titles to be exchanged for the coronets that would be theirs upon dear old papa’s demise.
Decker had the means to see Quenington’s long, perfectly straight nose rendered forever crooked—whether by his own brawn or that of hired strength. He also knew the viscount’s predilections. Moreover, it was an unspoken rule that all members of the Black Souls club would remain in Decker’s good graces if they wished to maintain their membership. If the viscount wanted to remain a part of the club, he would forego his dance with Lady Jo.
Decker and Quenington locked eyes in a silent battle for less than a minute before the viscount inclined his head and sauntered off in a different direction.
Immensely satisfied, he returned his attention to Lady Jo. “No longer.”
She began to protest. “But Lord Quenington—”
“Has wisely changed his mind,” Decker finished, interrupting her without qualm. “I will be your partner.”
“You threatened him,” Lady Jo accused quietly, her high cheekbones going pink.
Fuck, she was glorious when she was nettled.
“Do not be ridiculous,” he answered without a modicum of compunction. “He realized he could not possibly match me in looks and charm and wisely decided to retreat.”
He had not threatened the viscount with words. There was a difference. And Quenington was bloody well undeserving of anything to do with Lady Jo Danvers, whether it be an innocent dance or an assignation.
Especially an assignation.
Decker was never going to allow that to happen. Not the chance of a flower blossom in a hail storm.
Lady Jo was still eying him suspiciously. The orchestra struck up the next song, which happened to be a waltz. Excellent.
He offered her his arm. “My lady?”
Her nostrils flared, the only indication of her pique. She placed her hand on his proffered arm. “Very well.”
“Do not sound so disappointed,” he told her, sotto voce, as he led her to the gleaming, freshly repaired parquet where their fellow dancers had assembled. “I am a deuced talented dancer. Quenington cannot possibly compete.”
He slanted a glance in her direction in time to catch her lips twitch.
“And so very humble, Mr. Decker” she added mockingly.
“I know my strengths.” He gave her a subtle wink.
The flush in her cheeks deepened.
“Why so embarrassed, cherie?” he could not resist asking. “If you were aware of all my strengths, that would put you to the blush for certain.”
“Mr. Decker,” she chastised in disapproving governess fashion, her voice outrage personified.
He barely stifled his grin—it would not do for her to realize how much he was enjoying himself. Or for the rest of the ballroom. Not that he gave a damn about what society thought of him, but he did have a certain reputation to uphold amongst the ladies of London.
Decker assumed his position on the floor opposite her. He placed one hand upon the middle of her back, whilst the other linked with her gloved hand. Her left hand settled upon his shoulder.
“Yes, Lady Josephine?”
She treated him to a ferocious frown. “All my friends call me Jo.”
He wanted to be far more than her friend. He wanted to whisk her into a darkened chamber and…hell. Best to banish that thought.
For now.
“Am I to be counted amongst your friends, then?” he queried lightly.
“No,” she said. “Of course not, but I strongly dislike being called Josephine. The name is better suited to a bitter dowager who takes great pride in mowing down everyone around her with vicious insults.”
He did his best to dismiss the disappointment accompanying her rapid assertion she did not count him amongst her friends. What would it require, he wondered, to earn the trust of the woman in his arms?
Why did he care, anyway? He told himself he did not as the music began. A Viennese waltz. And then, they were moving. Whirling. Although he was quite a bit taller than she was, they fit together in a disturbingly natural way. In a way that made him ponder how else they might fit together.
In the bedchamber.
Not the time to entertain notions that may give him a cockstand in the midst of a waltz, he reminded himself.
But something was nettling him. “Why not?”
He spun her.
“Why not what, Mr. Decker?” she asked as they whirled back down the line.
They moved with a mutual grace he could not help but to admire. They danced well together.
“Why do you not count me amongst your friends?” he elaborated, guiding them through the steps.
He had not danced in as long as he could recall, but some things were like riding a horse. One never forgot how to do