“How magnanimous of you, Mr. Decker,” the earl said acidly. “Will that be all?”
“Further,” Decker continued pointedly, ignoring Ravenscroft’s jibe, “I will settle upon her a stipend of twenty thousand pounds per annum, to disperse as it pleases her. She will, in return, run my household and act as my hostess. I have no objection to her pursuits with the Lady’s Suffrage Society—indeed, I deem it a worthy cause. I will require her discretion in the marriage, and I will provide her mine as well. The marriage will occur within one month’s time. I propose to bear all expenses for the nuptials. Lady Josephine shall have carte blanche to decide whatever she wishes for flowers, dress, guests, etcetera. That will be all, Ravenscroft.”
The earl was no longer glaring at him.
Decker knew a moment of triumph. He was reasonably certain he had thought of everything.
“Why would I give my sister to a degenerate voluptuary whose reputation is as black as pitch?” Ravenscroft queried next.
That rather cut to the heart of things, did it not?
“Julian,” Jo chastised, interjecting her voice for the first time since their official discussion had begun. “He is none of those things. For all that you think him wicked, Mr. Decker has never truly compromised me.”
Blast her innocent tongue and urge to champion him.
“Yes, my darling, I am afraid I have,” he told her tenderly, lest Ravenscroft realize he had been lying about the possibility of Jo carrying his child. “The only reasonable course for us to take now is marriage. In time, I will rectify the dishonor I have paid you.”
That particular detail was one which could tip the scales in his favor, and he would not discount it. However, he certainly hoped reason would do the work without his having to resort to subterfuge.
“Although Lady Josephine has reached her majority, I am still her brother. I am in control of her dowry. If I do not approve of the match she makes, she will go to her husband with nothing,” Ravenscroft told him coolly.
But Decker had accounted for that. He inclined his head. “In the event Lady Josephine has no dowry, there is a provision in the betrothal contract for her to receive thirty thousand pounds per annum.”
It was an impressive sum by anyone’s account.
Even an earl’s.
Especially an earl who had been at penury’s gates and had required his marriage to an American heiress to dig him out of the depths of his wastrel sire’s financial grave.
“I do not want a dowry,” Jo said quietly then. “Nor do I need it if I am to marry Mr. Decker. Julian, please, I beg you to see reason. Mr. Decker is a good man.”
The earl’s nostrils flared. “If he were a good man, he would not have been squiring an unwed lady about London in the midst of the night, to say nothing of what else occurred. Indeed, I do believe the scene I witnessed yesterday precludes him from being considered a good man. However, I am willing to review the betrothal contract before I make my decision.”
“You have three hours from the time the contract arrives until it becomes void,” Decker told him, delivering his trump card. “If you do not make your decision in that time, the contract will be revised and amended. The terms will not benefit Lady Josephine nearly as much as the initial contract. Delay will only have a negative impact upon your sister, which I am sure you do not want.”
“What I do not want, Mr. Decker, is for my impressionable sister to make a match with a man who is clearly her inferior in every way,” the earl bit out. “That is what I do not want. You do not deserve Lady Josephine as your wife. I will not mince words. Your reputation speaks for itself. I wanted a love match for my sister with a man who cares for her and who can also do her credit.”
“We are in perfect accord then, my lord,” Decker said with ease. “I agree that I am Lady Jo’s inferior. I also agree I do not deserve her. My reputation is dark; I shall not insult your intelligence and suggest otherwise. Nor will this be a love match. But what I can promise you is that, unlike some milksop lord you would select to be her husband, I will appreciate her always. I will also make all the provisions necessary to prove to both yourself and to Lady Jo that her independence and her financial security will remain hers, just as they should be. I may be a sinner, Lord Ravenscroft, but I am also a man of intellect and foresight. I do not seek to dim Lady Jo’s shine. Rather, I hope to encourage it.”
“You are not my inferior,” Jo argued softly, her stare upon him. “You are a good man, Elijah Decker. I have seen the proof for myself on far too many occasions for you to deny it.”
The worship in her eyes was misplaced. He was a bastard. A sinner. A jaded, heartless sybarite. She would do well to remember that. But he would not remind her now, because to do so before her brother would only harm his cause.
“You want to marry this man?” Ravenscroft demanded, his attention directed toward Jo, absolving Decker’s need to speak.
“I want to marry the man of my choice,” she told her brother without hesitation. “If you insist I am to be married, I will choose marriage to Mr. Decker every time.
Decker suppressed his wince. Once again, hardly a commendation, that.
“Of course I insist you are to be married,” the earl bellowed, nearly rising to his feet in his vexation. “Have you forgotten the depths of the trouble in which you have embroiled yourself? I will not allow you to be shamed, Josephine. You are my sister, and it is my duty to protect you however I can. However I must.”
Ah, they had come full circle. Back to the nonsense about Jo carrying his bastard seed in her womb. Again, Decker would not disabuse Ravenscroft of his assumptions based upon his own suggestions. The possibility of Jo carrying his child was likely the sole commendation for his suit at the moment, and he had no desire to challenge it with honesty. Let the earl think what he would.
