Lady Wallflower (Notorious Ladies of London Book 2) Read online

  Lady Wallflower

  Notorious Ladies of London Book Two

  By

  Scarlett Scott

  Lady Jo Danvers has declared war on her humdrum life. Armed with a list of ways to be wicked, she will step out of her role as never-been-kissed wallflower and experience passion. With the right gentleman, of course. She just has to find him.

  Mr. Elijah Decker, the handsome businessman she cannot stop thinking about, is definitely no gentleman. And he is decidedly all wrong. Unfortunately for Jo, she has unwittingly given him her list.

  When Decker discovers Jo’s list mistakenly tucked between the pages of a pamphlet for the Lady’s Suffrage Society, he is intrigued. And after she realizes her error and storms his office demanding he return it, Decker agrees on one condition: that she accept his aid in crossing off each scandalous act.

  What begins as a lark quickly sizzles into something deeper and unexpected. But Decker’s dark side may tear them apart before Jo’s sinful quest is complete…

  Dedication

  For all the strong women in my life. I’m proud to call you mom, sister, friend.

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  About the Book

  Dedication

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Epilogue

  Author’s Note

  Author’s Note on Historical Accuracy

  Excerpt from Lady Reckless

  Excerpt from Her Virtuous Viscount

  Don’t miss Scarlett’s other romances!

  About the Author

  Copyright Page

  Chapter One

  London, 1885

  Decker stared at the list on the desk before him.

  He had read the flowery script at least half a dozen times since finding it tucked between the pages of a pamphlet he had been tasked with printing for the Lady’s Suffrage Society.

  The words taunted him.

  Tempted him.

  Reading them made his cock hard, partly because he had never been meant to see them. Partly because of the woman who had written them. Quiet, shy Lady Jo Danvers, who loved to frown at him. Who looked at him as if he were a footpad about to filch her reticule. Who had delivered her pamphlet to his offices buttoned to the throat, not a hair out of place, looking very much like a governess he longed to defile.

  Damn it, he had to stop thinking about her. Had to stop perusing the list. And he would, Decker promised himself. Soon. But first, he was going to read it again.

  Ways to be Wicked

  1. Kiss a man until you are breathless.

  2. Arrange for an assignation. Perhaps with Lord Q?

  3. Get caught in the rain with a gentleman. (This will necessitate the removal of wet garments. Choose said gentleman wisely.)

  4. Sneak into a gentleman’s bedchamber in the midst of the night.

  5. Go to a gentleman’s private apartments.

  6. Spend a night in a gentleman’s bed.

  7. Make love in the outdoors.

  8. Ask

  Bloody hell. The items on her list were delicious enough to incite his lust and his interest in equal, ballocks-tightening measure. But that incomplete number eight—only just begun, as if she had stopped in medias res, as if she had more wonderfully sinful items to add to her list—made his prick twitch every time. He had tortured himself with it. So many possibilities.

  What did she want to ask? And who did she want to pose the question to? Was there a number nine? What else would she add to her list?

  Most importantly, who the devil was Lord Q?

  That question bothered him more than it ought to. Decker told himself it hardly mattered. Lady Jo was not the sort of woman with whom he dallied. First, she was a lady. Second, she was an innocent.

  Or was she?

  The list before him mocked.

  It hardly seemed the composition of a virginal miss. But then, how the devil would Decker know what a virginal miss would write? He had not been a virgin in years, and he had never been a damned miss. Moreover, he had not bedded an innocent in…well, ever. His predilections tended to be far more depraved than a virginal miss could satisfy.

  But oh, how delightful it would be to debauch Lady Jo.

  Curse it, his trousers were too tight, drawing against his erection each time he shifted in his chair to ease his discomfort. The spell of yearning Lady Jo’s list cast upon him was heavy and thick, unbreakable. He was going to have to take himself in hand if he was going to get anything accomplished today.

  There was only one answer to his current predicament.

  He had to rid himself of the list.

  Remove the temptation.

  Return it to its rightful owner, and then forget he had ever seen it.

  Right. That last part was never bloody well happening, was it?

  On a sigh, he composed a terse note to Lady Jo Danvers.

  I believe I have something of yours.

  D.

  The note was in Jo’s reticule as she waited for the hulking Scotsman who served as Mr. Elijah Decker’s aide-de-camp to announce her. Seven words. Signed with his initial. She had instantly known who had sent her the message. And she had also known what he had in his possession. What she had inadvertently given him.

