Only, this form of watching was not nearly as piquant as the variety he had previously indulged in on the rare occasion. However, since Lady Jo Danvers was present, occupying a place on the periphery of the gathering and looking deliciously innocent in her pink silk gown adorned with white roses, it would suffice.
For now.
Observing the gathering of lords and ladies from a private balcony no one else knew was open had its merits. He had been ensconced here since just after the ball’s commencement, having reached the balcony with the ladder his friend—known to all simply as Sin—had made certain was left for him.
Decker wished he had a whisky to keep him company. If Sin had been a truly accommodating friend, he would have seen to it that a decanter and glass had been left tidily in a corner for him. However, Decker could not complain, he supposed. Eventually, he would slither from his hiding place, rather like a lethal snake poised to strike, and he would take Lady Jo by surprise.
He had found great pleasure in their clash yesterday. More than he had taken from any act in as long as he could recall.
Whilst he was fully clothed, anyway.Hell.Who was he fooling? Even when he had been naked and ballocks deep in quim, he had not been as stirred as he had been when he had traded wits with Lady Jo the day before.
His cock was hard, just thinking about how deliciously outraged she had been. He had seen Lady Jo Danvers on numerous occasions. But never had she spoken so many words to him. Never had he known the daring lurking just beneath her prudish exterior.
But he knew it now.
And, truth be told, he wanted it for himself.
Just a taste. If she was set upon the path of ruination, what would be the harm in being the man who aided her in accomplishing one of the items on her list? Or two, or three? Or all of them, for that matter? He had always been drawn to the forbidden, to the prurient. Why not Lady Josephine Danvers?
Fucking hell.
He had to temper his thoughts. For the notion of fulfilling every one of Lady Jo’s fantasies—and surely her list could not be titled anything but a series of them—well, it was too much to contemplate when he was about to enter a ballroom teeming with condescending lords and ladies who loved to scorn him. He had been born on the wrong side of the blanket, after all. He did not belong amongst their vaunted ranks.
A sudden movement caught his eye, then. Recognition seared Decker. Made his guts churn.
Bloody Quenington.
The same lord Lady Jo had been considering for an assignation.
A pompous arse, if you asked Decker. Not that Lady Jo had.
Either way, he was heading straight for Lady Jo.
Possessiveness blossomed within Decker, unfurling like the petals of a summer blossom beneath a heated sun. He could not bear to watch her dancing with the viscount. And as for an assignation?
Impossible.
Ludicrous.
Unacceptable.
Decker’s hand found the cool bronze of the balcony door handle, and he opened it. The raucous din of the ball reached him in full measure, no longer muted, but Decker stepped over the threshold just the same. He left behind him the calm darkness where he so often dwelled in favor of the bold, garish display of the social whirl.
He told himself he was doing this for Lady Jo. To make certain she did not entrust her innocence to the wrong gentleman. Indeed, he was a regular Galahad in his own mind. Except that he did not want to maintain her innocence. Nor did he want to save her from anything, let alone ruin.
Because he wanted to ruin Lady Jo Danvers himself.
There it was, the shameful truth.
If he had an iota of honor, he would leave her to her fate. Allow her to carry on with her list, uninterrupted. Allow Quenington to swoop in and claim his dance or whatever the devil it was he wanted with Lady Jo.
Decker hastened his strides and managed to weave in and out of the gathered throng, ultimately appearing before Lady Jo just before the viscount arrived. Her honey-brown eyes widened.
He bowed, doing the pretty although part of him railed against succumbing to expected societal interactions. “Lady Jo.”
“Mr. Decker.” She dipped into a passable curtsy. It was a hasty one.
Quite charming. She was so bloody short and small. He fancied he could tuck her into the pocket of his waistcoat and spirit her away without anyone the wiser.
