A subtle knock on his door interrupted his solitude at last.
Grateful for the diversion, and hoping it was his wife on the other side of the portal, Decker bid the intruder to enter.
The door opened to reveal his butler, Rhees. “Mr. Decker, there is a Lady Tinley calling for you. I have explained the family is in mourning and you are not at home, but she is being quite adamant in her desire to see you.”
Fuck.
One word. A violent, inward curse.
That was all Decker could think. It was as if his mind, already overwhelmed by the loss of his mother and the vast changes that had befallen him in the last few days, abandoned him. His capacity for speech briefly fled.
“Shall I have her discreetly removed, sir?” Rhees pressed. “She claims an old acquaintance, or I would not have disturbed you with such a nuisance.”
An old acquaintance.
Yes, they certainly had that.
But that was all they had.
He stared at Rhees, struggling to form his response. Part of him felt he ought to refuse her outright, to never see Nora again. But another part of him longed for the end of that once-painful chapter in his life. That part of Decker needed to sever the ties between them, finally and eternally. To let her know he was a happily married man, deliriously besotted with his wife. If he sent her away, she would only return. He had no wish for her to continue haunting him.
“You may see her to the salon,” he decided, for it was the only room in his townhome that had been decorated with visitors in mind. The pictures on the wall were pastoral. Unassuming.
Bloody hell, now that he thought upon it, he was going to have to remove his erotic collections from any room Lila may enter. It would hardly do for his innocent sister to wander into the library and observe an engraving of a man with his hand up a lady’s skirts.
Damn.
What was that old phrase, turning over a new leaf? That was what he was doing, in all ways. Becoming a version of himself he had never known existed.
Rhees bowed. “I will see her ladyship placed in the salon, sir.”
When his butler was gone, Decker stood, taking a second to collect himself. Grief still held him in its greedy grasp. He little desired further upset or discord, but he also felt that this unwanted meeting was something he must endure. If not for himself, then for Jo. He needed Nora to know there was no future for them. Not now, not ever.
He rose from his desk and made his way to the salon. Nora was already ensconced within. Her back was to him when he entered, but he still recognized her silhouette, even ten years on. Not much had changed and yet, for him, everything had. Her brilliant red hair was piled on her crown in a simple style, and her gown was outmoded in shape—quite frumpy, no tournure—and clearly of inferior construction.
It was…shabby, hardly the dress one would expect a viscountess to wear. But then, Tinley was not a lord with whom Decker was familiar. He had likely been a country fellow, perhaps lean in the purse. And Nora was a widow now, he reminded himself, which would also explain her modest dress. Her portion must be relatively small.
Was that her reason for seeking him out then, he wondered, after all this time? She was out of her mourning period and in need of coin?
When she did not seem to hear his arrival, he cleared his throat.
She spun about, facing him at last. Her face, too, was the same. Rounder now, and less girlish than she had been ten years before when they had both been eighteen. But still, the same. It struck him now, as he looked upon her, that he had once imagined her the most glorious creature he had ever beheld and yet, her beauty was a pale imitation of Jo’s. From the inside, out.
“Eli,” she said, rushing toward him as if she expected him to take her in his arms.
He held up a staying hand lest she rush too near. “Lady Tinley,” he acknowledged with a mocking bow. “Why have you come?”
She faltered, stopping just short of him, her countenance pinching with confusion. “I have come to see you, of course, Eli. Do you not remember me? I—why, I sent you a letter a bit ago, before I returned to Town.”
“I received your letter,” he told her, “but it was unwelcome. As is your visit now.”
She paled, reaching out for him, her hand falling upon his coat sleeve. “Eli, please. I know you are angry with me, and I cannot blame you. It has been ten years, after all. Ten long, lonely years. Please believe me when I tell you not a day passed when I did not long for you.”
