Page 22 of Introducing Miss Joanna (Once a Wallflower 2)

Jo tried to follow, but was caught up and dragged in the opposite direction. Finally, free, she was pressed against a brick wall near the entrance to a narrow alley.

Jo searched for Sally amongst the dispersing crowd but didn’t see her. Winded, she leaned against the brick wall and tried to keep out of the way of those rushing past. A man tripped and cannoned into her, pushing her backward. Her head banged against the bricks,

and she sank dizzily down. Once her head cleared, she struggled to her feet to stare into the shadowy laneway. Was it a way out? It looked forbidding, and she had no idea where it led. But she just couldn’t stay here. She stepped inside.

A man watched her from the shadows. Her heart beating, Jo backed away and returned to the fray. Where was Sally? Was she hurt? With gritty determination, despite another bout of dizziness and a stinging forehead, she pushed her way into the surging mass of frightened people, who still ran in all directions.

Jo realized she was in trouble when she’d only taken a few steps. The crowd was too strong for her, and they pulled her off her feet.

An arm looped around her waist and scooped her up, robbing her of breath. Fear rushed through her, her protest muffled against a hard chest. “Put me down.”

“You can’t stay here.”

Jo tried to see who it was but could only see the hard edge of the man’s jaw. She squirmed in his arms with panicked breaths as she inhaled his clean scent. A hand clutching his steely shoulder, her palm pressed against the gold buttons on his silk waistcoat, feeling the unresistant hard muscle and bone beneath. Well, he was a gentleman at least and not one of those hollow-chested, pale men she met at balls. Growing desperate, she shoved again, harder, and looked up into his face.

“Lord Reade!” His eyes dark, his mouth pressed in a firm line. “This is hardly necessary. I can walk!” Jo shouted, trying to make herself heard above the clamor swirling around them.

“Don’t be foolish.” His deep voice rumbled against her ear as he dove through a gap in the eddying mob. People seemed to scatter in his wake.

“I am not foolish,” she cried. “I am quite capable of taking care of myself.”

“So, it would appear. Your forehead is bleeding. What the devil are you doing here?”

What else would she be doing here? “I came to see the Prince of Wales and the royal procession.”

He didn’t slow his determined stride. “Someone fired on the Regent.”

“Well, it wasn’t me.”

“I’m relieved to hear it.”

“Mind where you’re going!” A man growled as Reade elbowed past him. He blanched at Reade’s expression and hastily moved aside.

“Where are you taking me? I’ve lost my maid,” Jo yelled. “And, you are stifling me.”

He rearranged her in his arms, tossing her as if she weighed nothing more than a bag of feathers. But at least her head was now on a level with his. She clung to his shoulder and cast a sideways glance at his fine profile. His dark eyes searched ahead, hard as flint. Jo loathed depending on him, although she’d seen women and children knocked over.

She’d always considered herself indomitable. It had never occurred to her how easily someone like Reade could overpower her. If it were any other man, she would be scared witless, but she was not afraid of Reade. “Something bad could have happened to my maid, Sally. I must find her quickly,” she said in a more reasonable tone as she studied a glossy black lock flopping onto his forehead. She could smell his skin, his spicy soap.

“Your maid will find her way,” he said grittily. “If you’d been dragged into that alley, something nasty could have happened to you.”

“But you have kindly prevented that, so you can put me down now.”

“Be patient. Not a virtue of yours, I suspect, Miss Dalrymple.”

“Oh, how unfair…” She clamped down her lips when a woman ahead of them staggered after being viciously shoved.

Reade mounted the half-dozen steps to the front door of a building. He placed her on her feet on the narrow porch. She bent to rearrange her skirts, which had ridden up her legs. Her head throbbed. Pressed against his muscular body while breathing in his male scent had shaken her almost as much as the attack on the prince regent.

“Hold still.” He framed her face in large, capable hands and studied the wound on her forehead. “It’s not too bad. I doubt it will scar and mar your beauty.”

She held her breath. Did he find her beautiful? His palms were warm against her skin, his eyes the color of dark chocolate, rimmed with thick black lashes. Up close, he looked less overbearing…somehow more vulnerable. Reade vulnerable? Ridiculous.

Reade pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and offered it to her. “Are you dizzy?”

“No,” she lied. She was a little, but she feared he would carry her if she admitted to it.

Dabbing her forehead with the linen square, she decided it was he who made her dizzy, for Reade acting concerned and gentle with her made her knees wobbly. Had she hit her head harder than she thought? She reluctantly dragged her gaze from his to look around the street. Bewildered people were wandering about like lost lambs. Pitiful cries rent the air as they called for lost loved ones. It made her eyes tear up. She stiffened and bit her lip hard. This was no time to weaken. She had to find Sally. “I am grateful for your assistance, Lord Reade,” she said, fighting to regain her equilibrium. “Please don’t let me keep you. I’ll search for my maid.”

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