“Protect her by seeing her married to the man most suited to the role,” Decker said smoothly. “You have my word I will treat her well. Make any changes to the contract you see fit. I am more than willing to offer concessions. However, I am firm in the timing. I want Lady Jo as my wife sooner rather than later.”
And in his bed.
Wisely, he refrained from adding that bit. He was a businessman, after all. Decker was more than accustomed to making deals and compromises in the name of his desired outcome. And in this instance, his desired outcome was Lady Josephine Danvers as his wife.
Yes, wife.
The one word he had sworn he would never utter—the one institution he had vowed would never claim him—was upon him. And to his shame, he did not dread the outcome. Marriage to Jo would have its benefits, her in his bed amongst them. The rest, he would fret over later. In short, there was no need for his life to change. Nothing would alter.
He would be free to pursue whatever and whomever he wished.
Granted, the thought of pursuing anyone other than Jo was rather murky at the moment. Downright untenable. Unthinkable. Unpalatable to be sure. But still, he had never been so drawn to one woman in his life that he had been able to cease his desires for more. At least, not since Nora.
“I will make my decision after I have the opportunity to peruse the betrothal contract,” Ravenscroft said then, his tone undeniably grudging. “I shall send word. For now, Mr. Decker, I do think it best for you to take your leave.”
Decker agreed.
His point had been made.
And he had just secured Jo’s hand in marriage. He was certain of it.
The betrothal contract arrived as Decker promised.
Whilst Julian pored over it, Jo sought out her sister-in-law, Clara, who was much easier to discuss certain matters with than her brother was. Especially since he was still very much wearing the mantle of Furious Protective Brother.
Clara was propped comfortably on a chaise longue in her private apartments, ethereally beautiful with her blonde hair styled au courant with a light fringe on her forehead. She was wearing a dressing gown of ivory satin, which did nothing to diminish the
size of her belly.
“How are you feeling?” Jo asked, mired in guilt over having caused so much disruption in the household when Clara was about to give birth any day now.
“As if I have been in my delicate condition for the last five years at least,” her sister-in-law drawled, a tinge of her American roots softening her words. “Also desperately hungry for kippers and Bayonne ham and chocolate biscuits.”
Jo grimaced at the thought of those three disparate foods being consumed. “Separately or all at once?” she ventured, not certain she wanted to hear the response.
“Would it be detestable of me if I said all at once?” Clara asked, grinning. “Do sit, Jo. You know I would stand, but my feet have been replaced by bricks, and I am about as big as a bloody house.”
Jo seated herself, smiling back at her brother’s wife. “A bloody house, is it? I do think my brother’s vulgar English vocabulary has infected you as well.”
Clara sighed. “I decided if I could not best him, I would join him. What has you looking so Friday-faced, my dear? Do not tell me Julian was being a bear to you again when Mr. Decker came to call.”
“He is angry with me,” Jo said. “I have disappointed him, and you, and for that I am sorry.”
“You took unnecessary risks with your reputation. Julian loves you and is frightfully protective. I think his anger stems more from his own sense of having failed you and Alexandra than your actions.” Clara’s gaze searched hers. “Do you care for this Mr. Decker of yours?”
Of course she did. Somehow, along the way, he had charmed her. Although, he was far from hers, wasn’t he? He had never been hers, and if he married her, part of her very much feared he would remain elusive. An enigma.
Jo fidgeted with her gown, uncertainty assailing her. “How did you know you were in love with Julian? Was it sudden, all at once? Or was it gradual? Was it that one day, he looked at you a certain way, or he smiled at you, and something inside you changed?”
“Oh, Jo.” Her sister-in-law’s countenance turned sympathetic. “Are you in love with him?”
“I do not know.” She bit her lip, searching her mind, struggling with the warring feelings within her, so many of them, so new.
“Perhaps we should begin somewhere else,” Clara suggested kindly. “Do you want to marry him?”
Jo’s answer arrived without hesitation, unflinching. “Yes.”
If she were honest with herself, she would admit that even without her brother’s interference and blustering threats, if there was any man she wanted as her husband, it was Decker. He was handsome, charming, and witty. He was protective and considerate. His kisses set her aflame. His sinful side appealed to her in a way she had not imagined possible.
Other men were handsome as well. Lord Quenington, for instance, who was a gentleman who had intrigued her ever since her coming out. But he did not make her feel the way Decker did. She was beginning to suspect no other ever could compare.
“You are certain?” Clara prodded. “Marriage is not the sort of decision one should undertake lightly.”
“You and Julian married in haste,” Jo could not resist pointing out.
Clara flushed. “Our situation was unusual. We were both seeking freedom, and we hurried into our wedding, it is true. But what we found instead was each other.”
Jo knew a pang of envy at her sister-in-law’s words. Oh to have that sort of love herself. She had not realized she had wanted it, but she could see now, that what she had been searching for when she had constructed her list had not been wickedness.
Rather, it had been love.
She had tired of watching everyone else around her find their happiness.
