Page 5 of The Wallflower’s Great Escape (The Wallflowers’ Revolt #1)

G eorgie had no idea what possessed Pembroke to shove her into the hack as if he owned it, but here she was, perched on the worn seat, scarf still covering her head, while he barked an order to the driver and climbed in after her.

The door shut with a decisive thunk , and then he was there—long legs folding into the opposite seat, his coat settling around him like a dark cloud.

He looked at her squarely, his green eyes sharp even in the dim carriage light.

“I’ll escort you home,” he said flatly, as though it were the most obvious thing in the world. “To ensure you actually make it there safely.”

She narrowed her eyes at him, arms tightening over her chest. “I see,” she said sweetly. “You’ve appointed yourself my jailer for the evening. How very…gallant.”

His brow arched, but he said nothing.

Georgie studied him from beneath her lashes as the coach jolted forward.

She’d seen him with her brother countless times over the years before Henry had moved to his own apartments—laughing in the billiard room, leaning lazily against the mantel, all easy charm and dry wit. She’d always thought he was rather nice, if a bit aloof.

But now she knew better.

Pembroke was yet another arrogant man convinced it was his duty to control her life.

Just like her father.

Just like Henderville.

Just like all of them.

Georgie turned her head to stare out the window, the faint blur of streetlamps streaking past in the night.

Still—she grudgingly admitted to herself—for tonight, Pembroke was useful. He was helping her toward her goal, and she’d let him.

For now.

And it really was too bad he was such a pompous ass.

Because, unfortunately, he was terribly handsome.

And when he’d pushed her against that wall back in the garden—she pressed her knees together at the memory—well. For just a moment, she’d actually thought he was going to take a liberty.

And worse? She’d wanted him to.

Which was mortifying. And wrong.

Pembroke’s voice broke into her unhelpful thoughts. “So,” he said slowly, “you’re betrothed to the Marquess of Henderville ?”

She met his gaze squarely. She hadn’t mistaken a hint of disbelief in his voice. “Yes,” she said, leveling him with her gaze.

Pembroke leaned forward slightly, his expression still faintly incredulous. “The marquess himself,” he pressed, “not…his nephew?”

She narrowed her eyes. “No. The old man. Apparently he still intends to try for an heir. His nephew be damned.”

She didn’t even care that she was using foul language in front of him. They were long past the point of civilities.

Pembroke’s jaw tightened. He actually shuddered , his shoulders rolling like a man trying to shake off a particularly bad dream.

“My sentiments exactly,” she murmured.

But Pembroke’s continued disbelief was written plainly on his face.

Georgie tilted her chin higher.

“You don’t believe me, do you?” she asked coolly. “That’s why you asked again. You think I’m lying to you.”

He hesitated…just enough for her to see it. Then he said, “No.”

But it came out far too quickly.

She let out a dry laugh and rolled her eyes, settling back against the cushions and turning her face toward the window. “I honestly don’t care what you think,” she muttered. And she meant it.

She didn’t speak to him for the rest of the ride.

He didn’t try to fill the silence.

No doubt he thought that was some kind of victory.

When the coach finally rattled to a halt in the quiet lane behind her father’s town house, Georgie lifted her skirts and stepped down without waiting for him.

The back servants’ door loomed ahead, faintly lit by a single lantern.

She could feel Pembroke’s gaze burning into her back as she ascended the short step to the door.

He’d followed her, his boots echoing softly on the stones.

He stopped just behind her. “I must have your word,” he said quietly, “that you intend to stay here tonight.”

Georgie turned slowly, her hand already on the latch. She pulled the scarf from her head and couldn’t help but roll her eyes again. “As if you’d believe my word,” she shot back.

His green eyes narrowed faintly. “I do believe it,” he said evenly. “And I am asking for it.”

She held his gaze for a long moment, then gave a short, sharp nod. “Fine,” she said. “You have my word.”

And without another glance at him, she flounced inside, letting the door shut behind her with a satisfying thud.

The house was quiet at this hour, the faint scent of rosemary, from dinner, no doubt, still clinging to the stairwell.

Georgie slipped off her shoes and gathered her skirts in her hands, ascending the back staircase silently.

Her pulse finally began to slow as she neared her room on the third floor.

She had to give him credit, she thought grudgingly, Lord Pembroke was more difficult to shake than she’d anticipated.

But he didn’t know her nearly as well as he thought he did.

She’d told him the truth: she had no intention of leaving the house tonight.

No, indeed.

The real escape was planned for her wedding night.

And no one—least of all Pembroke—was going to stop her then.