He bent and went through the man’s pockets. Virden’s head lolled back, and his sightless eyes stared up at him. Reade found the fake passports, tickets on the Seaward bound for Algiers, and a drawstring purse filled with coins. He rose to his feet.
Jo walked up the lane toward him, her clothing soaked, bareheaded, her hair tumbling over her shoulders. She came to look down on Virden, then hugged herself and shuddered. “Is he dead?”
Reade slipped off his coat and wrapped it around her. “I’m afraid he is.”
“I’m not sorry,” she said through chattering teeth. “He was taking me away from England. The boat leaves on the morning tide.”
Her anguish knocked the breath out of him. “I’m not sorry he’s dead, sweetheart, but he had information valuable to us. Did he leave anything in that room?”
“Yes. A portmanteau. There’s a bag of gold in it.”
“Stand in the shelter of the doorway. I won’t be long.”
Reade dragged Virden’s body inside. Someone would come for him tomorrow. His coat hung over a chair. Reade checked the pockets. Nothing. Picking up the weighty portmanteau, he went out, shutting the door behind him.
“Reade, Virden told me about the others.”
He gazed down at her. “Lord Rivenstock?”
“Yes, and Lord Lothian.”
“Lothian?” Reade raised his eyebrows. No wonder the regent was interested. Disillusioned, it occurred to Reade that Prinny may have turned a blind eye to Lothian’s sordid activities. But he would not want a scandal of this magnitude erupting. Not when he was so unpopular.
He put an arm around Jo’s shoulders. “That’s of immense help to us, Jo. I need to get you home before you catch a chill.”
“Let me speak to Becky first. I want to thank her,” she said as they approached the tavern. “She helped me, gave me money for the fare home.”
“Good of her. But not tonight.” Raucous laughter floated out. A tavern was no haven for a beautiful girl. It didn’t bear thinking about.
Ash stood patiently, waiting for him. Reade strapped the small portmanteau onto the back of the saddle, then lifted Jo onto Ash and mounted behind her. His arms around her, he took up the reins and rode the horse back along the road.
Jo was so small and soft in his arms; his heart thudded wildly. How close he’d come to losing her. She leaned her head back against his chest as he urged the horse into a canter along the dark streets. A rush of exhilaration rushed through him; she was safe. He wanted to hug her.
“What does Lord Lothian look like?” she asked.
“Lothian? Tall, thin, with white hair.”
“I saw him at Astley’s Amphitheater with Mrs. Millet. I suppose she brought him to have a look at us,” she said with bitterness in her voice. “She and Virden planned to get their hands on my father’s money. Either Virden was to kidnap me and demand a ransom, or she would entice my father into marriage. And then,” her voice lowered, “kill him.”
His arm tightened around her. He had no words.
When they arrived at the Mayfair townhouse, candlelight shone from all the downstairs windows and the servants’ quarters below. The door opened, and Mr. Dalrymple rushed down the steps, followed by Jo’s aunt and the butler.
“Jo! Dear heaven, are you all right?”
“Yes, Papa,” she said wearily. “Lord Reade saved me.”
Her father seized Reade’s hand and shook it vigorously. “I’m so grateful, my lord. Come inside, share a meal with us.”
“I regret I cannot stay, sir, as I’m needed elsewhere. I will call tomorrow afternoon.”
“Please do, my lord. I cannot thank you enough for saving my daughter.” He cleared his throat, his eyes watering. “Jo is precious to me.”
Jo stood silently by, swaying on her feet. Reade feared she would fall, and he would catch her. And when he did, that would be it. He doubted he’d let her go again. And while the lord knew he wanted her, he needed to think hard about what was best for her. And understand what she might want for herself.
He bedded Ash down in his stall and hailed a hackney to Bow Street. Knowing Black, he expected to find him still there. It was a delicate situation. Once he learned all that Black had got from Rivenstock, he would relay the information to the Home Office in the morning. The news would not be well received, but it was out of his hands.
Prinny would be irate, although Reade suspected he already knew. He was glad to be finished with the dirty business. It left him with a nasty taste in his mouth. His work for the crown had been rewarding, but recent events made him feel jaded and disenchanted.
Black, reliable as ever, awaited him there. Rivenstock had cracked and confessed to his and the Virdens’ culpability but clamped his lips on any mention of Lothian. Perhaps he feared the viscount more than the law.
Some hours later, after a meal and a stiff whisky, Reade wearily climbed into his bed. The fear of losing Jo had almost ripped him apart. He never wanted to suffer that again. Cartwright had accused him of leaving his heart on the battlefield. Brutal, but it held a degree of truth, although he wouldn’t take it from anyone but Cartwright.
Reade didn’t consider himself a hero. And not after the last decisive battle which won the war. A family friend had written to implore Reade to watch over his impetuous young heir, Miles, who had taken the king’s shilling and joined up without his father’s consent. Reade had failed. It was two years ago, but the sickening memory of what happened that day never lost its grip on him. And the nightmares persisted, making him wake up in a sweat every morning.
While the candle sent dancing shadows around the room, he lay back and placed an arm over his eyes. He invited it back. Maybe if he dealt with it now, he could sleep.
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?”
“Very well, Papa.” Did he think she and Reade…? Or was he hopeful she would meet another suitor? There wasn’t room in her heart for anyone else.