  Her cheeks were hot.

  Misery churned in her stomach.

  Her list had been missing for three days. She had searched for it everywhere. Initially, she had believed she had somehow misplaced it, shuffling it with some of her correspondence. But when a thorough investigation had failed to produce the list, she feared her older brother Julian, the Earl of Ravenscroft, had taken it. However, after his protective, brotherly wrath had not been unleashed upon her, she had reached another, far more troubling conclusion.

  She had unintentionally mixed her list into the pages of her pamphlet for the Lady’s Suffrage Society. And she had given it to the odious, sinfully handsome, utterly self-absorbed rake who owned the publisher that was now printing all the society’s pamphlets.

  Those seven words written in his arrogant hand, burning a veritable hole of shame through her reticule, confirmed it. Of all the people to whom she could have unintentionally given her list, why, oh why did it have to be him?

  She detested him and men of his ilk.

  Mr. Elijah Decker was rather like a whore. A gentleman whore.

  Only, he was no gentleman.

  “What is it, Macfie?” growled Mr. Decker from somewhere within his office, sounding irritated. “I thought I told you not to interrupt me for the next hour.”

  “Forgive me, sir, but ye have a visitor,” Mr. Macfie offered. “Lady Josephine Danvers.”

  Jo clutched her reticule so tightly her knuckles ached. Less than a minute to attempt to compose herself before she had to face him. She inhaled. Told herself she would be firm. That she would not show him a modicum of embarrassment. She would demand he return the list. She would require his silence.

  Mr. Macfie turned to her. “He is ready for ye now, milady.”

  She thanked him and reluctantly moved into Mr. De
cker’s lair. Mr. Macfie snapped the door closed with more force than necessary, making Jo jump.

  Mr. Decker rose to his full, imposing height, his impossibly blue stare upon her. “Forgive Macfie. He does not know his own strength.”

  She stared at Mr. Decker, trying to make sense of what he had just said. She blinked. No words were forthcoming. Her heart was pounding so loudly, she was certain Mr. Decker could hear it.

  “The slamming of the door, my lady,” Mr. Decker elaborated, raising a knowing brow.

  Her ears felt as if they were on fire. “Of course. Mr. Macfie is forgiven. You, however, are not. Where is my list?”

  Clasping his hands behind his back, Mr. Decker sauntered toward her. “I do not recall asking for your forgiveness, my dear.”

  She stiffened. “I am not your dear, and you failed to answer my question. Where is my list?”

  He stopped before her, insufferably handsome. “Which list are you referring to, Lady Jo?”

  The blighter.

  He was toying with her. She would wager her dowry upon it.

  “You know very well,” she charged.

  “Hmm.” He tapped the fullness of his lower lip with his forefinger, as if he were thinking. “I believe you may have to give me a hint. What did it say, this list of yours?”

  Her cheeks were scalding. “You know what it says.”

  “Do I?” He grinned, like the devil he was.

  She had no doubt he had read every word she had written. Every shocking thing she had drafted thus far after seizing upon her plan to live her life and experience true passion the way everyone else around her was. Her sister was blissfully married. Her dearest friend was happily wed and wildly in love.

  And yet, Jo had never been kissed.

  “Yes,” she hissed. “You do.”

  “I am afraid my memory is dreadfully faulty. Remind me, my lady.” His voice was low. Teasing. Taunting.

  Daring.

  He did not think she had the audacity to say it, she realized.

  Jo kept her gaze trained unwaveringly upon him. “Ways…”

  She faltered.

  “Ways,” he prompted, his stare dipping to her lips.

  “Ways to be wicked,” she blurted.

  “Oh, yes. That list. Now I recall.” The grin he gave her was sin in its purest, most tempting form.

  Curse him.

  And curse the curious flutter that started in her belly and slid lower, pooling between her thighs.

  Jo was doomed.

  “That list,” she agreed. “You sent me a note saying you have it. I would like it returned to me, if you please.”

  There. If he were a gentleman, he would spare her additional humiliation and surrender the list without another word.

  “What do you plan to do with this list of yours?” he asked, offering further evidence he was no gentleman as he strolled closer.

  “That is hardly your concern.” She told herself she would not budge an inch. No step in retreat. But he was near enough to touch now.

  Near enough his scent wafted over her, a cologne unlike any she had ever smelled before, musky and rich with a hint of bay. Near enough that she detected striations of gray and green lingering in the bright-blue depths of his eyes.