He jerked his arm from her touch. “You are out of bounds, madam, and I must ask you to go. I am a married man, and I cannot think my wife would take kindly to the nature of this visit. Nor do I, for that matter. You have no place here or in my life.”
“I love you,” she said, desperation ringing in her voice. “I loved you ten years ago when I agreed to be your wife, and I have never stopped. I regret listening to my father. I should have gone against his wishes and married you instead of Lord Tinley. Eli, if you knew how terribly I suffered these last nine years…I was shackled to a monster. But he is gone now. It is not too late for us. I had to see you, to tell you. Surely you understand. I had no choice then, but I have a choice now.”
Decker stared at the woman he had thought he had loved.
Hell, he had been a lad of eighteen. What had he known then of life, of the world, of anything at all? Bloody nothing. That was what he had known. Nora’s defection and betrayal ten years ago had shaped his life. He had believed himself incapable of love because of her actions.
Yet, as she stood before him now, an astonishing sense of clarity overcame him.
He had never loved her. He had never felt an inkling of what he felt for Jo.
“You had a choice then, Nora,” he said calmly, clearly. “You could have married me. I had asked for your hand and you accepted. But when your father decided I was not worthy of his darling, being an earl’s by-blow rather than a viscount, you severed all connections with me. And yet now, you return, ten years later, claiming to love me?”
She touched his coat sleeve again, clinging to him. “I know how you must feel, Eli. I do not blame you for your anger toward me. I am angry with myself. The last ten years have been penance. I have been waiting to contact you, terrified you would revile me.”
“You think too much of yourself.” He looked at her, truly looked at her, the woman who had left him jaded and broken in his youth, and he felt nothing. A curious absence of…anything. Neither anger nor hatred nor love. Only disinterest. “I hardly revile you. Indeed, I do not feel anything for you. But I must thank you for the choices you made. I understand now, even if I did not in my youth, that you did me a grand favor in crying off. I would never have known happiness and true love if not for you.”
What he meant, when he said those words, was that he was wholeheartedly grateful Nora had deemed him unsuitable. Grateful she had deferred to her father’s judgment. Because he could see quite clearly now that she was not the woman who was meant for him. And he could also see that her defection had settled him upon the path that had led him to the woman he loved.
To Lady Josephine Danvers.
To Jo.
To Josie.
Mine.
“Oh, my darling Eli,” Nora gushed, completely misunderstanding what he had attempted to convey. “You are my happiness and true love also.”
“No,” he said, shaking his head, holding up his hands to keep her from advancing any farther. The very notion of her touch repulsed him now. And not just because part of him was convinced she was seeking him out because she knew he possessed untold wealth and she appeared to be pockets to let, existing on a strained widow’s portion.
But because there was only one woman whose touch could move him. One woman he loved. One woman he wanted, now and forever. And her name was most assuredly not Nora, Lady Tinley.
“I do not love you,” he told Nora. “I love my wife.”
Jo’s feet ached. Her back ached. Her heart ached.
Every
part of her was weary.
The last few days had been exhausting, both physically and mentally. She had spent far too much time contorted in chairs and carriages, not enough time sleeping, too much time crying. She was drained, emotionally exhausted. She missed her husband, his comforting embrace, his kiss. She missed sharing his bed. Missed…
Well, selfish wretch that she was, she missed the way their life had been, before the tumult. Not because she regretted Lila’s entrance into their life—quite the opposite—for her new sister-in-law was a tenderhearted delight. But because she could not help but to feel a chasm between herself and Decker, a distance which had not been present before their frantic rush to Hertfordshire and his mother’s death.
Poor Lila had just fallen into her bed for a nap, a tear-stained mess once again, and Jo had stayed with her, reading to her until the young girl’s breathing had finally become rhythmic and even. Sleep—much-needed—had claimed her at last.
And now, as she emerged from Lila’s room, the housekeeper Mrs. Crisply informed her there was an unexpected guest who had been seen into the public salon where they entertained visitors.
