Page 57 of Introducing Miss Joanna (Once a Wallflower 2)

Her anguish knocked the breath out of him. “I’m not sorry he’s dead, sweetheart, but he had information valuable to us. Did he leave anything in that room?”

“Yes. A portmanteau. There’s a bag of gold in it.”

“Stand in the shelter of the doorway. I won’t be long.”

Reade dragged Virden’s body inside. Someone would come for him tomorrow. His coat hung over a chair. Reade checked the pockets. Nothing. Picking up the weighty portmanteau, he went out, shutting the door behind him.

“Reade, Virden told me about the others.”

He gazed down at her. “Lord Rivenstock?”

“Yes, and Lord Lothian.”

“Lothian?” Reade raised his eyebrows. No wonder the regent was interested. Disillusioned, it occurred to Reade that Prinny may have turned a blind eye to Lothian’s sordid activities. But he would not want a scandal of this magnitude erupting. Not when he was so unpopular.

He put an arm around Jo’s shoulders. “That’s of immense help to us, Jo. I need to get you home before you catch a chill.”

“Let me speak to Becky first. I want to thank her,” she said as they approached the tavern. “She helped me, gave me money for the fare home.”

“Good of her. But not tonight.” Raucous laughter floated out. A tavern was no haven for a beautiful girl. It didn’t bear thinking about.

Ash stood patiently, waiting for him. Reade strapped the small portmanteau onto the back of the saddle, then lifted Jo onto Ash and mounted behind her. His arms around her, he took up the reins and rode the horse back along the road.

Jo was so small and soft in his arms; his heart thudded wildly. How close he’d come to losing her. She leaned her head back against his chest as he urged the horse into a canter along the dark streets. A rush of exhilaration rushed through him; she was safe. He wanted to hug her.

“What does Lord Lothian look like?” she asked.

“Lothian? Tall, thin, with white hair.”

“I saw him at Astley’s Amphitheater with Mrs. Millet. I suppose she brought him to have a look at us,” she said with bitterness in her voice. “She and Virden planned to get their hands on my father’s money. Either Virden was to kidnap me and demand a ransom, or she would entice my father into marriage. And then,” her voice lowered, “kill him.”

His arm tightened around her. He had no words.

When they arrived at the Mayfair townhouse, candlelight shone from all the downstairs windows and the servants’ quarters below. The door opened, and Mr. Dalrymple rushed down the steps, followed by Jo’s aunt and the butler.

“Jo! Dear heaven, are you all right?”

“Yes, Papa,” she said wearily. “Lord Reade saved me.”

Her father seized Reade’s hand and shook it vigorously. “I’m so grateful, my lord. Come inside, share a meal with us.”

“I regret I cannot stay, sir, as I’m needed elsewhere. I will call tomorrow afternoon.”

“Please do, my lord. I cannot thank you enough for saving my daughter.” He cleared his throat, his eyes watering. “Jo is precious to me.”

Jo stood silently by, swaying on her feet. Reade feared she would fall, and he would catch her. And when he did, that would be it. He doubted he’d let her go again. And while the lord knew he wanted her, he needed to think hard about what was best for her. And understand what she might want for herself.

He bedded Ash down in his stall and hailed a hackney to Bow Street. Knowing Black, he expected to find him still there. It was a delicate situation. Once he learned all that Black had got from Rivenstock, he would relay the information to the Home Office in the morning. The news would not be well received, but it was out of his hands.

Prinny would be irate, although Reade suspected he already knew. He was glad to be finished with the dirty business. It left him with a nasty taste in his mouth. His work for the crown had been rewarding, but recent events made him feel jaded and disenchanted.

Black, reliable as ever, awaited him there. Rivenstock had cracked and confessed to his and the Virdens’ culpability but clamped his lips on any mention of Lothian. Perhaps he feared the viscount more than the law.

Some hours later, after a meal and a stiff whisky, Reade wearily climbed into his bed. The fear of losing Jo had almost ripped him apart. He never wanted to suffer that again. Cartwright had accused him of leaving his heart on the battlefield. Brutal, but it held a degree of truth, although he wouldn’t take it from anyone but Cartwright.

Reade didn’t consider himself a hero. And not after the last decisive battle which won the war. A family friend had written to implore Reade to watch over his impetuous young heir, Miles, who had taken the king’s shilling and joined up without his father’s consent. Reade had failed. It was two years ago, but the sickening memory of what happened that day never lost its grip on him. And the nightmares persisted, making him wake up in a sweat every morning.

While the candle sent dancing shadows around the room, he lay back and placed an arm over his eyes. He invited it back. Maybe if he dealt with it now, he could sleep.

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