Page 34 of The Wallflower’s Great Escape (The Wallflowers’ Revolt #1)

J ason stood by the tall window in his study, one hand resting against the cool glass, his other curled into a loose fist at his side.

Below, the square was quiet. A lone carriage rattled by, wheels crunching over the cobblestones, the sound faint and distant through the heavy pane.

He’d been standing here for the better part of an hour, telling himself he wasn’t waiting .

But he was.

He hadn’t seen Georgie since she’d left the dinner table last night, rising so abruptly after his confession about Evelyn he’d barely had time to stand before she was gone.

She hadn’t spoken another word.

Not a single one.

This morning, she hadn’t come down to breakfast. Instead she’d sent a note with the footman—two crisp lines in her even hand.

I’ve gone shopping with Lady Beatrix and Miss Montfort on Bond Street. Please do not wait on me for dinner.

Bond Street. Of course. Where else did ladies go to gossip and gather ribbons? But dinner? That seemed like an awfully long time to shop.

He’d told himself not to think about it.

Not to read too much into her sudden silence, or the fact that she’d sent her regrets this morning rather than simply face him.

And yet…he couldn’t stop thinking about it.

He should have told her more last night…should have answered her question. Explained what happened to Evelyn. Instead, he’d been cold, sharp. He’d only managed to widen the space between them.

His mouth tightened at the thought.

The truth was, he’d never meant to tell her about Evelyn, not like that, perhaps not at all. But she’d asked about his family, and in that quiet moment over dinner, when her gaze had been so intent and her voice so tentative, the words had simply…slipped out.

But when she’d asked what happened, it was as if all the pain had rushed back to his mind. He didn’t like to talk about it, didn’t like to think about it.

He cursed softly under his breath.

He’d snapped at her. It wasn’t the kind of thing one could take back.

And the look on Georgie’s pretty face before she left—stricken, shuttered, and…almost wounded—had not left his mind since.

Had she thought it was a rebuke? That he didn’t want her to know anything about his family?

He rubbed a hand over his face and sighed.

It was precisely why he’d never introduced her to his mother.

He’d spared Georgie that meeting intentionally.

Not because he was ashamed of Georgie—how could he be?—but because he wouldn’t subject her to his mother’s poison.

The dowager may have been his only living relative, but she was a snake, and he knew better than anyone how sharp her tongue could be.

Georgie already had enough wretched relations to contend with. She didn’t need his added to the list.

Still, the silence between them now gnawed at him.

He glanced at the mantel clock…well past four.

The deepening light of afternoon stretched thin over the square. And still no sign of her.

A small muscle worked in his jaw as he turned back to the window.

Bond Street wasn’t so very far, and shopping with two chaperones—well, of sorts—should have been entirely safe.

But something twisted in his chest regardless.

A faint, restless prickle at the base of his spine.

Something was wrong.

He couldn’t have said how he knew…only that he did.

And as the clock chimed another lonely quarter hour, he found himself already reaching for his coat.