Jo hovered over the silver salver on the entry table. Three calling cards. “A busy afternoon. Several gentlemen wish to pay their respects, Miss Dalrymple,” Spears said with a warm smile.
“It would seem so, Mr. Spears.” Jo’s heart sank as she sifted through them. Two gentlemen, she had danced with at her last ball, the other she had met at the picnic in Richmond. How annoying. They might be here when Reade called.
“What happened at the Home Office?” Cartwright asked Reade as they ate luncheon in one of Reade’s favorite restaurants. “I admit to relief at not being dragged into this one.”
“Everyone expressed relief the matter is at an end. We have notified the Regent.”
“His majesty should reward you. Another title, more lands?”
Reade grinned. Cartwright lifted Reade from the grim mood he found himself in. “Prinny wants the whole thing brushed under the carpet. He has banished Lothian to the Continent for two years. Rivenstock isn’t so lucky. He will suffer the full force of the law. Mrs. Millet has disappeared. It’s believed she’s escaped to Scotland.”
Cartwright whistled softly. “Will you send someone after her?”
“I am tempted. It would need to be someone adept at stealth. The Scots might object.”
“And Miss Dalrymple? Is marriage in the wind?”
Reade cocked a brow at his friend’s audacity. “Best she chooses another man.”
Cartwright put down his cutlery to observe him. “Mind telling me why?”
“She’s a beautiful, trusting soul, Jo.”
“Which means?”
“She deserves the best.”
“Something better than a war hero? Have you forgotten how many lives you saved when your superb tactics outwitted the French in Spain?”
Reade sat back and scowled, hoping to dissuade him from continuing. It didn’t work.
“You don’t love the lady?” Cartwright persisted.
“Love doesn’t come into it. Leave this alone, I beg you.”
“All right,” Cartwright said with a sigh. “I might ask Letty to talk to you, however.”
Reade lowered his head in his hands. He laughed. “Not if you’re my friend, you won’t.”
“I’ll say only this,” Brandon said seriously. “You blame yourself unfairly for what happened in the past. You have just saved two young women’s lives and numerous others. I believe that counts for a great deal, don’t you?”
Reade studied his friend’s intense face. What he didn’t say had more weight than his words. Reade had failed to save young Miles, but because he had a duty to all his men, that wasn’t possible. Nor could he have saved his mother and Bart. And perhaps there was never anything he could have done to appease his father for being the wrong son to survive.
Tension he hadn’t been aware he carried eased from his body. Reade rubbed his neck; he’d be a fool to turn his back on a chance at love. Did Jo want him? Was it love or gratitude she felt for him?
He nodded. “Thank you, Brandon. You’re the best friend a man could have.”
Cartwright nodded. “And don’t you forget it.”
Reade laughed and pushed back his chair. “I must now go to see Dalrymple, who seems to have warmed to me, somewhat.”
And Jo, he wanted to see her.
Chapter Twenty
The three gentleman callers crowded the drawing room. Jo’s father had not appeared, leaving her and Aunt Mary to entertain them.
Jo had been determined to hide her feelings from Reade, but when he walked into the parlor and their gazes locked, her resolve crumbled, and she struggled not to rush to him.
“How nice to see you, Lord Reade. My father wishes to speak to you after tea,” was all she could manage.
“Yes, of course.” Reade chose the last remaining seat, a straight-backed chair. He shifte
d about, looking uncomfortable.
Aunt Mary, with an adoring expression, fussed about him. She poured his tea and offered him the cake platter.
Reade, a napkin on his knee, sipped his tea while talking about cats with her aunt. His cat, Alistair, an excellent mouser, lived at his property in the north.
The three gentlemen eyed each other with raised eyebrows, and as soon as was polite to do so, took their leave.
Jo struggled not to giggle. Reade, so large he made the room look smaller, forked up pieces of cake while discussing the different breeds and personalities of felines. She sought his gaze, expecting to find laughter in his eyes, but they were dark and unfathomable.
Her aunt was expressing her heartfelt thanks and her joy at having her niece safe. While Reade demurred, her father came in and added his effusive thanks to her aunt’s.
While many questions were asked of him, Reade revealed few details about how matters now stood with the criminal gang, except to say Mrs. Millet had fled to Scotland. This silenced her father, and they said nothing more about Jo’s narrow escape, for which she was thankful. After a maid removed the tea tray, her father stood and cast a glance at Aunt Mary. “If you’ll excuse us, my lord, Miss Hatton and I must speak to the staff. A problem below stairs.”
Her father’s intention was so obvious, Jo flushed. When they left the room, Reade moved to sit beside her on the sofa. He took her hand in his, folding his long fingers around hers, making her pulse race. “Have you recovered from your ordeal, Jo?”
“Completely,” she said, smiling brightly. She wondered if he would go after Mrs. Millet. She couldn’t see him leaving the matter unresolved. “We have received so many invitations, I declare the Season will be dreadfully busy. Shall we see you at Lady Jersey’s soiree?”
He released her hand. “Unfortunately, no. I’m to accompany the Regent to Brighton tomorrow. I am on the way to see him now.”
She was unlikely to see him again, she thought with dreadful clarity. “Then, I mustn’t keep you. Brighton is a place I’m yet to visit. I’ve never seen the sea, only in paintings.” She was talking too fast and looked at her hands, unable to meet his searching gaze.
Introducing Miss Joanna Page 16
