Jason rubbed a hand over his face.
Oh, excellent. He got to babysit that. Mischief in a pink gown? She was already halfway across the corridor.
Why couldn’t she just sit quietly like other young ladies? Chadwick had made it sound as if his sister simply needed a bit of a watchful eye, not a full military escort.
Jason’s gaze followed her as she parted ways with her companions and slipped down a side hall.
And that, he thought grimly, would be his cue.
He fell into step behind her, quickening his pace. He managed to keep a respectable distance without letting her slip out of sight.
You’d think, he told himself dryly, that if one were trying to avoid scandal, one wouldn’t march down dimly lit corridors alone at a ball.
Georgiana’s skirts swished briskly as she moved, her gloved hands clenched into determined little fists.
She had no idea he was behind her.
He followed her past a line of gilded sconces, down a narrower hall lined with ancestral portraits.
She glanced over her shoulder once, and he ducked smoothly into the shadow of a column, watching her with narrowed eyes.
This whole event was a farce. The marriage mart, he thought sourly, was an absurd exercise in futility. A grand, overwrought parade of fan-wielding girls and ambitious mothers, each pretending they weren’t scheming. He wanted no part of it. Never had.
He wasn’t here looking for a wife. Hell, he didn’t even want a wife.
If his parents’ marriage hadn’t already soured him on the notion, then Evelyn’s death had driven the lesson home: promises were brittle things. He’d promised to keep Evelyn safe, and she was dead. How could he ever promise the same to someone else?
So no, he didn’t dance attendance on innocents. He didn’t pay calls to drawing rooms, and he certainly didn’t haunt the ballrooms in search of some shy, fluttering bride.
He was here tonight for one reason and one reason only: because he owed Chadwick.
Nothing more.
He watched as Georgiana paused at the end of the hall, glanced around, and slipped through a door.
Jason followed her, stopping just shy of the door. He leaned against the wall and let his lips curve into a grim little smile.
Right.
So she thought she could simply disappear, did she?
He sighed, waited half a beat, then followed her in.
Inside was a small, empty antechamber lined with shelves of books and a potted palm. The faint scent of lemon wax lingered.
And there she was—Lady Georgiana—kneeling on the floor, fiddling with the latch of a floor-length window that opened to the gardens beyond.
Jason crossed his arms over his chest as he watched her progress.
Grunting a little, she managed to get the window open and step upon the sill.
That’s when he made his move. He had to. She was only one step away from escaping into the night. He leaned forward, locked his forearm around her small waist, and pulled her back into the antechamber.
First, a gasp and then…
“Unhand me!” she demanded, trying to yank herself free. “This is none of your concern!”
“Oh, I beg to differ,” he said dryly, spinning her to face him. “Your brother asked me to keep an eye on you. And here you are, halfway out a window.”
