Jo wished she had a fan to cool herself. Rather, she wished she had never come to Mr. Decker’s offices. She wished she had stayed where she was safe from his insinuations and his smoldering gaze.
“Mr. Decker, my lady’s maid is awaiting me in the carriage,” she snapped. “I do not have all day.”
“Pity.”
There was such carnal promise layered in that lone word that Jo’s mouth went dry. Elijah Decker was dangerous. But she would not succumb to his lethal charms and become one more of his conquests.
Never.
Her chin went up. “Cease playing games with me, Mr. Decker.”
“Who is Lord Q?”
His question startled her. Sent another wave of heat to her cheeks. “Lord Quenington.”
“He is a notorious rotter,” Mr. Decker said, his tone dismissive.
“The same could be said of you,” she shot back.
Perhaps unwisely. After all, he was still in possession of both her list and hat.
“Yes,” he agreed. “I am. But Quenington cannot possibly compete with me. If you want to do something wicked, you ought to be doing it with the best candidate.”
“Who said I want to do something wicked?”
“You and your list.” He plucked it from atop his desk and held it aloft. “Shall I read the items aloud and remind you? Mayhap you have forgotten.”
She had not forgotten. Of course she had not.
Jo’s gaze flicked from her list back to the impossibly alluring man holding it captive. “I know what it says. Do not read it aloud.”
“Right, then.” He laid the list back down upon his desk. “We both know what it says. However, you did not finish number eight. What did you want to ask? I have been teeming with curiosity for the last three days.”
Ask a gentleman to help you disrobe.
She was not about to reveal that to him, so Jo ignored that part of his request.
“You have been withholding my list for three days?” She ought to be outraged.
And part of her was. She had assumed he had only just discovered her list today. However, if he had known it was in his possession three days ago, that meant there was a reason he had been keeping it. Did it not?
“I have. But I will return it to you in exchange for a promise.”
His casual pronouncement took her by surprise and raised her guard all at once. “What manner of promise, Mr. Decker?”
“Just Decker, if you please,” he said smoothly in that butter-rich voice. “I find the mister far too formal. If we are going to be friends, you may as well call me what all my other friends do.”
“I have no wish to be your friend,” she countered, although the notion of being informal with him and being his friend both sounded deliciously intriguing.
And thoroughly wrong and impossible, of course.
She could never, ever be this rakish man’s friend.
“You may change your mind about that, bijou, when you hear what I propose.” His lips twitched, as if he wanted to smile but fought it.
She did not want to like the way he called her that—bijou—and yet, she did. All the more reason to frown at him. “I cannot fathom finding interest in anything you propose, Mr. Decker.”
“You have a list of objectives to achieve,” he pointed out carefully. “And yet, forgive me for the observation, you are an unwed lady of excellent standing. One with an unimpeachable reputation. What do you know about arranging assignations or finding someone who will kiss you until you are breathless?”
Nothing, she longed to say. Hence the creation of the dratted list.
“I fail to see what this has to do with you,” she told him curtly. “You are overstepping your bounds, sir. If you will not return my list or my hat, I will simply go without them.”
“I will return them both as long as you promise to let me aid you in achieving every item on your list,” he said smoothly, surprising her once more. “Including number eight, should you wish to confide in me what it is.”
“Let you aid me,” she repeated. “How? Why?”
“Because you are a dear friend of the Countess of Sinclair,” he said. “And because this list of yours is dangerous business. It would be remiss of me not to offer you guidance. Assistance. Whatever you wish to call it. It is my duty to make certain you do not attempt to accomplish any of your objectives with the wrong gentleman.”
Her eyes narrowed as she studied him, trying to make sense of the man and failing miserably. “I still do not