Mr. Elijah Decker was rather like a whore. A gentleman whore.
Only, he was no gentleman.
“What is it, Macfie?” growled Mr. Decker from somewhere within his office, sounding irritated. “I thought I told you not to interrupt me for the next hour.”
“Forgive me, sir, but ye have a visitor,” Mr. Macfie offered. “Lady Josephine Danvers.”
Jo clutched her reticule so tightly her knuckles ached. Less than a minute to attempt to compose herself before she had to face him. She inhaled. Told herself she would be firm. That she would not show him a modicum of embarrassment. She would demand he return the list. She would require his silence.
Mr. Macfie turned to her. “He is ready for ye now, milady.”
She thanked him and reluctantly moved into Mr. Decker’s lair. Mr. Macfie snapped the door closed with more force than necessary, making Jo jump.
Mr. Decker rose to his full, imposing height, his impossibly blue stare upon her. “Forgive Macfie. He does not know his own strength.”
She stared at Mr. Decker, trying to make sense of what he had just said. She blinked. No words were forthcoming. Her heart was pounding so loudly, she was certain Mr. Decker could hear it.
“The slamming of the door, my lady,” Mr. Decker elaborated, raising a knowing brow.
Her ears felt as if they were on fire. “Of course. Mr. Macfie is forgiven. You, however, are not. Where is my list?”
Clasping his hands behind his back, Mr. Decker sauntered toward her. “I do not recall asking for your forgiveness, my dear.”
She stiffened. “I am not your dear, and you failed to answer my question. Where is my list?”
He stopped before her, insufferably handsome. “Which list are you referring to, Lady Jo?”
The blighter.
He was toying with her. She would wager her dowry upon it.
“You know very well,” she charged.
“Hmm.” He tapped the fullness of his lower lip with his forefinger, as if he were thinking. “I believe you may have to give me a hint. What did it say, this list of yours?”
Her cheeks were scalding. “You know what it says.”
“Do I?” He grinned, like the devil he was.
She had no doubt he had read every word she had written. Every shocking thing she had drafted thus far after seizing upon her plan to live her life and experience true passion the way everyone else around her was. Her sister was blissfully married. Her dearest friend was happily wed and wildly in love.
And yet, Jo had never been kissed.
“Yes,” she hissed. “You do.”
“I am afraid my memory is dreadfully faulty. Remind me, my lady.” His voice was low. Teasing. Taunting.
Daring.
He did not think she had the audacity to say it, she realized.
Jo kept her gaze trained unwaveringly upon him. “Ways…”
She faltered.
“Ways,” he prompted, his stare dipping to her lips.
“Ways to be wicked,” she blurted.
“Oh, yes. That list. Now I recall.” The grin he gave her was sin in its purest, most tempting form.
Curse him.
And curse the curious flutter that started in her belly and slid lower, pooling between her thighs.
Jo was doomed.
“That list,” she agreed. “You sent me a note saying you have it. I would like it returned to me, if you please.”
There. If he were a gentleman, he would spare her additional humiliation and surrender the list without another word.
“What do you plan to do with this list of yours?” he asked, offering further evidence he was no gentleman as he strolled closer.
“That is hardly your concern.” She told herself she would not budge an inch. No step in retreat. But he was near enough to touch now.
Near enough his scent wafted over her, a cologne unlike any she had ever smelled before, musky and rich with a hint of bay. Near enough that she detected striations of gray and green lingering in the bright-blue depths of his eyes.
He reached for her, and she found herself swaying toward him. Anticipating a kiss. An embrace. The heat smoldering within her—part embarrassment, part longing—burst into a flame.
He plucked her hat from her head, still grinning that roguish grin. “I am afraid you made it my concern when you entrusted your list to me, bijou.”
Bijou? Was that what he called all his fallen women?
Jo reached for her hat, irritated with herself for thinking he would kiss her. Worse, for wanting it, even if for the span of a few seconds. What was wrong with her?