What Decker had not anticipated was that Jo would be seated far enough away from him to render conversing with her nearly impossible without hollering over the bouquets of roses and the flickering candles and the damned soup tureen. In keeping with Lady Sinclair’s standard flouting of convention, the guests were seated in order of precedence, but rather injudiciously—at least, to Decker’s mind—sprinkled about the table. That was why, he told himself, he remained so damned nettled as he watched Jo engaging in conversation with the Earl of Huntingdon, who he could have sworn was either already or nearly betrothed.
At least she had taken a break from speaking to Quenington, who was somehow present as well.
No assignation attempts with Lord Q in your future, my girl,he thought grimly as he forked up a bite of rice and smoked fish. Kedgeree, he realized belatedly, having paid absolutely no attention to most of the courses thus far. For dinner? Another one of Lady Sinclair’s idiosyncrasies, he supposed, as it was ordinarily a breakfast dish.
Anyway, he cared naught for the food gracing his plate. All he cared about washer. As soon as he got away from the damned table, and as soon as he could find his way to the drawing room, or the music room, or wherever the hell he could find a moment to speak with her, Lady Jo was his.
Yes, the lady is mine.
That sounded right. Itfeltright, to his very core, straight to the marrow of him. Even if she was smiling at Huntingdon in a way that made Decker long to smash his fist into the sanctimonious bastard’s teeth. Decker had been waiting to arrange their next meeting because he had wanted to put some much-needed time and distance between that last, incendiary encounter and their next.
But seeing her again this evening proved to him that he could not wait. His hunger for her had only grown in the hours since they had parted ways after he had escorted her into the shadows of Ravenscroft’s townhome.
“Mr. Decker?”
The soft voice at his side tore him, at last, from his frenzied musings. Frenzied? Hell—more like jealous, possessive, mad. Yes, those descriptors were far more apt. He was clearly in need of distraction.
He turned to Lady Helena Davenport, who was tall, blonde, and garrulous—quite the opposite of the pocket-sized, dark-haired, quiet Lady Jo. “Forgive me my deplorable manners, my lady. I am doing my utmost to improve them, but I am afraid it may be a hopeless cause.”
Her lips twitched with amusement, her lively emerald eyes dancing. “Surely not hopeless, Mr. Decker? However, I must confess I am rather dismayed you did not hear my discussion of the latest bonnets from Paris.”
The latest bonnets from Paris?
He could not contain his grimace. “Truly?”
She chuckled, the sound low and throaty. If he were not so thoroughly besotted with Jo, he would have been attracted to Lady Helena. She was an incredibly lovely woman. But she was not the woman who had been driving him to distraction for the last few days. Or, if he were brutally honest with himself, ever since he had first met her.
“I was teasing, Mr. Decker,” Lady Helena said. “You do not look like the sort of gentleman who would appreciate discussing the vagaries of millinery.”
He grinned back at her. There was something delightful about her, and he wished he could find distraction in her charms for the rest of the dinner, but he did not fool himself. “Quite discerning of you, Lady Helena.”
“Tell me more about yourself, if you please, Mr. Decker,” Lady Helena invited. “I find myself curious about your businesses.”
What an odd bird. Ladies did not ordinarily trouble themselves to worry about something so common as business.
“I own a club, of course,” he began mildly. Everyone knew he owned the Black Souls, after all. “I also own a publisher and a shipping venture, along with various factories.”
That was not the extent of his empire, of course. He also owned orphanages, tenements, and two hospitals, including one dedicated to children which had yet to open its doors. But those were hardly paying propositions. The tenements had required vast improvements to make them livable, and he only charged the residents what they could afford, which was a pittance. The orphanages and hospital brought in no revenue at all.
But it would hardly do for anyone to find out about those. He had a reputation to uphold, after all.
“Oh yes,” Lady Helena was saying. “You are the new publisher for the Lady’s Suffrage Society.”
“You are a member of the society as well, I take it?” he asked politely.
“I am.” Lady Helena smiled broadly, revealing the tiniest space between her two front teeth. Far from being an imperfection, this flaw somehow rendered her more charming. “Lady Sinclair persuaded me to join, and I am so pleased to be a part of such a worthy cause.”
Itwasindeed a worthy cause, and it was one of the many things about Jo that appealed to Decker. She was not an empty-headed society miss, more concerned with the next ball and the newest gown she had commissioned than the world around her.
Blast.He hazarded a glance in Jo’s direction to find her gazing back at him. Their stares clashed with the same charge that happened whenever they touched. The intensity awed and shook him, as always. Her lips were pinched, he realized, a slight frown marring her otherwise smooth brow.
Had she taken note of him chatting with Lady Helena? Did she disapprove? Was it too much to hope she was stewing in the same jealousy which had been afflicting him for the duration of this bloody dinner?
Decker inclined his head to her in a mocking salute, and then he turned his attention back to Lady Helena. “Tell me more about the Lady’s Suffrage Society, my lady.”
The rest of the dinner passed slowly, but at least with the accompaniment of Lady Helena’s lively conversation. If Decker continued to steal glances at Jo, it could hardly be helped. And if his blood boiled each time he caught her speaking with Hungtingdon, it could hardly be helped either.
There was the very real, decidedly unwanted, possibility that his wallflower had found her wings and was about to fly far from him.
