Page 10 of The Wallflower’s Great Escape (The Wallflowers’ Revolt #1)

J ason stood in the shadowed corridor, staring at the place where Georgiana had just disappeared, her skirts swishing furiously as she rounded the corner.

He hadn’t moved. Couldn’t move. His hands were still at his sides, fists clenched. And damn it all, he was rattled.

She’d left him standing there like a schoolboy who’d been thoroughly outmatched in an argument he hadn’t even meant to have.

He let out a breath and rubbed a hand down his face, still feeling the echo of her words.

It’s just like a man to assume a woman wants to marry at any cost.

She’d looked him dead in the eye when she said it, her chin lifted and her brown eyes blazing.

And the worst part?

She was right.

He’d never once considered that she might not want to marry—not at all.

That she might see marriage as a prison, not a prize.

Jason let out a low laugh, bitter and self-deprecating.

God help him, but he was already far too entangled in this.

Somewhere along the way, it had stopped being about Chadwick’s favor, or even about Evelyn and his own guilt.

He wasn’t sure when it had happened.

But it had.

And now here he was, standing in a deserted corridor, watching her disappear yet again…and feeling the strangest thing.

He was going to let her go. That knowledge settled in his chest with quiet finality.

If she wanted to slip away tonight, he wasn’t going to stop her. In fact, a small, traitorous part of him was even rooting for her.

He grunted and shook his head, dragging a hand through his hair.

She was determined. And her family—well. If they were truly counting the profits of her misery the way she claimed, then perhaps she deserved her chance at freedom.

He ought never to have gotten involved. No good could come of this.

Jason let out another sigh and pushed off the wall, adjusting his cuffs as though that might somehow restore his composure.

And then he froze. Because one sentence of her parting words drifted back to him, clear and sharp in his mind. You’ve no idea the scandal that I’m capable of.

He swore under his breath, the corner of his mouth twisting wryly. That sounded ominous.

And yet here he stood, letting her rush away. What the hell was wrong with him?

He straightened his shoulders, took one last steadying breath, and started back toward the ballroom.

If he was going to let her go, the least he could do was afford her a bit of time before her parents—or Henderville—came sniffing after her.

And he knew just how to do it.

Jason slipped back into the ballroom, the warm swell of music and chatter washing over him. He caught sight of Georgiana’s mother, Lady Chadwick, almost immediately. She held her head high as she surveyed the room like a general inspecting her troops.

He crossed to her, every inch the composed, unbothered lord. “My lady,” he said smoothly, offering her a bow.

She glanced at him, blinking in faint surprise. “Lord Pembroke,” she returned in a cool voice, but her eyes were filled with heat as she gave him a once-over.

He straightened, holding her gaze. “Would you do me the honor,” he asked evenly, “of this dance?”

He knew two things about Lady Chadwick. She never refused a dance with a handsome young gentleman, and once she began talking, she was loath to stop.

And when she inclined her head, slipping her hand into his, he allowed himself one small, grim thought…

God help me. What am I doing?