And with something else, too…
She cleared her throat. “The pineapple cream ice was splendid.”
He gave her a slow, deliberate grin that turned her insides into mush. “Take your pick, my dear. Or try them all.”
Each bowl was neatly labeled with the flavor it contained. She read them: cucumber, almond, cherry, orange flower water, and pineapple. Each one sounded equally delicious. In truth, cream ices were one of Jo’s weaknesses. She had yet to discover a flavor she did not enjoy.
“Which do you recommend?” she asked, that troubling heat inside her continuing to glow.
She was beginning to fear Mr. Elijah Decker was one of her weaknesses as well. He was certainly every bit as tempting as cream ice.
“I like the orange flower water myself,” he said.
“I shall try that one first, then,” she decided, selecting a bowl containing cream ice molded into miniature blossoms.
The first cold, creamy spoonful on her tongue was decadent and delicious. Floral with a hint of rich citrus, ending on a note of bitterness that seemed somehow perfect.
“What do you reckon?” he queried, selecting a bowl for himself as well.
She swallowed the tart confection. “It is every bit as splendid as pineapple.”
If being alone with Elijah Decker at his home had seemed surreal, eating cream ices with him in his dining room felt like the sort of silly dream she would have in the morning, when she was half-asleep and half-awake. The sort that made no sense and brought together the most ludicrous combinations. Once, she had dreamt she had commissioned a wardrobe made entirely of crustaceans.
Jo could not stifle her chuckle at the memory.
“Share the joke if you please,” he ordered.
“It is far too ridiculous to share,” she denied.
“Nonsense.” He pinned her with that bright stare, his eyes narrowing. “You cannot laugh and then refuse to tell me the reason why. It is against the rules.”
“I thought you said rules were are all quite boring and deserve to be broken thoroughly and often,” she could not resist pointing out.
“Saucy minx. My rules are not boring at all.” He winked. “Go on, then. Tell me or I shall have the servants come and whisk away the rest of the cream ices before you can sample them.”
“Villainy!” she exclaimed in mock horror.
He laughed, that wonderful mouth of his dipping into a smile that hit her in the heart. Sinfully handsome when he was serious, a laughing Decker was irresistible. For a moment, she laughed along with him, enjoying their lighthearted banter.
He waggled his eyebrows at her. “I am deadly serious about the cream ices. Tell me or they shall be banished.”
He was impossible.
Her heart gave a pang.
The laughter fled her. “Very well. I shall tell you, but you must promise me you will not share it with another soul.”
He pressed a hand over his heart. “I vow to take it to my grave. Now, do tell me what it is that makes Lady Jo Danvers smile.”
Cream ice, baby animals, good books, comfortable shoes, handsome hats, her family and friends, and now one more to add to the list: him. But if Jo had learned anything in the last few days, it was that creating lists of any sort was an endeavor she ought to avoid in the future.
“I was thinking of a nonsensical dream I had, if you must know,” she began, feeling foolish but carrying on anyway. “I dreamt I had commissioned an entire wardrobe made of crustaceans. The worst of it was they were all living, and there was a lobster that was pinching me in the side. When I woke up, I realized I had fallen asleep with a book in my bed, and the corner of it had been digging into me in my slumber.”
He chuckled. “I see the levity. You, my dear, have an utterly ridiculous imagination. I shan’t ask you why you were thinking of such a dream in the midst of sampling cream ices.”
Her lips twitched. “Thank you. A lady cannot reveal all her secrets in one night, you know.”
His gaze dipped to her lips. “Oh, I am aware of that. Trust me, I am more than aware.”
Her cheeks flushed once more. They finished their cream ices in companionable silence.
Chapter Five
The first note arrived the next morning, just after breakfast. Jo had taken her repast in her chamber, in keeping with her claims of having been ill the previous evening so her brother Julian and sister-in-law Clara would not find her actions suspicious. Miraculously, she had made her way back through the house just after midnight, drunk on claret and Elijah Decker, belly filled with cream ice, and had not been caught.
Jo was still in her dressing gown, taking her tea, reading her correspondence, and trying to distract herself from the nagging regret she had not been able to banish since she had risen that morning. Just after dawn, she had been up with a headache and a churning stomach.
One item crossed off her list, and yet, it had all been—aside from the erotic art on display in Decker’s library—shockingly innocent. It had not progressed as she had fancied a few hours alone with him, at his mercy, might.
For one thing, he had not attempted to kiss her.
For another, he had behaved as quite the gentleman, accompanying her on the carriage ride back to her brother’s townhome, not complaining when she had leaned against his shoulder and promptly fallen asleep as the carriage and his nearness had lulled her into the arms of Queen Mab.
But she had been beset by nothing but questions for all the hours since she had left her bed.
Heavens, had she snored? Should she have thrown herself into his arms? Kissed him? Was there a reason why he had not kissed her? Why the devil had she told him about her crustacean dream?
Her lady’s maid returned then, distracting Jo from her musings. And she brought with her another note aside from the correspondence she had delivered earlier, which she handed over immediately.