“A guest?” Jo repeated, frowning. “We have only just returned to Town.”
Mrs. Crisply shook her head, her displeasure evident. “I do believe the lady in question was asking for the master of the house in particular, Mrs. Decker. I thought to let you know.”
The lady in question? Misgiving filtered through Jo at once.
The housekeeper’s subtle disapproval was not lost upon her. Although Mrs. Crisply had been running Decker’s house well before he had married her, Jo had nevertheless connected with the efficient, kindly housekeeper from the moment she had become the mistress of Decker’s townhome. And she heartily appreciated Mrs. Crisply’s warning. After all, though the woman was circumspect and would never carry tales, Jo suspected she must have seen some things which would give her cause for concern during her tenure and whilst Decker had carried on as a bachelor.
“Thank you, Mrs. Crisply,” Jo told her. “I will see to this unexpected visitor.”
Even if it was the very last thing she felt like doing. Still, a question prodded her, undeniable. Why would this woman, whomever she was, seek an audience with Decker in particular?
Jo made her way to the salon in automaton fashion. But as she approached the room, the familiar sound of Decker’s baritone reached her, mingling with a distinctly feminine voice. Puzzled, she stopped just short of the open door, where she had a perfect view of Decker standing far too near to a lovely woman she had never seen before. There was something undeniably familiar about their mannerisms toward each other.
Jo paused, understanding that somehow this woman was no stranger to Decker. That they knew each other. The fiery-haired beauty was saying something in a low, entreating tone.
He said something in return. Jo thought she heard a name. But surely not. No, it could not be…
“Nora,” Jo heard him say.
He would hardly be addressing this unexpected caller by her Christian name. Would he?
“I know how you must feel, Eli,” the woman said, speaking in such a low tone, Jo could only discern portions of what she was saying. “I do not blame you… I am angry with myself. The last ten years have been penance. I have been waiting…” Awful, ugly suspicion intruded upon Jo’s thoughts. This was no ordinary caller, was it?
Dear, merciful heavens.
Her mind spun with denial. No, no, no.
Jo looked upon the woman, the familiarity in her manner, and she simply knew. She knew it was Viscountess Tinley, the woman Decker had loved long ago, the woman who had jilted him and broken his heart, left him jaded and guarded. She knew it was the same woman whose letter had distressed him so much that he had fled the breakfast room looking pallid, with a thin excuse.
The letter he had continued to keep a secret from Jo.
His mother’s illness and death had taken precedence over Jo’s feelings. She had tamped down all the hurt, all thoughts of the letter, all the feelings of inadequacy and doubt that letter’s arrival and her husband’s subsequent reaction to it had caused. Wounded feelings could mend, after all. Life and death were far more important.
But now, it all returned in a frenzied rush.
And Decker was not railing at the woman or ordering her to leave. He had not stormed from the room. He had not taken note of his own wife standing near the threshold, gazing upon the vignette before her with dawning horror.
Because he was too caught up in the woman.
Here was the personification of all Jo’s fears.
The man she loved did not love her. Her husband did not love her. He was keeping secrets from her. And now, his past had returned in vivid, beautiful form to haunt her. To tear him away from her forever.
She had a choice to make. She could either intrude upon this cozy scene, or she could walk away. Her heart thundered. Her mouth went dry. She wrestled with the decision, more uncertain of anything than she had ever been in her life.
“I hardly revile you,” Decker was saying, but some of his words were too impossible to hear. “…I must thank you for the choices you made…you did me a grand…I would never have known happiness and true love if not for you.”
“Oh, my darling Eli,” Lady Tinley said, rushing toward him. “You are my happiness and true love also.”
Jo felt as if a massive fist had grabbed her heart and squeezed it mercilessly. Something seized her, rendering her incapable of moving. She wanted to run, to never hear another word that was being spoken between Decker and this woman. And yet, she could not go.
But then, Decker’s voice rang out.
