“I never should have allowed the two of you to remain with Aunt Lydia as long as I did,” he said, disgust lacing his words. “I hold her responsible for the wayward misses she foisted upon me.”
“Alexandra is happily married to Lord Harry,” she grumbled. “I hardly think her a wayward miss.”
“I agree. What you have done is far, far worse than any wrong steps your sister made,” he said sternly. “She merely managed to find herself in a deal of trouble in a carriage at a country house party. You, however, have been gallivanting about London in the midst of the night on no less than three occasions with a known rakehell who runs one of the wickedest clubs in London and collects vulgar art and literature.”
Jo frowned at her brother. “First, I was not suggesting that what I have done was more egregious than Alexandra. Second, how do you know how many times I met with Decker?”
“A concerned servant spied you going into a strange carriage the evening you claimed to be too sick to attend Lord and Lady Helmhurst’s soiree.” His countenance was as grim as if he were about to attend a funeral.
“Lord and Lady Helmhurst are terribly boring. She laughs like a braying donkey, she only wants to discuss her various ailments, and all he talks about is hunting,” she defended. “Do you know, I once suffered through a dinner engagement during which Lady Helmhurst monopolized the conversation to talk about her gout?”
She was attempting to lighten his dark mood, it was true. Julian was not ordinarily so disapproving. He was a caring, generous brother who she knew loved her as much as she loved him. But the brother before her now little resembled that man, and she did not like it. And if she were completely honest with herself, she would admit that she also felt a great deal of guilt at deceiving him and disappointing him.
To say nothing of the hideous purple bruise marring his jaw.
Poor Decker had hardly been in finer fettle himself, his left eye nearly swelled shut by the time they had taken their leave.
Two good men, sparring like prizefighters. All her fault.
“I do not give a damn if you had to listen to Lady Helmhurst drone on about her gout for an entire year,” Julian was bellowing at her now. “There is no excuse for sneaking about with seasoned miscreants such as Elijah Decker. I know his kind. Iwashis kind, once upon a time. Thank the Lord the servant saw you on the second night as well. I began having your correspondence intercepted.”
“You had my correspondence intercepted!” The invasion of privacy rankled. Her cheeks went hot as she thought of some of the early missives she had exchanged with Decker. It was personal, all of it. “How dare you, Julian? You had no right to read my private letters!”
“I had every right, as I was attempting to keep you from folly.” He passed a hand over his face, looking suddenly, unaccountably weary. “I would have been there to stop you before you rode off with him tonight, but Clara was feeling ill, and with her being so near to her confinement, I hated to leave.”
“Is Clara well?” she asked, concern for her sister-in-law taking precedence.
“She seemed so when I left, though I expect my return looking as if I just fought the Battle of Waterloo will hardly be improving upon her delicate constitution,” he said pointedly.
Jo knew another stab of remorse for her actions. It was true that she had been selfish when she had begun sneaking away to meet Decker. She had only been thinking of what she wanted, what she desired. She had not had a care for the repercussions to everyone around her.
To Julian and Clara.
To Decker.
To herself.
She winced. “Pray forgive me, Julian. It was not my intention to cause you or Clara further worry, and the last thing I wanted was for you to engage in a bout of fisticuffs with Decker.”
“Mr.Decker,” Julian clipped icily. “Though I suppose the form of address hardly matters any longer since you will never see the blighter again.”
The thought of never seeing Decker again filled her with dread.
In such a short amount of time, he had become as essential to her as air. The promise of seeing him again, touching him again, kissing him, striking through the items on her wicked list with him, was the driving force of her days.
Because you are losing your heart to him, you foolish, foolish hen wit.
Dear heavens.It was true.
“I will see him tomorrow,” she reminded her brother through suddenly dry lips. “He said he will call upon me then.”
Julian raised a dark brow. “And we shall not be at home to him when he does.”
“Yes we shall,” she countered. “Or at least, I shall.”
“Josephine, this is not a small matter,” Julian said, sounding quite paternal. Also distinctly unlike a man who had amassed a reputation to rival Decker’s before he had wedded Clara. “You were seen by at least one servant. Although I do believe the footman in question is loyal, there is a distinct possibility he has shared his knowledge with others, or that his fellow domestics witnessed you entering Mr. Decker’s carriage on subsequent occasions. Furthermore, there remains the matter of the possibility you are carrying Mr. Decker’s child.”
Jo had not bargained upon the possibility that she had been seen by other servants. The realization gave her pause, but not as much pause as the latter portion of what her brother had just relayed to her did. Jo was not as well-versed on the subject as she would have preferred, it was true, but she knew that kisses did not beget children.
