“What will the staff think?” she asked, pressing her face into his sodden waistcoat as they passed a chamber maid who busied herself with righting a picture on the wall as they passed.
“Who gives a damn?” he asked as he shouldered his way into his chamber at last and kicked the door closed at his back. “Believe me, they have seen far worse.”
Wrong thing to say on your wedding day, you fucking arse.
Jo stiffened in his arms, and as he gently lowered her to the carpets, her gaze was downcast. “Of course. How foolish of me to forget your reputation.”
“Josie.” He caught her chin in his thumb and forefinger, gently forcing her to meet his eyes. “Look at me. I am far from a saint, as you know. I will not lie about who I am, who I have always been. I have never brought a lover here to my home, however. You need not fear that. This home is yours as much as it is mine, and no other woman has ever belonged here as you do.”
He meant those words, to his core.
His parties had been wild, but they had been mere diversion. Something to quell his boredom. His home was his haven, however. He did not bring women here to bed them, because he had no wish for the complication which would inevitably follow suit. Unlike most wealthy gentlemen, he did not seek lasting situations with the women he fucked. Hisaffaireshad always been discreet and short-lived—one night only had been his codicil ever since Nora.
But Jo appeared unimpressed by his explanation. She remained unsmiling. “You do not have to justify yourself to me, Decker. I am more than aware of who you are.”
All the lightness of their dance in the rain had vanished thanks to his cloddish misstep. He would have to revive it. Somehow. Inspiration came swiftly.
There was a raindrop upon the fullness of her lower lip. He lowered his head and pressed his mouth to hers, stealing that drop. He cupped her face in his hands, taking his time, showing her with his lips how he would worship her. Gently at first, then deeper.
She opened to him, their tongues mating. She tasted like the cake they had eaten at the wedding breakfast: orange sweetness. And she smelled like it too, only with familiar, floral notes that made his cock pitch a tent in his trousers. He groaned, angling her head, kissing her harder. He would make her forget all about thoughts of other women or his storied past. Today was not about any of that.
It was about Decker and Jo.
It was about him claiming her at bloody last.
And tomorrow?whispered an insidious voice deep within him.
Would he be tired of her? Would he have her once and never want her again, just as he had all the rest? The thought sent a pang of regret cutting swiftly through him, but he banished it.
No time for worrying about what came after. They were bound to each other now. Nothing and no one—not even the Earl of Ravenscroft—could keep him from making love to her.
Jo’s small hands settled on his cheeks, cupping his face, holding him to her. Such a ferocious woman. She had learned how to kiss over the course of their sinful interludes, and he was grateful for it. An apt pupil, his lady wife. He had far more to teach her.
But first, their mouths were uniting. With other lovers, he had never taken so much time to woo or to savor—not since Nora. One time this evening was quite enough,thank you very much. And also, thank Christ Jo was nothing like her.
Jo was…herself.
A revelation.
She was the majestic beauty of late spring’s promise realized. She was glorious blossoms and lush verdant grass and golden sun and delicious warmth after the dearth of cold, hideous winter.
He gentled the kiss, reminding himself she was also a novice. His seduction of her had to proceed slowly, and with care. His lady may possess a wicked curiosity and a passionate nature, but she was also inexperienced.
Decker lifted his head at last, dismayed to find his heart pounding.
When was the last time a kiss had left him thus? He could not recall as he took her in a tender grasp and raised her hands to his lips for a reverent kiss on her knuckles. Even this part of her was somehow beautiful. Had he taken note of a woman’s knuckles before? Decker thought not.
“I dare say I must get you out of your wet gown before you take a chill, my lady,” he said, deciding to test her boundaries. “What manner of lady’s maid would I be if I allowed you to remain in these soaked garments a moment longer?”
Her kiss-stung lips were open, and her breaths were as ragged as his. “You are hardly a lady’s maid.”
He kissed the tops of her hands. “But of course I am. I am a humble servant, here to tend to my mistress.” Decker turned her hands over, revealing the pale skin of her wrists, the delicate tracery of blue veins there. “How may I be of service to you, milady?” He kissed the velvet-soft flesh he had exposed. Once, twice. “You must be soaked to the skin.”
And, he hoped, elsewhere also.
He swallowed against another rush of lust, meeting her gaze.
The gold in her eyes seemed more vibrant, her lashes thicker, her pupils wide onyx discs that gave her away.
