“I made the list because I want passion in my life,” she admitted. “Everyone around me is finding happiness and love. Meanwhile, I remain firmly on the periphery. It was a lark, in truth. I never intended to cross off each item on my list. I never intended to finish the list itself. And yet…”
“And yet,” he prompted when she trailed off.
“And yet,” she continued, “part of me very much wants to complete it. Part of me wants to be wicked and reckless and bold. To ignore all the rules. To be unlike myself. To be daring. To throw caution to the wind and see where it leads me.”
His gaze was intent upon hers.
“It led you here. To me.”
There was a gruffness in his voice that sent a frisson down her spine. Not of fear but anticipation.
“Yes,” she agreed, doing her best to hide her breathlessness. “It did. However, as you said, fair is fair. I answered your question and now you owe me a response in kind. What was your relationship like with Lord Graham?”
Decker inclined his head, then took a sip of his wine before speaking at last. “He wished I were legitimate. His wife bore him seven daughters. My mother gave him a son. Graham loathed his heir, a wastrel country cousin he feared would leach the earldom dry in the outside of a year. He gave me everything he could, but not because he loved me. Because he could not bear for the next earl to waste it.”
She did not think she mistook the harshness in his voice, the bitterness in his expression. “Forgive me for asking. I had no wish to bring back painful memories.”
“It is the truth. I cannot change it.” Decker finished his claret and placed his empty glass upon a low table before snagging her hand. “Enough of this grim talk. Come with me.”
He laced his fingers through hers, and the gesture, while casual, filled her with a profound sense of rightness. She clasped his hand, savoring the way it engulfed hers, so much larger. So different from hers. So capable.
“Where are you taking me now?” she asked as he led her from the library.
“Suspense is half the fun, my dear.”
She still held her claret in her left hand. His long-legged strides ate up the distance far quicker than her petite limbs could travel. She had to move at twice the pace to keep up with him, meaning she had to engage in a delicate balancing act to avoid spilling her wine all over his carpets as they traveled.
There was the possibility he was taking her to his bedchamber. Jo was already in treacherous territory indeed. She should stop him. Demand he take her back home. But whether it was the connection they had made in their conversation, or whether it was the claret she had consumed—mayhap both—she did not want to go.
She was enjoying this clandestine meeting with Decker far too much.
As it turned out, her fears were unfounded. The chamber they entered next was a dining room. He gave a discreet order to a servant, and then seated her at the table. Jo placed her goblet before her and watched as he folded his lean form into the chair opposite her.
“What are we doing here?” she asked.
“What does it look like?” He raised a brow, giving her a look that made her think of bedchambers once more. “I am feeding you.”
That was not the response she had expected. What manner of rakehell brought a lady to his home and then led her to the dining room so he could feed her? A contradictory one, she was certain. There were layers to Elijah Decker. And Jo wanted to get to know them all, to peel them away, one by one.
Along with his clothes.
Where had that thought emerged from? Her ears went hot and she forced herself to think of something—anything—else. Definitely not the way his chest would look, bereft of his shirtsleeves, waistcoat, and jacket. Absolutely not the muscles she had felt, the barely leashed strength simmering beneath his surface.
“I dined earlier this evening,” she told him, finding her voice.
“We are not having an elaborate multi-course meal. We are having dessert.”
As if on cue, the servants returned, bringing a tray laden with delicate crystal bowls. She counted almost a dozen, each filled with molds of cream ices in varying colors and design.
“Thank you,” Decker said. “That will be all.”
When the footmen had gone, his gaze settled back upon her.
“I love cream ices,” she blurted.
Her lack of composure she blamed upon the claret, too. She was altogether unsettled.
“I guessed as much,” he said, his voice low. “I noted how much you enjoyed it at Sin’s dinner party.”
