Page 26 of The Wallflower’s Great Escape (The Wallflowers’ Revolt #1)

G eorgie stood outside the closed door to Jason’s study, her knuckles hovering just above the polished wood.

She didn’t bother with the polite knock. Instead, she pushed it open.

He was there behind the massive desk, as she knew he would be, jacket removed, sleeves rolled, a single candle and the hearth casting long shadows around him. He looked up, startled, and his eyes sharpened the instant they saw her.

“Have you seen it?” she asked, her voice even but low.

His gaze didn’t waver. But anger was etched on his features. Anger and…regret? “Yes,” he said simply.

She nodded once, stepped farther inside, and folded her arms over her chest. “Good. Then we both know.”

The silence between them was thick, the sound of the fire popping in the grate far too loud in her ears.

“Georgiana, I?—”

“No!” She held up a hand sharply. “I don’t want your pity or your explanations.”

Pembroke swallowed and nodded.

She nodded too, pleased that this time, for once, he wasn’t trying to disregard her wishes. Then, after a beat, she said, “I’ll be ready to leave for the Hartleys’ ball at nine.”

That clearly surprised him. His brow furrowed. “You want to go out tonight? After that?” He gestured vaguely to the newspaper folded on the corner of his desk.

She lifted her chin, summoning every ounce of the composure she’d never learned from her mother. “The only thing worse than gossip,” she said coolly, “is hiding from it.”

A faint smile curved his mouth, not mocking but something almost…proud. “You’re right,” he murmured, inclining his head.

She swallowed hard, turned on her heel, and left before he could see how badly her hands were shaking.

One hour later, Jason stood just behind her as they entered the Hartleys’ ballroom, and for the first time all evening, he could breathe.

Georgiana was radiant.

Not in some overdone way, but quiet and devastating, her dark hair gleaming under the chandeliers, her head held high as if the venomous whispers in the corners didn’t touch her at all.

Which of course, they did. But she didn’t let it show. And damn if he wasn’t proud of her.

Her gown—new and worthy of a countess—was a masterpiece of deep sapphire silk that hugged her slender waist before spilling into a sweep of skirts edged in delicate silver embroidery.

The off-the-shoulder neckline framed her collarbones with understated allure, while a scattering of seed pearls at the bodice caught the light like a constellation.

A matching ribbon encircled her throat, and her gloved hands rested with perfect poise at her sides.

Madame Duval had outdone herself. He would be sure to pay her handsomely.

Georgiana paused at the top of the marble stairs, long enough to scan the room, and then descended with measured grace, her skirts gliding over the steps like water.

They entered the crush, and though he could feel the gazes following them, the speculative murmurs, the lifted fans, the envious smirks, Georgiana kept her chin aloft, her mouth soft but resolute.

He wanted to reach out and take her hand. Just to steady her. But he didn’t.

Instead, he walked half a pace behind her as they moved through the crowd.

Lady Beatrix and Miss Montfort materialized near the refreshment table in a flurry of silk and fan-fluttering.

“My darling,” Miss Montfort gasped, clapping her hands together. “Look at you, Georgie! You’re perfect.”

Georgie? Was that what her friends called her? It suited her.

Lady Beatrix gave Jason a pointed glare before turning to Georgiana.

“Good evening, Lady Pembroke,” she said smoothly. “Your husband does know he’s the luckiest man alive, does he not?”

He was just about to reply, “Of course he does,” when Georgiana gave a small laugh and murmured something he couldn’t hear before turning to him and excusing herself politely.

He let her go. He had no intention of doing anything other than whatever she wished tonight. She disappeared into the throng with her friends at either elbow, their heads bent together conspiratorially.

Jason let out a slow breath and angled toward the card room, where a knot of his acquaintances had already gathered. Best to get it over with—the inevitable barrage of questions and overly familiar remarks.

It didn’t take long before someone approached him. It was Lord Weedham. Tall, thin, with an expression just insolent enough to set Jason’s teeth on edge.

“Pembroke,” Weedham drawled, swirling his brandy. “You’ve gone and astonished us all, you know. Marrying that Chadwick chit.”

Jason’s shoulders stiffened, his blood turning to ice.

“She’s quite pretty,” the man continued, as though that excused anything. “But…with no dowry? All that scandal? God knows you could have done a sight better. Suppose you always have been one to martyr yourself for friendship. I say, Chadwick owes you one this time, old chap.”

Jason set his glass down very, very carefully. Then he turned to Weedham fully, his voice calm but cutting. “If I ever hear another word—from you or anyone else—disparaging my wife, I will see you at dawn on the field, pistols in hand. Do you understand me?”

Weedham blinked, paling slightly. “Pembroke— I?—”

Jason’s mouth curved into a humorless smile. “I assure you,” he continued, his tone smooth as silk, “that’s not a threat. It’s a promise.” He glanced around at the other men, who all had the sense to look away.

Weedham muttered something unintelligible and backed away, disappearing from the room.

Jason turned on his heel to leave?—

And stopped short.

Georgiana stood not ten paces away, half-hidden by a potted palm.

Her lips were parted, her eyes shining not with anger but with something he couldn’t quite name…soft, wet, and unguarded.

She’d heard. Every word.

And she was looking at him now as though she’d never seen him before.