Introducing Miss Joanna

by Andersen, Maggi

  Mr. Cartwright chuckled. His eyes full of laughter.

  Letty paused in her description of the alfresco entertainments found at tea gardens, a mere carriage drive from the city, to raise her eyebrows at them. “I fear I am missing something vastly entertaining.”

  “We are discussing the merits of masked balls while employing the art of verbal fencing,” Mr. Cartwright said. “Miss Dalrymple has made a fine riposte.”

  Letty smiled and returned to her conversation. The three were obviously on good terms. Jo was pleased with herself for getting the better of him. As he and Cartwright joined into Letty’s conversation, she took advantage of the moment to study him. But she had misjudged him; he was not at all condescending. He carried himself like a soldier. Might he have been one? Since the war ended two years ago, many men had sold out.

  A second waltz was announced.

  “Will you honor me with a dance, Miss Dalrymple?” Lord Reade asked, turning to her.

  “Certainly, sir.” Surprised that he would ask her, Jo rose and rested her hand on his arm.

  Butterflies stirred in her stomach as she walked beside him, aware of the relaxed, effortless power of his movements. Was he a rake? A woman was unlikely to rise disappointed from his bed. The thought was so arousing, heat flooded her face. Jo dropped her chin. Never in her life had she met such a man. A warning voice sounded in her head. You are out of your depth.

  As they joined those on the dance floor waiting for the waltz to begin, to distract herself from the unsettling presence of the man beside her, she compared him to Mr. Ollerton. They were different in every way imaginable. Reade made little effort to charm her. He was dark, where Ollerton was fair. Reade was no slave to fashion, either. His only adornments were a watch chain and a heavy ornate gold ring on his little finger. His black tailcoat fitted him well across the muscular breadth of his shoulders and required none of the padding some men resorted to. The superfine material was snug at his narrow waist, and his pantaloons emphasized the musculature and length of his legs. While Mr. Ollerton styled his hair in a careful Brutus, Reade’s hair was a careless mass of waves which invited one’s fingers to order it. Entirely natural, she decided. She smiled at her foolishness. How stupid to form an opinion of a man she’d only just met.

  He smiled down at her, his gaze roaming over her face. “Something amuses you?”

  “No. It was merely an arbitrary thought.”

  “Might I be privy to it?”

  Caught flat-footed, her chest tightened. Goodness! She tried to think of an appropriate answer but failed under his unsettling gaze. “I beg your pardon, my lord. It would not interest you.” Her stern tone was meant to put an end to his probing.

  That didn’t work. A grin imbued his brown eyes with a wicked sparkle. “Then you leave me to speculate, which might be far worse. Come, be honest. I have thick skin.”

  Really, the man was…impudent. “It is your hair, sir,” Jo said, determined to best him.

  His eyes widened. “My hair?”

  “I approve of the tousled style gentlemen are adopting this Season.”

  He laughed, causing those dancing nearby to stare. “I merely brush and forget it, Miss Dalrymple. Is that a disappointment to you?”

  She demurred. This man would be the undoing of her. She would earn a reputation for being fast and go home in disgrace. And to be fair, she had brought it on herself by agreeing to waltz with him. She should have known better. Where was her head? The few young debutantes on the dance floor would partner their papa or their brother. And she had stood up with a rake. He made her conspicuous, but even so, she admitted that to refuse him would have been impossible.

  The music flowed over the ballroom, and he took her in his arms. Her hand clasped firmly in his while the fingers of his other hand spread over her lower back, strong and warm. His touch was like a caress, and his male scent flooded her senses. She couldn’t help but to sigh as his body moved with hers over the floor, his long legs brushing her skirts. Being held in his arms appealed to her more than she cared to admit.

  He had a commanding self-confidence, which she admired but also distrusted. A man like Reade would not be right for her. She couldn’t imagine him in a cozy family setting, chatting to her father over the breakfast table. It was as if danger surrounded him. What an odd thought. How silly she was tonight. Her gaze was drawn again to his face.

  Reade lifted his black eyebrows. “Do I pass muster, Miss Dalrymple?”

