Page 13 of Introducing Miss Joanna (Once a Wallflower 2)

Dark eyebrows raised over amused eyes. “Then, I must be patient.”

He was teasing her! Might it be because she was new to London? A country miss? She had already had experience of such men and felt vaguely disappointed that he was one of them. “That would depend upon whether I’m willing to share them with you, my lord.”

Lord Reade bowed gracefully. “Arrêt à bon temps,” he murmured with that fascinating smile, using a fencing term Jo recognized from a novel.

Mr. Cartwright chuckled. His eyes full of laughter.

Letty paused in her description of the alfresco entertainments found at tea gardens, a mere carriage drive from the city, to raise her eyebrows at them. “I fear I am missing something vastly entertaining.”

“We are discussing the merits of masked balls while employing the art of verbal fencing,” Mr. Cartwright said. “Miss Dalrymple has made a fine riposte.”

Letty smiled and returned to her conversation. The three were obviously on good terms. Jo was pleased with herself for getting the better of him. As he and Cartwright joined into Letty’s conversation, she took advantage of the moment to study him. But she had misjudged him; he was not at all condescending. He carried himself like a soldier. Might he have been one? Since the war ended two years ago, many men had sold out.

A second waltz was announced.

“Will you honor me with a dance, Miss Dalrymple?” Lord Reade asked, turning to her.

“Certainly, sir.” Surprised that he would ask her, Jo rose and rested her hand on his arm.

Butterflies stirred in her stomach as she walked beside him, aware of the relaxed, effortless power of his movements. Was he a rake? A woman was unlikely to rise disappointed from his bed. The thought was so arousing, heat flooded her face. Jo dropped her chin. Never in her life had she met such a man. A warning voice sounded in her head. You are out of your depth.

As they joined those on the dance floor waiting for the waltz to begin, to distract herself from the unsettling presence of the man beside her, she compared him to Mr. Ollerton. They were different in every way imaginable. Reade made little effort to charm her. He was dark, where Ollerton was fair. Reade was no slave to fashion, either. His only adornments were a watch chain and a heavy ornate gold ring on his little finger. His black tailcoat fitted him well across the muscular breadth of his shoulders and required none of the padding some men resorted to. The superfine material was snug at his narrow waist, and his pantaloons emphasized the musculature and length of his legs. While Mr. Ollerton styled his hair in a careful Brutus, Reade’s hair was a careless mass of waves which invited one’s fingers to order it. Entirely natural, she decided. She smiled at her foolishness. How stupid to form an opinion of a man she’d only just met.

He smiled down at her, his gaze roaming over her face. “Something amuses you?”

“No. It was merely an arbitrary thought.”

“Might I be privy to it?”

Caught flat-footed, her chest tightened. Goodness! She tried to think of an appropriate answer but failed under his unsettling gaze. “I beg your pardon, my lord. It would not interest you.” Her stern tone was meant to put an end to his probing.

That didn’t work. A grin imbued his brown eyes with a wicked sparkle. “Then you leave me to speculate, which might be far worse. Come, be honest. I have thick skin.”

Really, the man was…impudent. “It is your hair, sir,” Jo said, determined to best him.

His eyes widened. “My hair?”

“I approve of the tousled style gentlemen are adopting this Season.”

He laughed, causing those dancing nearby to stare. “I merely brush and forget it, Miss Dalrymple. Is that a disappointment to you?”

She demurred. This man would be the undoing of her. She would earn a reputation for being fast and go home in disgrace. And to be fair, she had brought it on herself by agreeing to waltz with him. She should have known better. Where was her head? The few young debutantes on the dance floor would partner their papa or their brother. And she had stood up with a rake. He made her conspicuous, but even so, she admitted that to refuse him would have been impossible.

The music flowed over the ballroom, and he took her in his arms. Her hand clasped firmly in his while the fingers of his other hand spread over her lower back, strong and warm. His touch was like a caress, and his male scent flooded her senses. She couldn’t help but to sigh as his body moved with hers over the floor, his long legs brushing her skirts. Being held in his arms appealed to her more than she cared to admit.

He had a commanding self-confidence, which she admired but also distrusted. A man like Reade would not be right for her. She couldn’t imagine him in a cozy family setting, chatting to her father over the breakfast table. It was as if danger surrounded him. What an odd thought. How silly she was tonight. Her gaze was drawn again to his face.

Reade lifted his black eyebrows. “Do I pass muster, Miss Dalrymple?”

He was outrageous. When their eyes met, she found it hard to look away. “I could not say, sir,” she said, tempted to rebuke him.

He chuckled. “Yet?”

Jo had to laugh. “Do you enjoy teasing me, Lord Reade?”

“I confess I might if it makes your lovely eyes flash daggers at me. But no, Miss Dalrymple. It’s just that I prefer to speak my mind. Life is too short for niceties.”

“Should we all act like barbarians? Everyone here obeys those rules. Do they not?”

---