Page 19 of The Wallflower’s Great Escape (The Wallflowers’ Revolt #1)

J ason didn’t breathe as he watched her.

Georgiana’s hand was still in his, her fingers slightly cool but steady enough that he thought—just maybe—she wasn’t going to run again.

Her gaze darted between his face and the door, then back to his face, as though weighing all her options one last time.

The silence stretched out between them, broken only by the faint ticking of the clock on the mantel.

And then…

“All right,” she murmured at last, her voice so quiet he almost didn’t catch it.

His chest loosened all at once, though he didn’t dare let it show. “You’re saying yes?” he asked carefully.

She let out a long breath and nodded, her lips pressed into a thin line. “Yes,” she said more firmly. “But we must marry tonight. I will not go back home with my family.”

Jason closed his eyes for half a second, letting the tension drain from his shoulders before he rose to his feet and offered her his hand.

“Then let’s get this done,” he said. He wanted to add “before anyone comes to their senses,” but thought better of it.

Her mouth quirked, though she didn’t say anything. “Stay here,” he said. “I’ll send up a maid with some clothes and food while I take care of your family.”

A look of utter relief passed over her face, but Georgiana only nodded.

Downstairs, Lord Chadwick was already pacing in Jason’s study, a sheaf of paper spread across the desk and a quill at the ready.

The negotiation was brief. Jason listed off a score of things he demanded in exchange for twenty-five thousand pounds to be paid upon mutual signature of the contract.

His demands included but were not limited to…Georgiana would not be leaving with her family, her family was not to contact her or visit her unless expressly invited by Georgiana herself, and her family was not to ever request or expect another farthing from either Jason or Georgiana.

They also agreed to a story to mitigate the gossip.

One in which Jason would take the blame.

He would tell everyone he was madly in love with Georgiana and had decided he could not live without her.

She had merely been going to use the convenience at the church before her wedding to Henderville, and Jason had abducted her.

Of course he would have Henderville to contend with—and pay off as well, but that was Jason’s problem, not Chadwick’s.

Georgiana’s father, clearly eager to get his hands on the promised purse, eagerly scrawled his signature to the contract, and Jason followed suit.

“There,” Chadwick said with a satisfied sniff. “Done. She’s your problem now.”

Jason’s jaw tightened at the phrasing, but he said nothing. He simply took the folded paper, slipped it into his coat, stood, and turned to fetch the money.

But in his heart, he couldn’t help but think… yes, she’s mine now . And the thought filled him with something that felt suspiciously like…joy.

“You may wait in the foyer for your payment,” Jason intoned.

He had no respect for this man, a man who would sell his only daughter for the largest purse.

Jason had no doubts that had he been an ogre who promised to beat Georgiana nightly, the outcome here tonight would have been the same, given the amount of money involved.

“I will send a footman out to your coach with the money,” he told Chadwick. “And after the ceremony, I never want to see you again.”

Chadwick’s smile was cunning. “May I ask you one question?” the other man ventured.

Jason nodded, mostly because he was truly curious what this blackguard wanted to know.

“Why would you spend so much money on Georgiana of all people? She’s hardly the prettiest of the lot and far from the most well connected. If you were planning to steal a bride, the Winslow girl would have been a much better choice.”

Jason gave the man a wry smile. “ That is none of your concern,” he said. “But suffice to say, I have my reasons. And you don’t deserve to know them.”

Lord Chadwick merely shrugged and left the room.

They arrived at the archbishop’s residence well after midnight. It had taken the rest of the day to arrange everything. A special license was in order, after all. And then there was the matter of planting the desired story about the wedding in the Times .

The archbishop—a family friend who had known Jason since he was a boy—greeted them at the door in his dressing gown, his expression equal parts surprise and amusement.

“You have a talent for choosing your moments, Pembroke,” he said mildly as he ushered them inside.

Jason managed the faintest of smiles. “I’ll owe you for this,” he murmured.

“You already do,” the archbishop replied, though he was already shuffling toward the study to gather what he needed.

The ceremony was brief, quiet, almost surreal.

Jason stood at Georgiana’s side as the words were spoken, watching the way her lashes lowered over her eyes, how her hands tightened and loosened in the folds of her gown.

She looked exhausted—bone-deep weary, her shoulders sagging as though the weight of everything had finally settled on her at once.

Her boorish family stood behind them, silent and brooding…her father with his arms crossed, her mother stiff with indignation, and Henry leaning heavily on his cane, looking bewildered and vaguely resentful.

When the archbishop declared them man and wife, Jason glanced down at Georgiana, half-expecting her to flinch or recoil.

But she didn’t.

She simply looked up at him, her eyes dark and unreadable, and gave the faintest of nods.

Jason felt utter and complete relief.

It was nearly three in the morning by the time they returned to his town house.

The streets of London were quiet now, the gas lamps casting long, soft shadows over the cobblestones as he helped her down from the carriage.

She swayed slightly when her feet touched the ground, and without thinking, he swept her into his arms.

“Jason—” she started.

“Don’t argue,” he said gently. “I’m putting you to bed. You’re clearly exhausted.”

For once, she didn’t argue. He smiled at that.

Instead, her head dropped against his shoulder, her hair tickling his jaw as he carried her up the staircase.

The maids had already prepared a room—not his own but one of the guest chambers—and Jason pushed the door open with his shoulder, then strode over and set her carefully on the edge of the bed.

She blinked up at him, her lips parting as though she wanted to say something but couldn’t quite find the words.

He crouched in front of her, his hands resting lightly on her knees.

“You’re safe now,” he said quietly.

Her lashes fluttered.

“I don’t…” she began, but trailed off, her eyes falling shut.

He didn’t press her.

Instead, he rose, pulled the blankets up over her, and smoothed them into place.

Then—unable to help himself—he leaned down and pressed a kiss to her temple.

She murmured something unintelligible, already half-asleep.

Jason straightened slowly, letting his eyes linger on her one last time—the gentle rise and fall of her chest, the delicate curve of her cheek, the faint crease still etched between her brows even in sleep.

And as he stood there, he thought—not for the first time tonight—that it was, without question, the best twenty-five thousand pounds he’d ever spend.