“Good of you to come, Reade. You have not been long in Town, Cartwright tells me.”
“I returned as soon as I heard you were to hold one of your legendary soirees,” he said with a bow.
“Charmer,” Letty said with a laugh.
Cartwright shepherded Jo’s father and aunt over to the door. She heard him mention a first edition in the library.
A guest appeared at Letty’s elbow, and she excused herself. For a moment, Jo and Reade were alone. He sat beside her.
“Was your journey north successful?” she asked.
His dark eyes searched hers. “It was. I don’t like those shadows beneath your eyes, Jo,” he murmured. “Are you well?”
“I’m…I’m…” Jo’s lips trembled, and she feared she would cry. She loved him so much. Mrs. Millet would have friends, treacherous ones. Jo couldn’t bear to think of him in danger again. It was impossible not to love him. But he was restless. He would not choose a contented, quiet country life. And she was hopelessly ordinary. A baroness? How absurd. As if he would want her.
She couldn’t bear it a moment longer. “I suppose I am more tired than I thought.”
“Jo…”
She busied herself with her fan. “The last two weeks have been a whirlwind of engagements and callers.”
His dark brows drew together. “You are engaged?”
“My daughter is not engaged, Lord Reade,” her father said at her elbow. “There have been offers, and she has refused them.”
People turned, and conversations paused.
Oh, Papa, Jo thought, they will laugh at you. “I have developed a headache, Papa,” she said faintly, which was true, her temples thumped. “I wonder if you’d take me home?”
Reade had risen to his feet. He said no more, but he watched with concern as they made their apologies to the Cartwrights.
“A pity to Miss Sarah Siddons’ performance, but no matter,” Aunt Mary said in the carriage. “As long as you are all right, Jo.”
“I’ve ruined your evening,” Jo said, trembling with distress.
“Nonsense,” her father said. “You’ve saved me from Siddons. I am not a devotee. It would bore me witless.”
“Does your head hurt terribly, Jo?” Aunt Mary sighed. “You must take Feverfew and go straight to bed.”
“It does a little,” Jo said guiltily. “The pace of London does not agree with me. I would like to return to Marlborough, Papa.”
“If you wish, Jo. But I’m disappointed. Lord Reade…”
“He is about to go to Scotland.”
“Is he? Can’t say I’m sorry to leave London, but I think it regrettable about the baron. I have great respect for him and rather hoped…well, never mind.”
Jo stared at him. “I thought you disliked him, Papa.”
“Not at all. He is the perfect husband for you, my girl. He would look after you. Keep you safe. You have a propensity to go off on tangents, you know. Why there was that time when you…”
Jo didn’t hear the rest. She had pushed Reade away. And yet when she looked into his eyes, she had known he cared for her. When had she become such a coward?
Exasperated, Reade satin his drawing room with his boots resting on a table, a whisky in his hand. The evening had been worked out in advance like a military campaign. But any campaign run along those lines would have been an abject failure. He had left Brandon and Letty as confused as he was. When he’d told them of his intention to ask Jo to marry him, both expressed delight. Brandon offered to keep the library empty of guests while Letty brought Jo to Reade there where they could be alone.
In those first few minutes, when Jo turned toward him, he could have sworn he saw something akin to love in her eyes. And then she rushed away as if the place was on fire. What was he to make of it? He admitted to his shortcomings in matters of the heart, as Cartwright would no doubt remind him, given a chance. His love life had been far less complicated in the past. He supposed because he’d never cared deeply for anyone. And it now seemed that his life depended on Jo being in it.
He downed the whisky. He wasn’t about to go to Scotland, Lord Derringham had it wrong, but maybe he should. Take the bit between his teeth again. Find Mrs. Verdin before she created havoc and damaged more lives. But the prospect held no attraction for him. The whisky tasted sour in his mouth, and he put the glass down.
