Page 27 of The Wallflower’s Great Escape (The Wallflowers’ Revolt #1)

T he ballroom had become too warm.

Georgie could feel the heat prickling at the nape of her neck, see the way the candlelight in the chandeliers blurred ever so slightly as she stood frozen behind the palm, her breath caught somewhere between her chest and her throat.

Jason’s words echoed in her ears.

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?

The way he’d said my wife , with such unflinching certainty, as though there were no shame in it, no pity, had twisted something inside her.

She didn’t even remember excusing herself to Bea and Poppy, only that she’d quickly decided to find Jason and ask him to dance with her. They could provide a united front.

She’d found him…in the card room. She’d been about to turn and go back to her friends, reluctant to bother him in a room full of his peers.

And that’s when she’d heard what he’d said. The words, spoken so evenly, yet with such fierce sincerity, they’d nearly stolen the breath from her lungs.

Their eyes met, and in that moment, it had been too much. All the emotions from the last two days came pouring through her. She’d turned quickly on her heel and hurried away.

Now, she found herself weaving through the crowd, drawn like a moth to the open balcony doors where the cool night air beckoned.

Of course she should have known he’d follow her. Just as he had those nights at the parties she’d escaped. She was leaning on the stone balustrade, her shoulders rigid, one hand gripping the edge of the railing, when the door behind her opened and he approached.

He came to stand beside her and she turned her head to look at him, sucking in two lungfuls of the cool night air.

She watched him for a few moments. The moonlight painted him in silver, catching the sharp line of his jaw, the faint furrow between his brows, the steady rise and fall of his chest.

He looked… tired .

Not just in body, but in soul.

Something tugged in her chest.

“It’s quite cold,” she said quietly, wrapping her arms about her shoulders.

He whipped off his coat and covered her with it. It smelled like him. Warm and masculine, with a hint of soap and something she couldn’t define.

“I thought you’d gone off with your friends,” he said, his voice low.

“I did,” she said simply. “But then I overheard you.”

His head bowed, just enough for his eyes to meet hers.

They were darker than usual in the moonlight, the green muted, but they still held that quiet intensity that made her stomach flutter.

“You weren’t meant to hear that,” he said at last.

“I gathered. I can only imagine what Lord Weedham said first.”

They stood in silence for a moment, the sound of laughter and music drifting faintly through the doors behind them, mingling with the rustle of the breeze.

Jason shook his head. “It doesn’t matter.”

Georgie walked toward him slowly, resting her hands lightly on his abdomen. His muscles jumped. “You defended me,” she said softly.

His gaze burned into her. “Of course I did,” he murmured. “You’re my wife.”

She sucked in her breath. The words shouldn’t have meant so much. But they did.

“You didn’t have to,” she said after a beat, dropping her gaze to his broad chest.

“I didn’t have to marry you either,” he said evenly.

A startled gasp flew from her lips and her eyes darted back to his. “ What did you say ?”

His gaze was already on her, steady and unflinching. “You heard me,” he murmured.

Instead she asked the question that had been gnawing at her since that first morning. “Why did you?”

He blinked at that, then straightened slightly, his fingers covering hers.

For a long moment, she thought he wouldn’t answer. But then he said quietly, “At first I told myself it was because I couldn’t stand to watch you be dragged back into that church. Not to him.”

“At first?” she echoed, her brow furrowing slightly.

“Then I realized I couldn’t stand to think of you in Bath. Or wherever you were planning to go afterward.”

Her breath caught. “You still haven’t answered the question.”

That faint crease deepened between his brows. “You didn’t deserve a life in exile, Georgie. And you certainly didn’t deserve being married to Henderville. Someone should have stopped it long ago.”

The rawness in his voice startled her as much as the words.

But she pulled her hands away from his and took a step back.

“So you wanted to be the hero? Is that it?” For the first time, she wondered if there was something he wasn’t saying, something deeper, older, behind that compulsion to protect her.

One corner of his mouth curved faintly. “No,” he said. “Not at all. I married you because I wanted to.”