What a disconcerting discovery it was to realize he wanted to knowmore. Hell, who was he fooling? He wanted to knoweverythingthat made her happy. He wanted to be the reason for her smiles and her every exquisite moan. More of those throaty moans,please, the sort that had rumbled from her when she had taken her first bite of the chocolate torte earlier. He could have kissed his bloody chef for that sound alone.
Yes, she fancied sweets, but he could not very well spend the next few days plying her with cream ices and cakes. The inevitable finite limitation of their interactions settled in his gut like a stone as he led her from the private dining chamber at his club to another chamber entirely. This room, like the last, was also devoted to sating appetites. Unlike the other room, however, this chamber had nothing to do with sating the hungers of the stomach.
Rather, it was a celebration of the most erotic items in his possession, and along with it, his most depraved proclivities. The walls were covered in rich, scarlet damask and hung with treasures he had accumulated over the last few years with the wealth his sainted papa had bestowed upon him after cocking up his toes.
That had been intentional, of course. After all these years, Decker preferred to use the Earl of Graham’s funds to carry on with businesses, charitable endeavors, and purchases the man would have considered immoral. Such a patented, born-in-the-purple, sanctimonious hypocrite the man who’d sired him had been.
“What is this room?” Lady Jo asked quietly as she began a circumnavigation of the long, rectangular chamber.
“The wickedest room in my club,” he answered honestly.
If she wanted to test the bounds of her virtue, there was no place better suited for the task. Nor was there any better man. The mere thought of her alone with anyone else, attempting to complete her list, still filled him with protective fury.
Lady Jo Danvers was his.
For tonight, he reminded himself.
For this moment.
And why the devil should he care, anyway? He always grew tired of his playthings. The novelty dimmed. The most beguiling beauties and skilled, experienced lovers had not been enough to hold his interest for more than a night after he had bedded them.
He would grow tired of Lady Jo soon. After the completion of the list, mayhap before it. This maddening obsession he had for her would fade.
She trailed her hand over the massive piano dominating part of the chamber, running a finger over the keys. “The mark on this piano—it is the same as the mark on the piano in Lord and Lady Sinclair’s music room.”
Clever darling. She missed nothing—not a spare detail. She reminded him of a kitten whose eyes had been newly opened, eager to look at all the world around her, to drink it in.
He nodded. “It is. I own a piano factory in Islington. This is one of mine, as is the piano purchased by Sin and his countess. Superior models, if I am not being too proud of my own product.”
The hedonist in him appreciated beauty in all forms, including music. He often sat alone in his own music room, playing until the early hours of the morning. There was nothing quite as satisfying as the haunting strains of an excellent piano in the stillness of the night. Well, perhaps a woman’s moans of pleasure, but that was another instrument entirely.
Also one which deserved worship, as it happened.
“You own a piano factory,” she repeated, as if she found the notion impossible to believe. Her delicate finger traced over the mark on the polished rosewood case, trailing the gilded design he had added to the pianos after purchasing the factory, which had been declining after a century of excellent business. “Nothing but a stylized letter D, just as you sign your notes.”
He nodded. “Not terribly original of me, I am afraid. The company was formerly known as Smithton and Sons. They produced some of the finest pianos in all the world in their day. However, since I am neither a Smithton, nor one of the fellow sons, I deemed it wise to change the name, along with restructuring some of the piano designs. This piano is our newest, one of only a few of its kind—Lord and Lady Sinclair are in possession of one, and there is another as well, aside from this.”
She ran a reverent finger over the keys. “It is beautiful, Decker.”
“You may play, if you like.” He hoped she would, though he had certainly not brought her here to listen to her on the piano.
She shook her head slowly, giving him a measuring look he was not sure if he liked. “Not now, I do not think. I should like to see the rest of this wickedest room in your club first.”
Of course she would.
Decker suppressed a grin. “Go on, then, minx. Have a look.”
She did not waste any time in making her way to the framed pictures hanging upon the walls. Her gasp told him she had taken a closer look at what appeared to be tasteful, elaborate lithographs of the alphabet. Twenty-six of them in all, one for each letter, individually framed and on prominent display. Except, upon inspection, hidden within the fancy motif of each letter was an erotic image. Worked into the A, for instance, was a gentleman stroking his cock as he watched a woman lifting her skirts.
“That is positively indecent,” she said, and she was flushing once more.
Damn, she was delicious. He could not keep himself from wondering just how far that pretty pink extended on her creamy flesh. Down her throat, for certain. Where did it end? The tops of her breasts?
Think of something else, you bloody scoundrel.
His cockstand was rising and ready.
But there would be no slaking of his needs in this chamber tonight, and he knew it. Tonight was about Lady Jo. About making her breathless. Shocking her, too. If she truly wanted to be wicked, she had come to the right source.
