Introducing Miss Joanna (Once a Wallflower #2) - Maggi Andersen Page 0,60

horse and took off at a run after Virden, who’d almost reached the door to his room.

Becky hurried over to her. “Friend ’o yours is ’e?”

Jo nodded.

“I should like to be his friend.” Becky grasped her arm. “Come inside out of the rain.”

“No, I can’t get any wetter. You go in, Becky.” She pushed the money back into Becky’s hands. “And, thank you!”

Stiff with fear, Jo stood alone in the halo of light cast over the street from the open doorway.

Reade brought Virden down in a flying tackle. The villain scrambled away from him. Back on his feet, he rounded on him.

If only she could help, but Jo could only watch helplessly and pray.

Reade needed Virden alive. He aimed his gun at the scoundrel’s chest. “It’s over, Virden.”

“You’re not taking me. You’ll have to shoot me,” Virden snarled.

It would be very satisfying to kill him after what he and his cronies had done to those women and Jo. But neither Virden nor Rivenstock were the mastermind of this cruel enterprise. If Black failed to get the leader’s name from Rivenstock, who appeared too terrified to reveal it, they might never find him.

Reade replaced his gun in his pocket and advanced on Virden, raising his fists.

With a savage laugh, Virden came at him, a knife flashing in his hand. It curved upward in a wicked arc, aiming for Reade’s heart.

Reade leaped to one side, avoiding the blade, then caught and clamped Virden’s wrist in both hands. The knife skittered away out of reach. Bending over, Reade hoisted Virden onto his shoulder, throwing him hard to the ground. Turning, he quickly realized there was no need for haste. Virden lay with his head at an odd angle where he’d hit the edge of the gutter. Reade cursed under his breath.

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