“This just came for you, my lady. I am told there will be a reply.”
The moment Jo saw the note, she knew instinctively it was from Decker. But the familiar handwriting confirmed her suspicions. She accepted it with far too much haste.
“Thank you, Burford,” Jo said, attempting to remain calm as she took the note to her writing desk and frantically devoured its contents.
I promised you the return of your list if you would allow me to help you in achieving its completion. You have been true to your word. Therefore, I am playing the gentleman and will return your list to you on one condition.
Cross off each item on your list with me.
D.
Her heart was pounding faster than the hooves of a galloping horse determined to win a race at Ascot.
Her hands shook.
She had to read the note twice, certain she had misread it. Then thrice.
“Shall I wait for your answer then, my lady?” asked Burford, interrupting Jo’s whirling thoughts.
“Yes,” she said too quickly. Too loudly.
How was it possible for one word to sound so thrilled?
She snatched up her pen and paper and wrote out her response.
I fail to see how further blackmail is playing the gentleman. However, you did feed me cream ice. I shall consider your request. Lord Q remains a tempting option, however.
Yours truly,
J.
Jo stared at the words she had written, wondering if she dared send such a taunting reply before ultimately deciding that yes, she did. She handed off her note and waited, aquiver, for the response.
It arrived in under half an hour, stark and direct and thrilling.
To the devil with Lord Q.
Choose me, or forfeit all future cream ice.
D.
Jo was smiling at she read those two lines. She dashed off her response.
Why should I choose you?
J.
Her lady’s maid was looking rather harried when she returned with yet another note, this time twenty minutes later.
Because no one else will be ab
le to complete the items on your list as well as I can.
You know it, bijou.
Make the right decision, and I will send you the list.
D.
His words sent a trill straight through her. She felt it in her core. Did she dare give herself over to such a sinful rake? Did she dare trust a man like him? Yes, said her heart. No, said her mind.
Jo took a deep breath and wrote her answer.
I agree. But only on account of future cream ice.
Now, give me my list, you wretch.
J.
Burford returned in five minutes, and Jo was dumbfounded by the rapidity of his response. How in heaven’s name had he responded so quickly? She opened the note, but not before telling Burford that there would be no response. Jo wanted to be alone when she read his answer.
Here you are, my dear, though I do take exception to being called a wretch. Might I suggest something more suiting? Such as: oh handsome one, glorious wicked seducer of innocents, most tempting man in England…I could go on, but I haven’t all day to draft a list. Take your pick. I shall leave all list making in your capable hands.
Await me tomorrow at the same time. We shall commence with Number One.
D.
P.S. Look out your window.
He had her chuckling by the time she finished reading. He was a wretch. But also ludicrously charming. She had not expected him to be the sort of man who would make her laugh, or who would feed her cream ice. There was a softness to him, a warm heart beating beneath his debonair exterior.
And she liked it.
Butterflies had taken up residence in her stomach. She walked to the window and drew back the dressings. There, in the street below, was a gleaming black carriage. The same one he had used to sweep her away the night before. The door opened, and he poked his handsome, hat-covered head out into the world for a moment.
Their gazes met through the distance, his burning into hers even from so far away. Then, he inclined his head to her and disappeared. His carriage lurched into motion. That quickly, he was gone, leaving in his wake a flurry of emotion. Longing, yearning, excitement, trepidation, fear—everything.
How had he known which chamber was hers, where to park his carriage? She was sure she did not want to find out the answer.
They were taking a great deal of risks. More risks than they had taken last night. If her lady’s maid were to tell her brother that Jo was receiving so many notes, and if Julian but looked out the window to find Mr. Elijah Decker parked there, she would be in a world of trouble.
And yet, she could not summon a modicum of outrage. All she felt was excitement, bold and true. He had come to her, and there was something so very powerful about the realization he wanted her. He wanted to complete her list.
With her, Lady Jo Danvers. The wallflower. The lady who forever seemed to be left behind or overlooked. The lady who was last.
Turning away from the window, she glanced down at her list, back in her possession at last.
Ways to be Wicked
1. Kiss a man until you are breathless.
2. Arrange for an assignation. Perhaps with Lord Q?
3. Get caught in the rain with a gentleman. (This will necessitate the removal of wet garments. Choose said gentleman wisely.)
4. Sneak into a gentleman’s bedchamber in the midst of the night.
5. Go to a gentleman’s private apartments.
6. Spend a night in a gentleman’s bed.
7. Make love in the outdoors.
8. Ask
Dear heavens. He had crossed out number five for her. And he meant to kiss her breathless.
She ought to be horrified at the prospect of completing her list with a man like Elijah Decker.
Jo could scarcely wait.
Lady Jo Danvers had fallen asleep on him in his carriage. She had snuggled up to him like a bloody kitten and then closed her eyes. And he, Elijah Decker, purveyor and collector of erotic art and literature, acknowledged rakehell and heartless voluptuary, had slid his arm around her, holding her close. He had buried his nose in her sweetly scented hair before waking her when they arrived back at the Earl of Ravenscroft’s townhome and settling her hat and veil into place.
