study, running as quickly as her heavy skirts would allow.
He stood at her entrance, his expression grim. “The betrothal contract appears to be in order, Josephine. I suppose I am left with no recourse other than to allow you to wed Mr. Decker.”
Relief washed over her, joining the anticipation.
“I am happy you are finally agreeing to see reason,” she told him. “Because Clara’s time has come. She says we are to send for the doctor.”
“The doctor?” Her brother paled. “Are you certain?”
“Certain.”
He collapsed into his chair. “Well bloody hell. I am about to become a father.”
Seeing the dazed expression on Julian’s face, Jo decided she would have to take action. “I will see that the doctor is sent for myself. Pour yourself a drink, Julian, and then go see to your wife.”
She did not wait for his response. A time of change was upon them all. The babe was on his or her way. And she was going to be Mrs. Elijah Decker.
Soon, heaven help her.
Not soon enough.
Chapter Eleven
The longest three bloody weeks of Decker’s life had passed with alarming torpidity. He had spent them paying supervised visits upon Jo like a true suitor—shudder—and taking himself in hand until his cock was raw.
Finally, Lady Jo Danvers was his wife.
Lady Jo Decker?
Mrs. Decker?
Who the hell cared what she chose to call herself? She was his. That was all that mattered now. The ceremony was over. The wedding breakfast was done. He had introduced her to all his servants.
Quite appropriately, it was raining.
Which gave Decker ideas.
The list had not been far from his mind during the interminable weeks of waiting.
He took his wife’s hand now and placed it on his arm, guiding her to the glass doors that led to the gardens.
“Where are you taking me?” she asked, laughing.
Damn, he liked the sound of that—her laugh. He wanted more of it. But there was plenty of time for that.
He grasped the cool brass of the handle and opened the door. The weather was warm, summer finally upon them. No thunder or lightning—just an unleashing of the clouds. The fresh scent of rain mingled with the fat blossoms of roses, which were bowing beneath the onslaught of the showers.
“Number three,” he told her, grinning. “Get caught in the rain with a gentleman. What was the bit in the parenthesis? I have quite forgotten.”
A charming flush stole over her delicate cheekbones. “Choose said gentleman with care.”
He tsked. “You are missing the bit about the removal of wet garments.”
“Decker!” A smile played at her luscious lips as she chastised him. “You want me to drench my beautiful gown?”
“I want to kiss my wife in the rain,” he countered, raising a brow. “Unless she is too scared?”
“Of course I am not scared,” she denied instantly. “Why should I be scared? It is only water.”
“And I only aim to fulfill every one of your fantasies, darling,” he told her, his cock twitching to life at the thought.
Down, old chap. It is not your time just yet.
“I want you to dance with me,” she said softly. “The way you danced with me at Lord and Lady Sinclair’s ball. In the rain.”
“There is my girl,” he said approvingly, stepping into the rain and tugging her along with him.
The first lash of the rain upon him was a shock to his senses.
She let out a shriek as a fresh torrent of droplets hit them.
He bowed to her as if they were on the dance floor. And then he took her into his arms. They whirled. The showers soaked them within minutes. Through the gravel path, they danced. He twirled her in the shadow of a fountain of Venus holding a bow whilst being serviced by Adonis.
“Oh!” she exclaimed as her curious eyes took in the rather lifelike rendering of Adonis’ prick.
He grinned at her, unrepentant. “It is rather small, is it not? I can show you something far more impressive later, bijou.”
The color on her cheeks deepened.
By God, she was lovely. He wondered how many other ways he could make her flush. And how often.
She laughed. “You are a scoundrel.”
He was. No point in denying it. “I can do that for you later if you like, darling.”
Nothing would please him more than tasting her. Licking her until she came on his tongue. The sensual promise of making her his, which had been haunting him since the day his eye had first fallen upon her naughty list, beckoned. Within reach—tempting. Taunting.
Real.
As real as the water pelting them. Her silken skirts and