Page 64 of Introducing Miss Joanna (Once a Wallflower 2)

Jo didn’t hear the rest. She had pushed Reade away. And yet when she looked into his eyes, she had known he cared for her. When had she become such a coward?

Exasperated, Reade sat in his drawing room with his boots resting on a table, a whisky in his hand. The evening had been worked out in advance like a military campaign. But any campaign run along those lines would have been an abject failure. He had left Brandon and Letty as confused as he was. When he’d told them of his intention to ask Jo to marry him, both expressed delight. Brandon offered to keep the library empty of guests while Letty brought Jo to Reade there where they could be alone.

In those first few minutes, when Jo turned toward him, he could have sworn he saw something akin to love in her eyes. And then she rushed away as if the place was on fire. What was he to make of it? He admitted to his shortcomings in matters of the heart, as Cartwright would no doubt remind him, given a chance. His love life had been far less complicated in the past. He supposed because he’d never cared deeply for anyone. And it now seemed that his life depended on Jo being in it.

He downed the whisky. He wasn’t about to go to Scotland, Lord Derringham had it wrong, but maybe he should. Take the bit between his teeth again. Find Mrs. Verdin before she created havoc and damaged more lives. But the prospect held no attraction for him. The whisky tasted sour in his mouth, and he put the glass down.

Chapter Twenty-Three

Deeply despondent, Jo sat at the breakfast room table alone, sipping her tea, the toast cooling on the plate. There was nothing for it now but to go home to Marlborough.

The butler entered the room with a parcel. “Good morning, Mr. Spears,” Jo said. “As you see, we are preparing to return home.”

“This was delivered this morning,” he held the small package out to her. I’ll be sorry to see you go, Miss Dalrymple,” he said, surprising her. “Serving Lord Pleasance is somewhat monotonous, but please don’t quote me on that.” His ordinarily, dour face broke into a smile.

Jo grinned.

There was no return address on the box. “Who can have sent it?” she said, finding herself alone, as Mr. Spears had tactfully withdrawn.

Pulling the paper off the small box, she opened it.

“Oh!” Her heart beating madly, she picked up the perfect, soft white feather. She held it to her cheek for a moment and then leaped to her feet and dashed into the hall to call for her bonnet. Mr. Spears opened the front door for her, and Jo flew down the steps, tying the strings as she went.

The sun was warm on her back as she ran several blocks to the park. Jo was short of breath by the time she reached the corner of Upper Brook Street and Park Lane. She dodged a carriage and crossed the road. Before she reached the gate, Reade ran to meet her.

“Jo! My love!” He looked in the direction she’d come. “You’re alone? Why didn’t you bring Sally?”

“I didn’t think…” she frowned up at him. “Are you cross with me?”

“Oh, Jo! How could I be when you are here and looking so beautiful?” He lifted her up, his hand on her waist and kissed her, startling a lady walking her dog.

He set her back on her feet. “Will you marry me, Jo?”

She had wanted to hear those words from his lips so much she thought she would cry. “Yes, Reade.”

“My name is Gareth, sweetheart.”

“Gareth,” she said shyly, although she already knew his given name, having made a point of discovering it weeks ago. “I have to confess that your work will worry me. But I mustn’t complain, you are so very good at it.”

His arms tightened around her, and he drew her close, his mouth grazed her earlobe. “Jo, darling,” he murmured. He framed her face in his hands and kissed her. Jo’s breath left her in a rush. She reached up to pull him closer and knocked off his hat, threading her fingers through the silky hair at his nape.

Reade released her, and with a laugh, stooped to pick up his hat. He tucked her arm into his elbow, and they walked along the path.

“I’ve lost my taste for the work, Jo.”

“You aren’t going to Scotland in search of Mrs. Millet?”

“No, the gentleman was mistaken.”

“You haven’t decided this for my sake?”

He turned to look at her. “So I may spend my days and nights with you? Is that so surprising?” He pushed back her bonnet and kissed her lightly on the lips again. “Visiting my estate was different this time. It felt right for the first time in a long time. I want to live there, but only if you’ll live there with me.”

She frowned; there was one last sticking point.

“What troubles you?” He pinched her chin gently. “Don’t you like to live in the country? There’s always the London Season.”

“Oh, yes. I want a farm like my father’s with chickens and ducks.”

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