told herself she should not care. That his answer did not matter.
“Promises are meant to be broken.”
His matter-of-fact response took her by surprise.
She wondered what had happened to him in his past, to make him so cynical and jaded. Who was responsible for the hardness in his jaw now, the firm set of his lips? The answer was apparent—a woman. And the jealousy that accompanied her realization was unwanted. Thoroughly so.
“I have always kept my promises,” she said, though she did not know why she uttered something so foolhardy.
Or why she sounded shaken.
Or why her heart was beating so fast, as fast as the wings of a hummingbird.
“And what promises have you made in your life, bijou?” he asked, sounding intrigued, some of the harshness fleeing his countenance.
“Stop calling me that.” She frowned at him again.
But although she remonstrated him, there was no steel in her voice. No biting edge. Because she liked his pet name for her. Jewel, it meant. Jewels were shiny and faceted and coveted and beautiful. Everything Jo was not. Men did not fawn over her. They did not mow each other down in an effort to gain her next dance.
Likely, the diminutive meant nothing. Mr. Decker probably used it upon all the women in his vast sea of acquaintances. The thought left a sour taste in her mouth. Made her stomach tangle into knots.
“Answer my question,” he insisted. “What promises have you made?”
She thought about it.
“None,” she admitted.
“None.” He laughed, the sound tinged with a hint of bitterness. “You prove my point. You could not uphold your end of the bargain and meet me in the blue salon.”
Again with the blue salon. He seemed rather peeved with her failure to materialize. Surely a man such as Mr. Elijah Decker, who had scores of women falling into his bed, would not care that a wallflower such as herself had failed to meet him clandestinely at a ball. Unless…
“Have I wounded your pride, Mr. Decker?” she asked, sensing the true reason for his pique. “Tell me, has no woman ever denied you before?”
He clenched his jaw, the expression on his face saying more than words ever could. “My reputation speaks for itself.”
“Am I the only woman, then?”
“Not the only one,” he allowed, his hand traveling from her waist, flattening over the small of her back, caressing slowly up her spine. “But a wiser woman would have seen reason and met me in the blue salon.”
That lone touch made her want to melt into a puddle.
“You have it all bollixed up, Mr. Decker,” she dared to say, as if she did not relish his touch, his nearness—as if she had not taken note of the manner in which his head had dipped toward hers. “A wise woman would not meet a man of your reputation alone at a ball, surrounded by hundreds of lords and ladies eager to spread vicious gossip. Only a weak-willed fool would have done your bidding.”
His hand coasted between her shoulder blades, then reached the neck of her gown. When his touch played over the bare skin of her throat, caressing her nape, it was all she could do to keep her knees from turning into pudding.
“Is that so?” he asked, his gaze searing her the way his touch did.
He was holding her, barely. His touch was gentle. She could shake him in an instant. But she had no wish to.
How alarming.
Mr. Elijah Decker was touching her in the way a lover would. And she liked it.
She did not want him to stop, in fact. The slow stroke of his fingertips over her flesh lit her up from the inside. She was incandescent.
“Yes,” Jo forced herself to say, though at this point, she was scarcely certain what she was agreeing to.
“Those are hardly the words of a lady who wants to be wicked,” he observed calmly.
“All I want is my list back.” That was a horrid prevarication. All Jo truly wanted in this moment was Mr. Elijah Decker’s lips on hers.
And for him to never cease touching her—for this connection between them to go on forever. Yes, that, too.
“I have reconsidered my leniency in returning it to you.”
The rotter.
She ran her tongue over her suddenly dry lips. “What do you mean you have reconsidered?”
His fingers sank into her hair now, cradling her skull in the tenderest of touches. He had seduced her, utterly, and he had not given her a single kiss. Their lips were close enough. If she rose on her toes, if