She drank her wine, swallowing hard. “What will be sufficient, Mr. Decker?”
The ghost of a smile returned once more. “I shall let you know when the time comes, my dear.”
She could not shake the notion that this was all a game to him, and that he was toying with her. Enjoying it. But why? What could she possibly have to offer a man of his reputation and experience?
She gritted her teeth. “I do not want to wait. I want to know now. What is the debt I owe you?”
“What did I tell you about patience earlier in the carriage?” He drained the rest of his wine before sauntering to a sideboard and refreshing his glass.
“That it is an under-appreciated virtue.” She raised a brow. “I would argue otherwise.”
“Because you like to argue.” He treated her to a full, roguish grin now. “I do not mind. Your hidden fire amuses me. I must admit, before I discovered your list, I supposed you a boring, cold little fish.”
Jo told herself his words ought not to hurt her. However, those barbs—intended or not—nevertheless found their mark. She was two different versions of herself. With her family and closest friends, she was garrulous and witty. But when she ventured amongst others, she was cool and quiet and shy. A wallflower, forever on the periphery.
“I am shy until I truly come to know someone,” she said, unable to strip the defensiveness from her tone.
It was an old wound.
“I have begun to see there is far more hiding beneath your façade.” His voice hummed with frank approval. “Tell me, what spurred you to make your list?”
Embarrassment surged once more. “I do not want to speak of it.”
But he was moving back toward her with long, purposeful strides. Trapping her in that bright-blue gaze that rivaled a cloudless summer sky. “But I do want to speak of it. Tell me.”
“Mr. Decker—”
“Banish the bloody mister, if you please,” he interrupted. “As I have told you, it is merely, plainly, Decker.”
She sighed. Somehow, the wine in her glass was nearly gone. A pleasant glow infused her. Surely it was the fault of the claret that she was tempted to give in and refer to him as Decker.
They were locked in a battle. Their gazes met and held. It was as if they were both attempting to see who would flinch first, which of them would blink.
“Why do you wish to be called by your surname, sans mister?” she asked.
“Because I loathe titles of all forms,” he answered with surprising honesty. “My mother bartered herself to a titled man who thought nothing of abandoning her and her children until it suited him.”
Jo was more than familiar with his background. His mother had been the daughter of a country squire, the mistress of the Earl of Graham. Graham had bequeathed everything but his title to his illegitimate son upon his death, and Decker had used those funds to build himself a business empire.
Decker.
Yes, she was thinking of him as he wished her to refer to him. But how could she not, after learning the reason why?
“You did not have a good relationship with your father?” she asked, curious to know more about him.
Mr. Elijah Decker was very much an enigma, and she was beginning to suspect he possessed untold complexities she had never imagined. He intrigued her. Everything about him was impossibly fascinating.
Especially his lips. And his hands. And those stirring eyes. Also, his broad chest and shoulders. To say nothing of his commanding height or his dark, tousled hair…
Cease this nonsense at once, Josephine. No more claret for you.
“I love my mother,” he told her, just when Jo had begun to despair he would answer her query at all. “We may disagree, but though we have been estranged for the last few years, I would do anything for her. My father was a selfish man. He took the love of a good woman, one who would be better suited to make some country gentleman an excellent wife. Instead, he stole her chance of respectability.”
She drained the remnants of her glass. “And yet, you are a man who cares nothing for respectability, for the opinions of others.”
“I began without it. She did not.” He took her glass. “More claret, bijou?”
She ought to tell him no. The glass she had consumed was already going to her head, making her feel as if she were someone else. Making her feel more open. Less constrained. Freer, wilder. The danger was there, sparkling