Embarrassment surged once more. “I do not want to speak of it.”
But he was moving back toward her with long, purposeful strides. Trapping her in that bright-blue gaze that rivaled a cloudless summer sky. “But Idowant to speak of it. Tell me.”
“Mr. Decker—”
“Banish the bloodymister, if you please,” he interrupted. “As I have told you, it is merely, plainly, Decker.”
She sighed. Somehow, the wine in her glass was nearly gone. A pleasant glow infused her. Surely it was the fault of the claret that she was tempted to give in and refer to him as Decker.
They were locked in a battle. Their gazes met and held. It was as if they were both attempting to see who would flinch first, which of them would blink.
“Why do you wish to be called by your surname,sansmister?” she asked.
“Because I loathe titles of all forms,” he answered with surprising honesty. “My mother bartered herself to a titled man who thought nothing of abandoning her and her children until it suited him.”
Jo was more than familiar with his background. His mother had been the daughter of a country squire, the mistress of the Earl of Graham. Graham had bequeathed everything but his title to his illegitimate son upon his death, and Decker had used those funds to build himself a business empire.
Decker.
Yes, she was thinking of him as he wished her to refer to him. But how could she not, after learning the reason why?
“You did not have a good relationship with your father?” she asked, curious to know more about him.
Mr. Elijah Decker was very much an enigma, and she was beginning to suspect he possessed untold complexities she had never imagined. He intrigued her. Everything about him was impossibly fascinating.
Especially his lips. And his hands. And those stirring eyes. Also, his broad chest and shoulders. To say nothing of his commanding height or his dark, tousled hair…
Cease this nonsense at once, Josephine. No more claret for you.
“I love my mother,” he told her, just when Jo had begun to despair he would answer her query at all. “We may disagree, but though we have been estranged for the last few years, I would do anything for her. My father was a selfish man. He took the love of a good woman, one who would be better suited to make some country gentleman an excellent wife. Instead, he stole her chance of respectability.”
She drained the remnants of her glass. “And yet, you are a man who cares nothing for respectability, for the opinions of others.”
“I began without it. She did not.” He took her glass. “More claret,bijou?”
She ought to tell him no. The glass she had consumed was already going to her head, making her feel as if she were someone else. Making her feel more open. Less constrained. Freer, wilder. The danger was there, sparkling all around her. Calling her to be bold and brave.
Jo relinquished her glass. “Was Lord Graham kind to you?”
She did not know where the question emerged from. It was horribly rude, and she knew it. But she could not seem to stop herself.
Decker did not answer, merely snagged her glass and moved to the sideboard with his effortless grace. His broad back was on display, and she could not help but to admire the sharp lines that proclaimed his strength and masculinity. Even from the rear, he was arresting. His dark coat was fitted perfectly to his form, his trousers worn in the ordinary style and yet seeming to somehow render him taller, more imposing. More compelling, too.
“Decker,” she tried, using his name.Er, his surname.Sans mister, just as he had asked.
He tensed but finished refilling her goblet before turning back to her. “At last, she deigns to use my name.”
“Will you answer my question if I do so from now on?” she countered, inwardly applauding herself for her bravery.
In truth, she was out of her depths, and she knew it. But everything about this evening was extraordinary. She was alone with a notoriously sinful man. And he had read her most private thoughts. Words she had never intended for anyone else to see or read. Words she was not entirely sure she meant.
He was before her once again, holding out her glass. There was too much claret in it, but she did not protest. Instead, she accepted the goblet from him, their fingers brushing over the crystal stem. The same awareness that infected her whenever he was near returned.
“I will answer your question if you answer mine,” he said, his gaze steady upon hers. “I asked you what prompted you to make your list, and you refused to answer. I will respond to your query after you respond. Fair is fair, after all.”
Of course he would want something in return for his answer. He was a businessman, was he not? Her every dealing with him had been firmly grounded in bargaining.
Jo took a deep breath and plunged onward. In for a penny, in for a pound.
