Introducing Miss Joanna (Once a Wallflower #2) - Maggi Andersen Page 0,17

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