She wanted that happiness, too. The question remained whether or not she could find it with Decker. With a man who had never expressed a single tender feeling toward her.
“When did you know, Clara?” she pressed. “When did your heart tell you it was content?”
“It was gradual,” Clara told her with a soft smile of remembrance. “And then, it was also sudden. All at once. Love is almost impossible to explain, Jo. I feel as if my heart has always known his. Does that sound foolish? As if we were always destined to be.”
That did not sound foolish at all.
Rather, it explained a great deal about the confusing hodgepodge of emotion tangled up inside her at the moment.
It sounded horribly familiar, in fact.
“It sounds wonderful,” Jo said softly. “Thank you for sharing it with me, Clara. I am more convinced than ever that marrying Mr. Decker is the right course of action to take. It was not what I intended when our association began, but…what you just said, about feeling as if your heart has always known Julian’s. I feel the same for Mr. Decker. I did not want to feel anything at all for him, but suddenly, no other man will do. There is him, or there is no one.”
“Then you know what you must do, my dear.” Clara looked as if she were about to say more when suddenly, her expression changed and her hands went to her burgeoning belly. “Oh my. I do think it may be time to send for the doctor.”
She did not need to say the words twice. Jo rushed to her feet, excitement replacing the conflicting emotions darkening her heart. She was going to be an aunt.
“I will fetch Julian and tell him,” she promised Clara.
In a frantic blur, she made her way to her brother’s study, running as quickly as her heavy skirts would allow.
He stood at her entrance, his expression grim. “The betrothal contract appears to be in order, Josephine. I suppose I am left with no recourse other than to allow you to wed Mr. Decker.”
Relief washed over her, joining the anticipation.
“I am happy you are finally agreeing to see reason,” she told him. “Because Clara’s time has come. She says we are to send for the doctor.”
“The doctor?” Her brother paled. “Are you certain?”
“Certain.”
He collapsed into his chair. “Well bloody hell. I am about to become a father.”
Seeing the dazed expression on Julian’s face, Jo decided she would have to take action. “I will see that the doctor is sent for myself. Pour yourself a drink, Julian, and then go see to your wife.”
She did not wait for his response. A time of change was upon them all. The babe was on his or her way. And she was going to be Mrs. Elijah Decker.
Soon, heaven help her.
Not soon enough.
Chapter Eleven
The longest three bloody weeks of Decker’s life had passed with alarming torpidity. He had spent them paying supervised visits upon Jo like a true suitor—shudder—and taking himself in hand until his cock was raw.
Finally, Lady Jo Danvers was his wife.
Lady Jo Decker?
Mrs. Decker?
Who the hell cared what she chose to call herself? She was his. That was all that mattered now. The ceremony was over. The wedding breakfast was done. He had introduced her to all his servants.
Quite appropriately, it was raining.
Which gave Decker ideas.
The list had not been far from his mind during the interminable weeks of waiting.
He took his wife’s hand now and placed it on his arm, guiding her to the glass doors that led to the gardens.
“Where are you taking me?” she asked, laughing.
Damn, he liked the sound of that—her laugh. He wanted more of it. But there was plenty of time for that.
He grasped the cool brass of the handle and opened the door. The weather was warm, summer finally upon them. No thunder or lightning—just an unleashing of the clouds. The fresh scent of rain mingled with the fat blossoms of roses, which were bowing beneath the onslaught of the showers.
“Number three,” he told her, grinning. “Get caught in the rain with a gentleman. What was the bit in the parenthesis? I have quite forgotten.”
A charming flush stole over her delicate cheekbones. “Choose said gentleman with care.”
He tsked.
“You are missing the bit about the removal of wet garments.”
“Decker!” A smile played at her luscious lips as she chastised him. “You want me to drench my beautiful gown?”
“I want to kiss my wife in the rain,” he countered, raising a brow. “Unless she is too scared?”
“Of course I am not scared,” she denied instantly. “Why should I be scared? It is only water.”
“And I only aim to fulfill every one of your fantasies, darling,” he told her, his cock twitching to life at the thought.
Down, old chap. It is not your time just yet.
“I want you to dance with me,” she said softly. “The way you danced with me at Lord and Lady Sinclair’s ball. In the rain.”
“There is my girl,” he said approvingly, stepping into the rain and tugging her along with him.
The first lash of the rain upon him was a shock to his senses.
She let out a shriek as a fresh torrent of droplets hit them.
He bowed to her as if they were on the dance floor. And then he took her into his arms. They whirled. The showers soaked them within minutes. Through the gravel path, they danced. He twirled her in the shadow of a fountain of Venus holding a bow whilst being serviced by Adonis.
“Oh!” she exclaimed as her curious eyes took in the rather lifelike rendering of Adonis’ prick.
He grinned at her, unrepentant. “It is rather small, is it not? I can show you something far more impressive later, bijou.”
The color on her cheeks deepened.
By God, she was lovely. He wondered how many other ways he could make her flush. And how often.
She laughed. “You are a scoundrel.”
He was. No point in denying it. “I can do that for you later if you like, darling.”
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