not certain anything can save me from the wretched future awaiting me.”
Jo knew a stinging rush of shame. She was being selfish. After all, she was not being forced into an unwanted marriage. Her brother Julian would never do such a thing, as much as he blustered and threatened. He was merely overly protective of his sisters.
And it was not as if Decker was hers, was it?
No matter how much something deep inside her suddenly wished he were.
Decker detested dinner parties.
He found them appallingly boring and a tedious waste of otherwise useful time.
Unless he was the one hosting, that was. But he had made an art of offering his guests an experience unlike any they would have elsewhere. There had been the time his chef had shaped all the desserts into miniature bubbies. The evening when the famous American actress Eva Silver had dined completely in the nude alongside his guests could not be forgotten. Occasionally, his guests could select their desserts from the body of a naked woman. It made for an excellent table scape. Besides, how many stuffy lords could honestly say they had plucked a berry tartlet from a beautiful woman’s rouged nipple?
But the table before him, carefully decorated with flowers and whatnots and sparkling silver and candles and a bloody floating miniature boat in the center, was decidedly not as interesting. To be fair, the Countess of Sinclair was remarkably adept as a hostess. She possessed a natural charm that made every gathering she helmed smoother than the ordinary dull societal events he had occasionally attended in the past because some lord or other wished to solicit advice or to sell him something.
Even so, there was one reason he had decided to attend his second dinner party hosted by Sin and his countess in as many weeks. For as much as Decker loved Sin like a brother, that love had a limit, and engaging in societal nonsense more than once a month was it.
However, Sin had let it slip that Lady Jo Danvers would be in attendance.
What Decker had not anticipated was that Jo would be seated far enough away from him to render conversing with her nearly impossible without hollering over the bouquets of roses and the flickering candles and the damned soup tureen. In keeping with Lady Sinclair’s standard flouting of convention, the guests were seated in order of precedence, but rather injudiciously—at least, to Decker’s mind—sprinkled about the table. That was why, he told himself, he remained so damned nettled as he watched Jo engaging in conversation with the Earl of Huntingdon, who he could have sworn was either already or nearly betrothed.
At least she had taken a break from speaking to Quenington, who was somehow present as well.
No assignation attempts with Lord Q in your future, my girl, he thought grimly as he forked up a bite of rice and smoked fish. Kedgeree, he realized belatedly, having paid absolutely no attention to most of the courses thus far. For dinner? Another one of Lady Sinclair’s idiosyncrasies, he supposed, as it was ordinarily a breakfast dish.
Anyway, he cared naught for the food gracing his plate. All he cared about was her. As soon as he got away from the damned table, and as soon as he could find his way to the drawing room, or the music room, or wherever the hell he could find a moment to speak with her, Lady Jo was his.
Yes, the lady is mine.
That sounded right. It felt right, to his very core, straight to the marrow of him. Even if she was smiling at Huntingdon in a way that made Decker long to smash his fist into the sanctimonious bastard’s teeth. Decker had been waiting to arrange their next meeting because he had wanted to put some much-needed time and distance between that last, incendiary encounter and their next.
But seeing her again this evening proved to him that he could not wait. His hunger for her had only grown in the hours since they had parted ways after he had escorted her into the shadows of Ravenscroft’s townhome.
“Mr. Decker
?”
The soft voice at his side tore him, at last, from his frenzied musings. Frenzied? Hell—more like jealous, possessive, mad. Yes, those descriptors were far more apt. He was clearly in need of distraction.
He turned to Lady Helena Davenport, who was tall, blonde, and garrulous—quite the opposite of the pocket-sized, dark-haired, quiet Lady Jo. “Forgive me my deplorable manners, my lady. I am doing my utmost to improve them, but I am afraid it may be a hopeless cause.”
Her lips twitched with amusement, her lively emerald eyes dancing. “Surely not hopeless, Mr. Decker? However, I must confess I am rather dismayed you did not hear my discussion of the latest bonnets from Paris.”
The latest bonnets from Paris?
He could not contain his grimace. “Truly?”
She chuckled, the sound low and throaty. If he were not so thoroughly besotted with Jo, he would have been attracted to Lady Helena. She was an incredibly lovely woman. But she was not the woman who had been driving him to distraction for the last few days. Or, if he were brutally honest with himself, ever since he had first met her.
“I was teasing, Mr. Decker,” Lady Helena said. “You do not look like the sort of gentleman who would appreciate discussing the vagaries of millinery.”
He grinned back at her. There was something delightful about her, and he wished he could find distraction in her charms for the rest of the dinner, but he did not fool himself. “Quite discerning of you, Lady Helena.”
“Tell me more about yourself, if you please, Mr. Decker,” Lady Helena invited. “I find myself curious about your businesses.”
What an odd bird. Ladies did not ordinarily trouble themselves to worry about something so common as business.
“I own a club, of course,” he began mildly. Everyone knew he owned the Black Souls, after all. “I also own a publisher and a shipping venture, along with various factories.”
That was not the extent of his empire, of course. He also owned orphanages, tenements, and two hospitals, including one dedicated to children which had yet to open its doors. But those were hardly paying propositions. The tenements had required vast improvements to make them livable, and he only charged the residents what they could afford, which was a pittance. The orphanages and hospital brought in no revenue at all.
Lady Wallflower (Notorious Ladies of London Book 2) Page 9