She was curious. And foolish.
Jo quietly excused herself and left the library. The hallway was empty. She had a choice. She could return to the safety of the gathering. Or she could try to find Mr. Decker.
Her feet made the decision for her, guiding her down the hall, one tentative step at a time.
“Psssst.”
The hushed sound had come from behind her. Jo spun about, heart pounding.
A sliver of Mr. Decker’s handsome face emerged from the music room. The corner of his sensual mouth was kicked up in a tempting grin. Then, he disappeared within.
Another decision faced her. Flee or join him.
Taking care to make sure none of her fellow ladies had emerged from the library to see where she had gone, she hastened into the music room. Mr. Decker was nowhere to be found. The new piano Callie had recently purchased to replace the previous old monstrosity, which had never been tuned to suit her, gleamed, the bench empty. So, too, the overstuffed chaise longue and the matching chairs.
The door slid closed at her back.
Jo whirled, finding Mr. Decker at last, leaning indolently against the wall, still grinning as if he had not a care. He was as insufferably attractive as ever this afternoon. His mouth looked like the sort that knew how to kiss. His wavy dark hair was tousled, a lock falling over his brow in rakish fashion, and the most ridiculous urge to run her fingers through those inky strands hit her.
He had been hiding behind the door, the rotter.
Jo clung to her irritation, which seemed the wisest course. “What are you doing here, Mr. Decker?”
“Visiting my friend, Lord Sinclair.” His blue gaze swept down Jo’s form, assessing.
Bringing heat to her cheeks and elsewhere, too. She fought the urge to smooth an imaginary wrinkle from her skirts. What gown had she chosen? Amethyst satin, trimmed with lace. Not her favorite, but passable, she supposed. Oh, why did she care?
She frowned at him. “You know very well what I meant, sir. What are you doing here, in the music room?”
“I could ask the same of you,” he pointed out.
Even his voice was beautiful. Deep and decadent, sending a trill down her spine. It washed over her like silk.
She tamped down the strange, unwanted sensations flitting through her. “I should go. The other ladies will wonder where I am.”
He shrugged and pushed away from the wall at last, sauntering slowly toward her. “Let them wonder.”
The risk of being caught here, alone with him, was great. Still, she told herself they had unfinished business. He was yet in possession of her list. She wanted it back. Yes, that was the sole reason she remained. Why she held her ground even when he stopped close to her.
So close.
Too close.
“What of Lord Sinclair?” Her eyes narrowed on him. “Where does he supposeyouhave gone? I cannot believe he would approve of you waylaying his guests in his own home for nefarious purposes.”
“I am insulted you instantly assumed my purposes would be nefarious.” Mr. Decker raised a lone, dark brow, looking sullen and seductive all at once. “Just what is it you think I intend to do to you?”
“I cannot bear to contemplate it.” The suggestion in his voice and the intimacy in his searching stare made heat flare in her cheeks. “Whatever it is, you will not be doing it. I can assure you of that, Mr. Decker.”
His scent was delightfully masculine. She liked it far too much, the way it inhabited her senses. Lord Quenington was handsome, but he could not compare to a boldly sensual man like Mr. Decker.
His lips quirked, as if he were amused. “Do not be so hasty with your assurances, my dear.”
But then, instead of pressing his advantage as she had supposed he might—as she had secretly longed for him to do, much to her shame—he turned away from her. Clasped his hands behind his back and strolled to the piano.
“When do you mean to return my list to me?” she asked, giving in and following him.
Flame, moth, etcetera.