  He reached for her, and she found herself swaying toward him. Anticipating a kiss. An embrace. The heat smoldering within her—part embarrassment, part longing—burst into a flame.

  He plucked her hat from her head, still grinning that roguish grin. “I am afraid you made it my concern when you entrusted your list to me, bijou.”

  Bijou? Was that what he called all his fallen women?

  Jo reached for her hat, irritated with herself for thinking he would kiss her. Worse, for wanting it, even if for the span of a few seconds. What was wrong with her?

  “Do not call me that, and give me my hat, you scoundrel!” She lunged for it, but Mr. Decker was too quick.

  He held it in the air, high above Jo’s head, using his massive height to his advantage. It was hardly the first time in her life she had been dismayed by her petite stature, but the humiliation of the moment rendered this particular scene worse.

  “I will return your hat if you answer my question.” He raised a dark brow. “I could not see your eyes with this blasted contraption on your head.”

  “My hat is the height of fashion.” Jo lost her composure and jumped, trying to rescue it from his grasp.

  But her attempt failed.

  And Mr. Decker laughed at her efforts, blast him.

  “Does it truly require this much plumage?” He shook the hat, dangling it over her head, taunting. “Or a brim so pronounced in the front? It shades half your face, darling.”

  First bijou, now darling. She hated him. Well, she wanted to hate him. And she also wanted him to return her hat and her list. But in truth, the way he uttered terms of endearment in his low, inviting baritone had an effect upon her despite her every inclination to remain as impervious to this man as possible.

  And judging from the smile on his lips, he knew it, the rogue.

  “The next time I choose a hat, I will endeavor to ask your opinion, Mr. Decker, and do not, I pray, call me your darling.” She attempted to inflect acid into her voice and was nettled to realize she sounded breathless.

  Affected.

  Because she was. Because being in such proximity to Mr. Elijah Decker made her feel things she had no wish to feel. He was entirely unsuitable in every way. From the moment she had first met him—Mr. Decker was a close acquaintance of her friend Callie’s husband, the Earl of Sinclair—she had been drawn to him. But his reputation as a lothario and his cocky, handsome mien had made her dislike him instantly.

  And distrust him.

  “You are a feisty little thing when you are riled, Lady Jo.” His grin deepened, revealing more of his teeth. “I like it.”

  She wished his words did not make her heart pound or a strange glide of need slide through her insides like honey. But it did.

  She gritted her teeth. “How nice for you. Please return my hat and my list to me, Mr. Decker.”

  “I have given you my terms. Answer my question, and you shall have back your hat.”

  His stare was intense, burning into hers. She could not look away. It was as if he had stripped her of every defense. Oh, she had spoken to Mr. Decker on several occasions. She had hand-delivered the pamphlet to him. She had seen him at Callie’s dinner parties and balls. Still, she had never been close enough to notice how long his lashes were. Close enough to experience the full effect of his raw, sensual magnetism.

  “I was going to attempt to accomplish the items on my list,” she blurted. “That is what I was going to do with it.”

  “Hmm,” he hummed. “Accomplish them, you say. How?”

  She flushed all over once more. “In the ordinary way. By acting upon them.”

  “I see.” Without relinquishing her hat, he spun on his heel and abruptly strode back to his desk, dropping her hat upon it as if it were a dead bird. “With the same gentleman, or with different gentlemen?”

  She had not anticipated more questions. Jo blinked. The moment between them had been intense. But if she had expected her heart to slow and the strange heaviness in her belly to dissipate now that he was no longer near, she was wrong. The heaviness remained.

  Her gaze lowered to her hat, lying on its side in forlorn fashion. Mayhap if she were fast enough…

  “You can try, bijou, but I will be faster.”

  Mr. Decker’s mocking voice had Jo’s eyes snapping back to his arresting face. “I told you not to call me that.”

  He gave an indolent shrug. “Make me stop.”

  Make him stop? She had never heard the like. Elijah Decker was maddening. Infuriating. Rude.

  Irresistible.

  She frowned. “You are being quite unfair, Mr. Decker. I gave you the list in err, and now I would like it back. If you have any honor at all, you will give me both it and my hat and let me go without
further quarrel.”

  His grin returned. “Fortunately, I have precious little honor.”

  She already suspected that. “What do you want?”

  “Where shall I begin?” His eyes swept over her form in a visual caress that made liquid heat rush to her core.

  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.