Page 58 of Introducing Miss Joanna (Once a Wallflower 2)

It might have been yesterday, not 1815. Sunday, June 18th. Two hundred thousand soldiers met on a few acres of land near the small Belgian town of Waterloo. Reade had struggled to support his men, who were in constant fear of gunfire and saber fights, while blinded by smoke from gunpowder, and deafened by cannon blasts. All that day, they had fought, and by evening, the wounded, dead, and dying covered the battleground.

The news that the Allied forces, led by the Duke of Wellington and the Prussian General von Blücher, had defeated Napoleon’s Grande Armée brought little peace to Reade as he squatted beside the injured. Miles, Lord Warren’s son, lay mortally wounded by a musket ball. Miles died before they transported him to the infirmary, and they buried him where he lay.

He was only one of many thousands to die that day. So many heartbreaking letters to write. But Reade could never forget bringing the news to Miles’s father and helplessly watching hope die in his eyes. It brought back in vivid recall the intense grief of Reade’s young self when he lost his mother and his older brother after their yacht sank close to shore.

At ten years old, he’d waded out into the water, but could not reach them and could only watch them drown. The way he had dealt with these memories was to exhaust himself with the work he did for the crown. He closed his eyes, weary to his bones, but knowing sleep was far away.

He never intended to care for Jo. She should marry a suitable man. A calm, even-tempered fellow. That dismal thought led to reflections on how right she felt in his arms, riding home as he’d breathed in the sweet scent of her glorious hair tumbling over her shoulders. She’d been subjected to too much horror, yet her green eyes gazed trustingly into his, and he’d left her with the image of her soft, inviting mouth he longed to kiss.

With a groan, he blew out the candle.

Chapter Nineteen

Jo woke the next morning when Sally entered with her cup of chocolate. She had slept in; the mantel clock showed ten o’clock. Beyond the window, the sun shone from a sky of blue. She should feel excited to be alive and ready to tackle a new day, but instead, she was heavy-hearted. Last night she had wanted nothing more than to stay within Reade’s arms, but in the cold light of day, she must face facts.

“I was so scared for you, Miss Jo. The

staff, too. They waited up for you,” Sally said. “Even Mr. Spears. He stayed by the door with your father, even though the footman stood ready to replace him.”

“That was sweet of him.”

“Yes, your father thanked him.”

“I’m pleased, I shall, too.”

“A roar went up when you arrived on his lordship’s horse. The maids can talk of nothing else this morning.”

Jo smiled and nodded. “How kind they all are.”

She counted the hours until Reade’s visit. At breakfast, her father was full of praise for him. He expressed embarrassment at being taken in by Mrs. Millet, who, after receiving a letter, rushed away and left him midway through the evening.

“I hope she didn’t break your heart, Papa,” Jo said as he tucked into bacon and eggs.

“There’s no fool like an old fool,” he said with a sigh. “No, Jo. My heart broke when your mother died. Can’t happen again. Mrs. Millet, or Virden, or whatever she calls herself opened an intriguing window into London Society, which I admit I enjoyed. But I’ve had enough. Your aunt wishes to return home to her cottage and her cats, and I am eager to see Sooty. We’ll go just as soon as we’ve achieved what we came to do. See you and Reade married…”

“But Reade and I aren’t getting married, Papa.”

He frowned. “You arrived home on Lord Reade’s horse with his arms around you. I expected you and him to….”

“No, Papa,” Jo said firmly. “Reade rescued me. It is his job, and he’s very good at it. I am not about to force him to commit himself because of it.”

Her father raised an eyebrow. “I have eyes in my head, Jo. I saw how you two look at each other. Why, it’s been Reade this and Reade that since you first laid eyes on him. If we were in Marlborough, the entire village would expect him to marry you.”

“But this is London. No one who knows us saw me with him last night. And anyway, he hasn’t asked me to marry him.” Jo drew in a breath. “Should he do so out of some sense of obligation, I would refuse him.”

“Your mother was born into a titled family,” her father said with a frown. “It’s not because of me, is it?”

“No, Papa.”

“If you’re sure, my girl. I must assume you know your own mind.” He picked up the newspaper and folded it to read an article.

She knew little about the complicated, rather troubled man, but she doubted her father’s humble origins would stop Reade. Not if he wanted her. But Letty had warned her. He did not wish to marry. And he had said nothing since to make Jo believe otherwise. How masterfully he’d handled Virden! He would never give that life away to marry her. Nor would he expect her to wait at home for him, wondering if he was dead or alive. Then there was her father to consider. He’d been hurt, his confidence shattered. He’d failed to see through Mrs. Millet’s ruse, although the woman had disturbed Jo from their first meeting.

She pushed her scrambled eggs around the plate as her appetite dwindled. Never again would she meet such a man as Reade. And she feared she would never love another man with such passion. All she could think of lying in bed last night was him. The very thought of him sent her blood pounding through her veins. She wanted to draw her fingers through his hair, trace the angles of his aristocratic nose, his lean cheeks, and hard jaw, and allowed herself a moment to think of his sensual lips on hers.

She’d never thought seriously about making love before, beyond a few giggles with her girlfriend. This was desire that settled low in her belly, like a yearning for something she didn’t quite understand. Pushing away her half-eaten breakfast, she reached for her cup and sipped without tasting the tea. Best they did not meet again after today. She must try to forget him. “You’re right, Papa. We must go home.”

“No, my dear,” her father said, putting down his newspaper, his about-face surprising her. “You must deal with things head-on and take up the threads of your life again. We will stay until the lease on this house is up. Who knows what might happen in the following weeks?”

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