Page 6 of The Wallflower’s Great Escape (The Wallflowers’ Revolt #1)

J ason leaned back against the carriage seat, arms crossed, and glowered at the darkened city streets flashing past the window.

St. James’s Square wasn’t far, but it was far enough for him to stew.

And stew he did.

Lady Georgiana Chadwick.

Fire in her eyes, defiance in her voice, her chin tilted high as though she dared the world to strike her down.

Spoiled. Reckless. A nuisance.

That’s what her brother had always said.

“Georgie’s a bother,” Chadwick would grumble after three pints at White’s. “Too sharp by half, too spirited, too much.”

And yet—Jason’s jaw worked—he couldn’t quite square that image of her with the way she’d looked tonight, swathed in shadows and the scarf, clutching her skirts as she tried to escape.

Running from the Marquess of Henderville.

Henderville.

Jason muttered a low oath and rubbed a hand over his mouth.

He’d run from Henderville too, given the chance.

Which was why he was on his way to visit Chadwick and ask him outright if his sister was truly betrothed to that old goat.

By the time the coach clattered to a halt in front of Chadwick’s bachelor flat in St. James, Jason’s mood had soured even further.

The driver opened the door and Jason stepped down, straightening his coat before rapping on the door and letting himself in.

Inside, the faint strains of music and female laughter drifted down out onto the cobblestones.

Of course.

Chadwick’s idea of convalescence apparently involved brandy, women, and no doubt some enterprising footman who’d managed to produce a pianoforte on short notice.

Jason pushed the door open and was greeted by the sight of Henry Chadwick—future viscount, notorious rake, and present invalid—lounging on a sofa with his splinted leg propped up on a pillow.

A decanter sat at his elbow, two scantily clad women danced to the lilting music, and the room smelled faintly of smoke and cheap perfume.

“Pembroke!” Chadwick called out cheerfully, raising his glass. “Come to join the revels? Took you long enough.”

Jason didn’t answer at first. He shut the door behind him, removed his gloves, and surveyed the scene with a dispassionate eye.

One of the women giggled and offered him a come-hither smile.

He ignored her.

The music swelled, and Chadwick gestured at him with his glass. “Don’t just stand there looking like you’ve swallowed a lemon. Sit. Drink. There’s plenty to go around.”

Jason remained standing another beat before finally sinking into the chair opposite him, rubbing a hand through his hair.

“I need to ask you something,” he said flatly.

Chadwick took a long swallow of brandy and leaned back, smirking. “By all means. Ask away.”

Jason narrowed his eyes on his friend. “Is it true,” he said slowly, and perhaps too loudly, “that your sister is betrothed to the Marquess of Henderville?”

The music faltered as he spoke, and Chadwick’s smirk slipped just slightly. He waved a lazy hand at the women. “Darlings, give us a moment, would you?”

They pouted but drifted away to the next room, the footman quietly following them.

Chadwick sighed, refilled his glass, and finally looked back at Jason. “Yes,” he said simply. “It’s true.”

Jason’s brows shot up. “You’re serious.”

Chadwick gave a one-shouldered shrug. “What can I say? My father’s always been rubbish at cards. He owes Henderville an ungodly amount of money. That’s why I thank the heavens every day I was born a male. Otherwise, I’d be sold off too.”

Jason stared at him, incredulous. “But Henderville is?—”

“Old?” Chadwick supplied helpfully. “Obnoxious? Tight-fisted? A horse’s ass? Yes. All of the above.”

Jason leaned forward, his elbows braced on his knees.

“You don’t see why Georgiana might be…loath to marry him?”

Chadwick barked a laugh, throwing his head back.

“Of course I do! Didn’t I just say I’m damned glad I was born a man?

” He grinned, the corner of his mouth tilting upward in an expression that made Jason’s teeth clench.

“Thank Christ it’s not my problem.” Chadwick raised his glass in a mocking toast and tossed back the rest of the brandy.

Jason studied his friend for a long moment, the heat rising steadily in his chest. He’d known Chadwick for years. They’d gotten foxed together, raced horses together, and, yes, chased women together.

But he’d never—not once—heard him speak so callously about his own sister.

His beautiful, stubborn, spirited sister.

“When is the wedding?” Jason asked, doing his best to keep a grim curl of distaste from his lips.

“Three weeks hence,” Chadwick replied easily. “And Georgiana has a troubling habit of running away from parties when her fiancé is present. Which is why I asked you to keep an eye on her.”

Jason’s jaw tightened as Chadwick beckoned the women back in and gestured for the music to resume.

Soon, the room filled with lilting notes and laughter once more, but Jason hardly heard it. His gaze remained fixed on Chadwick as a bitter thought settled in his mind like lead…

No wonder Lady Georgiana doesn’t trust men.

And at the moment, he certainly couldn’t say he blamed her.