  He was outrageous. When their eyes met, she found it hard to look away. “I could not say, sir,” she said, tempted to rebuke him.

  He chuckled. “Yet?”

  Jo had to laugh. “Do you enjoy teasing me, Lord Reade?”

  “I confess I might if it makes your lovely eyes flash daggers at me. But no, Miss Dalrymple. It’s just that I prefer to speak my mind. Life is too short for niceties.”

  “Should we all act like barbarians? Everyone here obeys those rules. Do they not?”

  The smile vanished from his eyes. “If you are unaware that some of the gentlemen here tonight with perfect manners are not nearly so polite outside of a ballroom, I should warn you of it.”

  Jo gazed at him steadily. “Thank you for the warning. But it is entirely unnecessary. I am a fair judge of character.” She firmed her lips. She wanted to say she included him in those gentlemen he warned her against, but it would be entirely too impolite.

  He swiftly swept her into a series of turns, making her breath catch and her heart hammer. When she could regain her breath, she expected him to continue in the same outrageous vein, as if she were a silly little country miss who must be taught about the big bad city. She was prepared to take him to task, but he smiled. “So, Miss Dalrymple. What part of England do you hail from?”

  She eyed him warily. “Marlborough, my lord.”

  “I have passed through it, traveling to and from Bath. Never had cause to stop there.”

  His comment pricked her. “Many do, sir,” she said, raising her chin. “Travelers stay at the excellent coaching inn to change carriage horses and tarry awhile.” She was about to mention how popular her father’s shop had been but resisted the impulse. She would be deeply disappointed if he mocked her.

  “I prefer to travel on horseback.”

  “But you were in a coach when I first saw you.” She blushed, realizing she’d given herself away.

  “You remember me?” A smile tugged at his lips, and his hand tightened, reminding her of what a strong and vital man he was.

  She tried to ignore the thrill prickling her spine. “But of course,” she said with false gaiety. “It was my first view of London. I recall every detail of the busy streets, the traffic, and the hawkers. So unlike the country.”

  “Are you comparing me to a hawker, Miss Dalrymple?”

  She laughed. “I was merely describing my first impressions.”

  “The coach was an unfortunate necessity. I journeyed from the far north. A frustratingly slow way to travel. I don’t care to be shut inside a carriage for hours, relying on the expertise of my coachman, although he is a competent fellow. Sometimes I can bear it no longer and climb up on the box to take the reins.”

  “What took you north, sir?”

  “My home lies on the west coast, in Cumbria.”

  A shadow passed over his features, making her wonder what caused such a sad thought. “And you are pleased to return to London?”

  He gazed down at her. “Yes.”

  She waited, but as he made no further comment, she peeked up at him, taking in the square shape of his jaw. He had an impatient nature, she decided. His character was entirely unfathomable, for he revealed only a glimpse of himself, like ice floating on the Thames. A man with secrets, perhaps. Jo compressed her lips, and he glanced down at her, a query in his eyes.

  “I fear you do not approve of me, Miss Dalrymple.”

  “I don’t know you, my lord.”

  “But you feel that if you did, you would disapprove of
me,” he said, humor again sparking in his brown eyes.

  Jo had to smile. “That is entirely unfair. You are putting words in my mouth.”

  “And a lovely mouth it is, too.” He lowered his glance, making her tremble.

  She breathed in deeply. He was a rake. And she was quite definitely out of her depth.

  It would be far wiser to choose a gentleman like Mr. Ollerton, who was polite and agreeable. There would be no surprises. Reade would never give her a moment’s quiet. It was unlikely to be a decision she would ever have to make. And that did not please her as much as it should.

  Reade effortlessly turned her again, reminding her of his strength, which she suspected went beyond his well-muscled frame to the core of who he was. Yet, he was mindful in the way he held her and guided their steps while the other dancers swirled around them, the ladies’ gowns a blur of color, their voices polite murmurs as they passed, leaving flowery scents in their wake.