“No,” he said, shaking his head, staving off Lady Tinley’s advance toward him. “I do not love you. I love my wife.”
He loved her.
Quietly, Jo backed away from the open salon door. She had eavesdropped enough. And she had heard the only words she needed to hear.
By the time Decker had seen Nora to the door, he felt lighter and happier than he had since before his mother’s death. Finally, he was free of the past.
Forever.
Which meant that it was time to focus instead upon the future and where it would lead him. He sought out Rhees instantly, wondering where his wife was. The time had come to tell her he loved her. He only hoped he was not too late.
Rhees, ever a step ahead of him, it seemed, handed Decker a missive. “From Mrs. Decker, sir.”
He thanked his butler and tore open the note.
D.,
It seems to me that there remain items on my list which have yet to be completed. Will you assist me with number two and meet me in your chamber?
Yours,
J.
He did not require the list before him to know what number two had been. Her ways to be wicked were emblazoned upon his brain: Arrange for an assignation. Decker’s feet were already moving, taking the stairs two at a time. He could not get to her fast enough.
Chapter Nineteen
Ways to be Wicked
1. Kiss a man until you are breathless.
2. Arrange for an assignation. Perhaps with Lord Q? your husband? Strike that, bijou. Definitely with your husband.
3. Get caught in the rain with a gentleman. (This will necessitate the removal of wet garments. Choose said gentleman wisely.)
4. Sneak into a gentleman’s bedchamber in the midst of the night.
5. Go to a gentleman’s private apartments.
6. Spend a night in a gentleman’s bed.
7. Make love in the outdoors.
8. Ask your husband to help you disrobe.
Jo crossed off number two on her list while she waited for Decker to come to her in his chamber. Then she filled in the rest of number eight. She hoped she would be able to strike through that number as well before the afternoon was done.
Satisfied with her progress, she waited for him, heart bursting with love.
At long last, the door opened, and her hus
band came prowling into his chamber, closing the door at his back with more force than necessary. The action was rather reminiscent of that first day when she had gone to his offices in search of her list and Macfie had slammed the door when he had left.
Jo gave Decker a teasing smile. “It would seem you do not know your own strength.”
He paused just short of her, his sky-blue gaze searing hers. “There is a hell of a lot I do not know, bijou. Principal amongst them, how to tell my wife I am in love with her.”
It required all Jo’s restraint to keep from throwing herself into his arms. “Have you tried using your lips and tongue?”
Her cheeks went hot as she realized the implications of her words.
He flashed her a sinner’s unrepentant grin. “I have indeed used my lips and tongue upon her many times. Though I fear not nearly enough.”
Jo’s smile grew at Decker’s teasing. After so much heaviness, grief, and pain, it felt good to embrace some lightness. “You know very well I was referring to using your lips and tongue to speak.”
“I do,” he agreed. “But when your cheeks turn pink, you are even more impossible to resist than you ordinarily are.”
They stared at each other for a moment, nothing but silence and two steps between them. She wanted to be brave, to be the one to say the words first. She also needed to hear his confession. She wanted him to tell her everything.
“Did you get my note from Rhees?” she asked, a foolish question, for of course he had.
Why else would he be in his chamber, just as she had requested?
“I did,” he said. “I am here, happy to offer you my assistance in the completion of the second objective on your list.”
Her heart beat faster, and though an ache blossomed into life between her thighs, she also knew a pang of disappointment. Perhaps she was asking too much of him, too quickly. Mayhap he was not ready yet.
“But I am also here,” he continued, moving closer to her at last, “to tell you I love you.”
She swallowed down a lump rising in her throat. It was time for honesty from the both of them. “Decker, I saw you in the salon earlier today with Lady Tinley. I know about the letter you received from her before your mother’s death. Her name was on the envelope you left behind. Callie told me about your past with her.”
Lady Wallflower (Notorious Ladies of London Book 2) Page 25