it properly, after having learned the skill. It shocked him to realize he was enjoying this dance.
“I scarcely know you at all,” she said. “And need I remind you that you are holding my list hostage?”
“I prefer to think of it as keeping it safe.” He grinned, then twirled her again.
There was something rivetingly sensual about not just the waltz but her. They went down the line, facing each other, then turning away, then facing each other once more, in an echo of their verbal parries and thrusts.
Color rose to her cheeks as they whirled together some more. “Safe is the last word that would ever come to mind in conjunction with you, Mr. Decker.”
“Oh?” He guided them through another series of steps. “And what words, pray tell, would come to that sharp mind of yours in conjunction with me, bijou?”
He spun her, enjoying the flounces of her gown and the silhouette she presented far more than he ought. She faced him, eyes bright. “Irritating.” They began making their way down the line yet again, turning away, and then back to each other. “Meddlesome.” More steps until she faced him once more. “Dangerous.”
Decker could not contain a bark of laughter as she ended back in his arms and they started another circuit of the floor. “I will take the last, but I contest the first and the second.”
“You have better suggestions?” Her gaze was fastened upon his as they moved together.
“Handsome,” he tried.
“Vain,” she said.
“Excessively witty,” Decker continued as if she had not spoken.
“Extraordinarily arrogant,” she returned.
“Capable of kissing a lady until she is breathless,” he countered before twirling her once more.
Her eyes locked upon his, and for a moment, she was speechless.
“Not this lady,” she snapped at last.
They turned away from each other, proceeding with the steps of the dance as if they had not just veered into momentous territory.
“How do you know unless you try?” he pressed.
They faced each other again, her color heightened. “I beg your pardon? What was your question, Mr. Decker? I am sure I misheard.”
“And I am equally certain you did not. What I asked was how do you know, unless you give me the same chance you would give a rotter like Quenington?” he repeated, as he inwardly kicked himself in the arse.
What was he doing? What was he thinking? Of all the bad ideas he had ever entertained, surely proposing to kiss the innocent friend of Sin’s countess was the worst.
And yet, as he gazed down upon Lady Jo Danvers now, he could not deny it also was the most intriguing. The most tempting, too.
Just as she was. She truly was a little gem, so much fire hiding beneath her quiet exterior. Before, he had always supposed her prudish. Cold-blooded. Her list had proven otherwise. There was much she hid, simmering beneath her surface. Was it wrong of him to want a taste?
His cock told him no.
His conscience told him yes.
Unfortunately, his cock was winning.
“I would be an utter fool if I did something so reckless,” she said, at last finding her tongue as they approached the final steps of the waltz.
He twirled them about fast, faster than necessary. He spun her one final time before the dance ended. He bowed. She curtseyed.
“Meet me in the blue salon in half an hour,” he dared, offering her his arm.
“You are wasting your time, sir,” she said quietly as he escorted her from the dance floor.
“If you are too frightened, of course, I understand.” He led her to the periphery of the fête, where he had found her.
“Of course I am not afraid.”
“Oh?” He gave her a look that clearly said he did not believe her.
Lady Jo’s cheeks were still flushed from a combination of exertion and charming embarrassment. Her honey-brown eyes were glossy, her pink lips parted. He wanted to drag her from the ballroom and kiss her not just breathless but mindless as well.
“I am not afraid,” she asserted. “You do not frighten me.”
He bloody well ought to frighten her. Indeed, if she had an inkling of the thoughts churning through his mind right now—all the things he could do to her, teach her—she would flee like an outnumbered flank of infantry facing a cavalry charge.
He sketched a bow. “Prove it, then. The blue salon. Half an hour.”
Without awaiting her response, Decker walked away from her. He would be lying if he said he did not feel her stare upon him like a caress as he walked away.
Jo told herself she was