  Patently aware of his unsettling masculinity, Jo’s heart fluttered oddly. What was it about such men women found so intriguing? She had not thought herself one of those women and was a little shamefaced to discover it. There was a commanding air of authority and a hint of steel beneath Mr. Cartwright’s exquisite manners, too. Jo felt less chagrinned to realize that Letty also preferred such a man.

  She had spied shadows in Reade’s dark gaze. If he had been a soldier, he would not have escaped the dreadful bloodshed and loss of many of his comrades. He would more than likely find her dull, she supposed, her life had been so uneventful.

  “You have grown quiet, Miss Dalrymple. Shall we discuss the latest affair to rock the ton?” he asked quizzically.

  “It would be completely one-sided, as I know nothing about them.”

  “Not a devotee of the scandal sheets? But I see lively curiosity in those fine eyes of yours.” He bent slightly, filling her senses with his spicy fragrance. “Are they blue or green? I am intrigued. Green, tonight. In certain circumstances, do they change color, like the ocean driven by tides?” How sensual he made such a commonplace thing as the color of one’s eyes.

  She found herself smiling foolishly at the compliment. “What circumstances do you refer to?” she asked hastily.

  He laughed. “I will leave that for another time.”

  Another time? Would she see him again? Jo wished her heart hadn’t leapt so eagerly.

  “Attempting to carry on a conversation while waltzing is an absurdity,” she said a trifle coolly. “We should give ourselves up to the pleasure of the dance, do you not think?”

  “We might find somewhere quiet?” His murmur was like velvet, making warmth rush up her neck.

  “Quieter?” Jo was slightly giddy. “We are at a ball, my lord.”

  “It’s a warm night. The French doors are open, and couples stroll out onto the terrace.” She followed his gaze. Some disappeared down the steps into the garden.

  Jo’s commonsense battled with the desire to venture out onto the terrace with him. What if they were alone? Would he kiss her? She wrestled control over her wayward emotions. “I am claimed for the next dance, Lord Reade.”

  “I am dismayed to hear it, Miss Dalrymple.”

  She gazed at his throat, revealed in the space between his cravat and chin. It was rare to find Englishmen with sun-browned skin. Not after a long, frigid winter and a wet English spring. Had he recently been out of the country? Or would he be that color all over? Her eyes widened. What was wrong with her?

  “I seem to have caused you some consternation. Was it the prospect of the terrace in the moonlight, or did I tread on your toes?”

  There was that humor lurking in his eyes again. As if he guessed her thoughts. She was blushing again, and redheads should never blush. How gauche he must find her. It was nonsense, he couldn’t have known what she was thinking. “Should you stand on my toes, I would alert you to it immediately.”

  He bowed his head with mock seriousness. “I appreciate it. You have relieved me.”

  They exchanged a look of amusement. Then Jo giggled, and he laughed with her.

  The orchestra played the slow movement, and the dance ended. Dancing with this man was the most exciting experience of her life. Heavens, her pulse still raced. She would have nothing more to do with Lord Reade. Mr. Ollerton’s gentle charm was the safest option, should he continue to show an interest in her.

  The baron offered her his arm. “Thank you for the dance, Miss Dalrymple.”

  “I enjoyed it, sir.”

  They joined the line to promenade from the dance floor. She prodded her mind for a witty remark that he might laugh at. That he might remember. “Please forgive my lack of entertaining conversation. I struggle to be diverting when slightly breathless.”

  He gave a deep chuckle. “You held your own admirably, Miss Dalrymple.”

  They reached her seat where Aunt Mary sat, bowed, and left them.

  Had she sounded like a naive schoolroom miss? What did he think of her? But it didn’t matter. She was unlikely to see him again.

  Reade made his way through the crowd, resisting the temptation for one last view of the pretty debutante. It was just as well Miss Dalrymple refused his offer to stroll on the terrace. It might have led to something more. And he agreed with Letty. Best to leave the young lady to find her perfect match. They had waltzed, and now he should put her from his mind. Difficult, he admired her, she was observant and smart as she attempted to understand him. Not even ladies who experienced far more from life could manage that. But he’d enjoyed her efforts none the less. A little too much.