And before that, he had plied her with wine and cream ice.
The wine had been to soothe any ragged nerves she would have at being alone with him. The cream ice had been purely because it pleased him to give her something she liked, to watch her savor it.
He may as well lie down in the nearest graveyard and call himself finished.
But no.
For reasons beyond his ken, he had asked her to allow him to be the man—the only man—with whom she completed her wicked list. And she had agreed.
Which was why, for the second time, he was awaiting her in the mews in his carriage.
If he had any sense, he would have returned Lady Jo’s list and forgotten all about her. He did not have any sense, as evidenced by his current predicament. He felt like a criminal, hovering here in the shadows. Or a lover who was waiting for his mistress’s husband to leave so he could sneak inside and make the man a cuckold. There was something so very comical about this scenario…
And yet, he was here.
He was waiting for her.
That knot in his stomach? It was anxiousness. That ache in his ballocks? It was desire. That knife blade of guilt which had been stabbing him ever since he had reached the decision to bed her? Still present.
He tamped it down.
Easily ignored.
Unlike the woman herself.
As on the previous occasion, the carriage door opened, and suddenly, she was invading his territory. In a swish of silken skirts, she settled on the squabs at his side, bringing with her the scent of impending rain and exotic flowers and something else, some other note that was simply, deliciously, her.
He waited until the carriage door snapped closed to remove her hat and veil and drink in the sight of her. Damn, she was beautiful. He wanted to kiss her sweet little upturned nose.
When had he ever been so affected by the mere sight of a woman?
This had to end.
He had no earthly idea how it would.
Perhaps after he had bedded her? Yes, that was the key. Of course it was. It had always been thus in the past, with the women who had come before her. Why should this one be any different?
This one is very, very different, whispered a cautioning voice from within.
“Were you seen?” he asked, telling the voice to go to the devil, along with all good intentions.
“No,” she responded as the carriage lurched into motion.
Excellent. No irate brothers giving chase this evening. Nothing to distract them from their course.
It occurred to him that unlike the first night, she had no questions.
“You are surprisingly quiet,” he observed. “Tell me, what is that sharp mind of yours thinking?”
“I suppose I was wondering,” she said softly.
He took a moment to study her loveliness more completely, hoping he would find some flaw. All he saw was the tiniest beauty mark on her jaw, near her ear, and far from being an imperfection, the deuced little mark entranced him.
“What were you wondering?” he forced himself to ask, before he went entirely maudlin.
She lowered her head, breaking the connection with his gaze. “Why you want to be the one who completes the list with me. Surely there are any number of ladies in your acquaintance with whom you could…dally. Ladies who are beautiful and experienced. Ladies who do not have to sneak into the mews and lie to their brothers.”
Yes, but none of those ladies would be her.
Decker blinked, wondering where the devil that thought had emerged from. “I already told you, my dear, that I feel responsible for you. You are like a sister to the wife of the man I consider a brother. And I cannot very well throw you to a dog like Quenington and continue living with myself.”
That sounded rather callous, eve
n to his own ears, and he knew a sharp sting of regret, wishing he could call them back. She stiffened, her full lips going taut, and her head shot up. He called himself every sort of cad for the hurt he saw reflected in those honey-brown eyes.
“You need not feel obligated to assist me, Mr. Decker,” she said coolly. “I have been living my life quite well without your intervention.”
She was bold, but he knew he must not forget she was all but a chit fresh from the schoolroom although there was something about her which seemed older than her years. And he was almost ten years her senior and a hundred years more jaded, weathered, and weighed down by sins.
“It is not obligation I feel for you, bijou,” he told her grimly.
Let it be a warning to her. She would not escape this agreement of theirs unscathed or with her maidenhead intact. He meant to make her his in every way. To show her all the myriad facets of pleasure. He meant to ruin her for every damn man who would come after him.
What if she ruined him, too? Decker struck down the notion before it could take root.
“You just said it is. I would sooner be relieved of my promise to you and complete the list as I choose than accept your sympathy,” she said, regal as any queen. “I do not require you, Mr. Decker. I never have.”
Damn it. He had not missed her return to the use of mister in his name, and he knew what that signified. He had upset her.
There was only one means by which he could fathom proving to her that what he felt was decidedly not obligation. Only one means by which he could undo the damage he had so foolishly done with his half-arsed response.
He reached for her, settling his hands on her cinched waist and then hauled her into his lap. She was petite, and even with all her luscious curves and the endless trappings a lady hid beneath her gown, she was light. She fit in his lap perfectly.
Her hands went to his chest, as if to push herself away.
“You will complete the list with someone other than me over my cold, dead body, Josephine. Do you understand me?” he demanded, utterly serious.
He had never been more serious about anything in his life. In fact, the urge to beat Quenington and any other man who would dare to touch her rose, uncontainable, within him. He had never felt so possessive about a female before. It was bloody disconcerting, was what it was.
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