Jo had kissedMr. Elijah Decker.
Shamelessly.
Awkwardly.
Roughly.
Her first kiss, and she had slammed her lips into Decker’s with so much force, hers still ached with remembrance as they settled in the sumptuous chamber he had escorted her to. Though they had entered from the rear, even in the low light of the street lamps, she had seen enough of the exterior of the building to know at once that he had brought her to a new location. This was not his townhome.
An acute, intoxicating tangle of trepidation and excitement washed over her as she sat at the intimate, exquisitely carved dining table. Just as he had two evenings before, he sat opposite her, folding his commanding height into the chair with an elegant grace she could not help but to admire.
This time, there were no servants hovering about. Not yet, anyway.
“I am sorry,” she blurted, and then cursed herself when her cheeks turned to flame.
His intense stare was upon her, inscrutable. “What are you sorry for,bijou?”
Though she had been bold in the low light of the carriage, she felt the opposite now. Her courage deserted her. “You know.”
Sky-blue eyes seared her. “No, I am afraid I do not. Else, why would I have asked?”
To torment her, of course. The man seemed to glory in making her weak.
“The kiss,” she forced herself to say. “I am sorry for kissing you so…hard.”
He bestowed one of his rare, gorgeous grins upon her. “Why should you be sorry? I found your enthusiasm quite infectious. However, since you have yet to reach the point of breathlessness, I consider myself firmly on duty this evening.”
Had she not been breathless? She was certain she had. What else could explain the manner in which her heart had raced, the tingly feeling that refused to be banished even now, the shimmering sensation deep within her, as if she had just walked into summer after a lifetime of cold winter wind?
She blinked. What had he said?
Ah, yes.
Jo frowned at him. “I am a duty to you, then?”
“Not a duty,” he said softly, “but a pleasure. Everything about you is the height of pleasure. Never doubt it.”
She thought then, of his words in the carriage. Wicked words, sinful words, those had been. No one had ever spoken to her thus. She ought to have been horrified. Instead, she was intrigued and gratified.
“Where have you brought me?” she asked, desperate to change the subject.
The impulse to kiss him earlier after his carnal declaration had been undeniable. But now, she was out of her depths. Adrift once more. She scarcely knew what to expect from him.
“To my club,” he answered easily, as if it were an ordinary occurrence for an unwed lady to be present at the Black Souls—a club notorious for its secrecy and whispered predilection for vices.
Her heart beat faster. And between her thighs, that same insistent heat blossomed into an ache. How wrong it was for her to be here. How thrillingly delicious.
Before she could utter a word, a subtle rap sounded on the closed door.
“You may enter,” Decker called, his eyes never leaving hers.
Liveried servants bustled forth, bringing with them silver trays lined with delicacies. Desserts of every sort—cakes, marzipans, creams, tortes, a raspberry fool. Jo had not been particularly hungry, but the moment the sweet-scented arrival appeared, she could not deny the urge to try them. A crystal wine glass appeared before her and was instantly filled.
Jo lowered her head, attempting to avert her gaze. She had removed her hat and veil, not anticipating she would be seen by anyone else in the privacy of this lush room with its bold red wall coverings and sumptuous furnishings. She very much regretted that haste now.
One nod from Decker, and the servants disappeared as quietly and hastily as they had arrived, closing the door at their backs.
“You need not fear,” he said the instant they were alone. “My staff is exceedingly well paid, and each of them is aware that discretion is the most important virtue to possess when in my employ. Even if any of them had recognized you—which I highly doubt—they would not utter a word against you. That is my promise to you.”