  Reade frowned. It wasn’t just that he wanted to slide his hands through the mass of dark red hair and draw her face to his to kiss her soft, wide mouth, it was Miss Joanna Dalrymple’s calm demeanor, the kindness he found in her lovely eyes, which drew him. Was he so in need of a woman’s compassion that he would put her at risk? He urged himself to stay away. She was not for him. He could only be bad for her.

  Chapter Five

  The ball continued long after the unmasking, and Jo danced a reel, and the supper dance was still to come.

  “I must go to the withdrawing room,” Aunt Mary said. “Will you come, Jo?”

  “No, thank you, Aunt. I shall endeavor to attract a footman. My throat is horribly dry. It’s the smoky air.”

  A footman soon obeyed her summons, offering her a glass of the ratafia.

  As she gratefully sipped the cool liquid, Letty came to join her. “Did you enjoy your first waltz?”

  “It wasn’t my first. I waltzed earlier with Mr. Ollerton.”

  Letty shook her head. “I don’t believe I’ve met the gentleman.”

  Jo turned to search the crowd for Ollerton, also hoping to see Reade’s head of ebony curls. She spotted him talking again to Mr. Cartwright. “Lord Reade is not always polite,” she said. “I believe he amused himself by teasing me.”

  “He is a very attractive man,” Letty said, a glimmer in her eyes. “But not a suitable husband for you, Jo.”

  “No, he isn’t,” Jo said. “I did not, for one moment, consider him.”

  Letty laughed. “Of course you did. Every woman whom he deigns to give his attention to falls for Reade.” She raised her eyebrows. “Did he invite you to stroll in the gardens with him?”

  “Only the terrace,” Jo confessed. Was she not worthy of a stroll in the gardens?

  “That’s perfectly respectable,” Letty said. “It’s quite crowded on such a warm evening. But I would advise you to refuse any offers to enter the gardens. You might get into trouble.”

  “What sort of trouble could one face at a ball?”

  “Women have been accosted. And sometimes, their reputation in tatters, they are forced to marry someone against their will.”

  “My goodness.”

  Despite her determination not to encourage Reade, Jo feared she would have accepted his invitation if he’d persisted. But he had not.

  “Not to say Reade would do such a thing. He h
as no need to.”

  No, Lord Reade would have his pick of women. Jo had seen the looks cast at him as they danced. “Mr. Forest invited me to take a turn about the gardens, but I declined,” Jo said, which had not been difficult. The gentleman had a weak chin and an odd manner of speech.

  “That was wise. You are lovely, Jo, and it’s conceivable that men are drawn to you. But word has spread that you’re an heiress.”

  Jo gaped. “I? An heiress?”

  Letty stared at her. “Surely, you’re aware of it?”

  Jo thought heiresses hailed from families with vast fortunes. “Papa has recently come into some money, and he sold his business, but…”

  Letty put a hand on her arm. “I beg you to be wary of fortune hunters.”

  “Is Lord Reade a fortune hunter?”

  “Heavens, no.”

  “Then why…”

  Letty put a hand on Jo’s arm. “There are reasons. I cannot explain.” She smiled. “If I said he was a wounded soul, I suspect you would be drawn to such a man, would you not?”

  It would be untruthful to deny it. “Do tell me more about him.”

  Letty tilted her head. “A little perhaps, although I doubt I should.”

  “Do not be concerned for me, Letty. I merely find him interesting.”

  “He is that. What can I tell you about him?” Letty tapped her fan on her chin. “He is the only son of the fourth Baron Reade who died earlier this year. Reade’s estate lies on the Cumbrian coast.”

  “Does his family live there?” Jo asked.

  “He has no family. I’ve no idea what condition the estate is in. Reade has set about restoring it. I believe his father did not leave it in good order. As they didn’t get on, Reade left straight after university and bought a set of colors in the infantry with money left to him by his mother. A captain, he served under Wellington at Waterloo. The Prince Regent rewarded him generously for his service to the crown.”

  So, her guess was correct. Reade had been in the army. It fitted, for he appeared to be a man who’d faced danger and seen much of the world. A wounded soul. Jo tamped down the desire to know more.