Sally blanched.
Jo glared at him, shocked at his bluntness. She was grateful for his help, but that was unnecessary. There was no need to alarm Sally. Jo’s benevolent attitude toward him evaporated. Surely there was no need to point out how naive and foolish she’d been. “Thank you for your help, sir,” she said stiffly.
An amused light sparked in Reade’s eyes. He shut the door and doffed his hat as the carriage pulled away.
“Well, that was quite an adventure, wasn’t it miss?” Sally fell back against the squab.
“I wasn’t aware the prince regent was so unpopular,” Jo said. “I only had a glimpse of him and the other gentleman beside him.” What she’d seen of the Regent disappointed her: a sulky, fleshy face, and plump body in an overly ornate coat. But she was pleased that he didn’t appear hurt.
“It’s the way he goes on, and the government, too. We’re worse off than we might have been if Napoleon had won the war.” Sally wrinkled her freckled nose. “You’ll feel more the thing when you get home and have a nice hot cup of tea.”
“I’m sure I will.”
The hackney entered the quiet Mayfair streets, the air fragrant with spring foliage and blossoms spilling over walls in the mansion gardens. Jo barely looked at the elegant houses they passed while she mused over how Reade could affect her emotions to such a degree. She basked in the warmth of approval from his dark eyes and hated his criticism so much she rushed to defend herself. And when he laughed at her, her fingers itched to slap him.
Sally glanced at her. “You were lucky the gentleman came to your aid, Miss Jo.”
“That I was,” she admitted.
“And so handsome, too,” Sally said with a gusty sigh.
“Do you think so?” Jo said, drawing in a breath. “I hardly noticed.”
Sally raised her fair eyebrows. “All that black hair. And those muscles! Hard to miss ’em.”
“Let us put the unpleasant episode behind us,” Jo said firmly.
“Yes, miss. Not as though we’ll see him again, do you think?”
“I daresay I might at some affair or other, but only in passing, Sally.”
She wondered if he would attend the rout as the hackney pulled up outside the townhouse. “And here we are.” She smiled at the maid. “That was exciting, wasn’t it? No need to mention it to my father or my aunt.”
“No, miss.”
But Jo suspected when she and Reade met again, there would not be a polite exchange of pleasantries. Something had changed between them. There was a beguiling raw power about him, but also a vulnerability that drew her even more. She allowed herself to dream but knew it was foolish to imagine a life with him. The vision of Reade sitting in a drawing room with a napkin on his knee, sipping tea, and speaking of his hopes and dreams made her smile and shake her head.
Reade turned awayas the hackney cab rattled down the road, taking Miss Dalrymple back to the safety of Mayfair. It shook him up to find her in such a dire situation. This investigation stripped his emotions raw and sickened him because it involved vulnerable young women like her. She’d been vulnerable in that mob, but still placed her maid’s safety before her own. She proved herself not only to be brave but good-hearted. Just the sort a man would want for his wife. A delectable armful was Miss Joanna. She was feisty. She’d objected to his strong-arm tactics and scoffed at his warning. Her lovely eyes flashed darts at him.
A reluctant grin tugged at his lips as he signaled to a hackney to take him to Whitehall. They would question those they’d rounded up after the attack on Prinny. But he doubted they’d find the culprit. He would have been long gone. Pebbles couldn’t shatter a window, nor was it a gunshot, for there was no sign of gunpowder. More would be known once they’d examined the coach.
An hour later, having learned nothing more, Reade entered through the columned marble foyer of Carlton House. As soon as he reached the crest of the curving staircase, he heard the regent’s raised voice from the Blue Room.
He knocked and entered. Seated at his desk, a group of anxious gentlemen surrounded Prinny as he espoused his opinions. Few would risk criticizing the regent.
James Murray, Prinny’s Aide-de-camp, who traveled with him when the attack occurred, had been summoned to the Commons to give evidence.
A few minutes later, news came that Murray’s recounting of events confirmed Reade’s opinion. It was not a gun because two small holes about a quarter of an inch apart revealed no trace of gunpowder, and they found no shot. An air gun most likely.
Prinny was full of bluster, ignoring evidence and passing the incident off as some miscreant throwing stones. But after such a violent display from the public, he sank into a foul mood, blaming Sidmouth’s circular suppressing all seditious publications for the rise of discontented people. Prinny dismissed the accusation that his lavish spending and overindulgence in these troubled times were acting like salt rubbed in a wound.
“We will hold a fete,” he said. “Open Carlton House grounds to the people.”
“But your highness,” one of his lackey’s protested, “we held a fete a few months ago.”
Reade clamped down his teeth. Hardly a suitable solution. While the poor went hungry and nothing was done to improve their lot, more events like this and possibly worse would happen.
“Reade!” Prinny’s gaze settled on him. He beckoned him forward.
