Introducing Miss Joanna (Once a Wallflower Book 2)

by Maggi Andersen

  After a light repast in the dining room, it was still daylight when they made their way upstairs. Jo was a little breathless. She didn’t consider herself to be shy, but she wanted so much to please him.

  He left her to go to his bedchamber. Jo entered to bathe and change into the negligee she’d recently purchased. This was nothing like her usual white lawn nightgowns. The pale green silk trimmed with ribbons and lace clung and revealed much of her body.

  After Sally brushed out her hair, she left her.

  Jo looked at the enormous bed. There were steps to reach it. She slid down on smooth, fresh sheets beneath the covers and lay examining the gold tent of fabric above her, her heart thumping as she listened for the door to Reade’s apartment to open.

  When he appeared in a dressing gown, she sat up, clutching the sheet to her chest. His gaze sought hers as he crossed the carpet. He stood before her with that special smile he had for her, which had always made her feel safe. She didn’t feel so safe now; at the serious intent in his eyes, a euphoric rush of pleasure and anticipation made her sink down with a gasp.

  He kicked off backless slippers, his hands at his dressing gown belt. Jo eyed the vee of smooth, lightly tanned skin and the smattering of dark, crisp curls at his throat. Beneath the midnight blue silk, he appeared to be naked. She quivered. “This is a very high bed,” she said in a rush, with a need to defuse the tension.

  Reade’s hand stilled on the belt. “Is it?”

  “A robber could hide under there.”

  One eyebrow rose, and his lips parted on a grin. “Would you like me to look?”

  “That’s unnecessary, surely,” Jo said as her fingers gathered the sheet to her chin.

  “I am always happy to please a lady.”

  As he lifted the coverlet to peer beneath the bed, Jo was overcome with giggles.

  With a laugh, Reade shrugged off his dressing gown and joined her beneath the covers. A large warm body lay against hers, and a broad hand settled on her hip. “The only one you must contend with tonight, Jo, is me.” He kissed her lightly on the lips. “And I will be gentle.”

  The mere glimpse of his naked body made her yearn to lift the covers. But Reade distracted her by untying the ribbons at her throat. He drew the silk away, and murmuring her name, gathered her to him. His masculine aroma teased at her. With her breasts crushed against his body, all satiny skin, sinew, muscle, and bone, her anxiety faded away. This was Reade, her husband, and she loved him. Her arms went around his neck to draw his face down to hers.

  “You’re lovely, Jo.”

  His mouth sought and demanded a response, kissing, nibbling, and lightly biting her lips. With a low, deep sound in his throat, his tongue teased her lips apart and thrust deep into the cavern of her mouth. Shocked at the intimacy, Jo moaned as a throb of yearning began low in her belly. He tasted of sweet champagne. Reade threw off the covers.

  She barely noticed when her nightgown landed on the floor.

  “You’re beautiful, Jo.”

  He was magnificent. She had to touch him, running her hands over warm skin as muscles rippled across his back and arms. His proud member pressed against her stomach, and his long legs tangled with hers.

  Reade teased, tantalized, and aroused her, circling the crest of a nipple and drawing it into his mouth. He ravished her with his mouth, nibbling, licking, finding places on her body Jo hadn’t known were so sensitive or arousing. His hand slid between her thighs, and he slipped a finger inside her.

  “Oh!” He gently circled that sensitive part of her, and an urgent need made her oddly restless. On fire with longing, she murmured and clutched his head as he moved down to kiss her belly.

  When his mouth replaced his fingers, Jo threw her head back and gasped. She arched against him restlessly, not knowing what she craved, but wanting more.

  Reade moved up to join her on the pillows, his hand cupping her sex. Embarrassed at how wet she’d become, she turned her face away.

  “Look at me, Jo,” he rasped.

  Jo turned to gaze into his eyes, which were dark with passion. He parted her legs and shifted over her. His hands on her hips, he raised her to meet him, and she felt him, heavy and blunt at her entrance. He pushed slowly inside. “God, Jo, I love you.” he murmured.

  One thrust, and he pushed deeper. Jo whimpered at the spark of pain.

  The discomfort lessened as he moved. A sense of being one with him possessed her, and as he moved inside her, an urgent need gathered low in her stomach. She pressed kisses on the smooth skin of his neck and shoulder, her fingers stroking over his broad back. The sweet pain made her moan. She abandoned herself to pleasure. “Please,” she murmured, although she knew not what she wanted. She locked her legs around him and moved to meet each thrust.

  With a groan, his thrusts quickened and carried her along, then caught her up in a rolling explosion of feeling which grew in intensity until she almost couldn’t bear it. She cried out his name.

  A final groan and a rush of warmth inside her. He stilled, breathing heavily.

  Panting, Jo sank back, loose, and floaty. She lost all sense of herself. When she opened her eyes, he smiled down at her.

  She gave him a wobbly smile and licked her swollen lips, dismayed that tears had gathered at the corners of her eyes.

  He eased himself off her and to the side and reached across to wipe away a tear. “Did I hurt you, sweetheart? It won’t hurt again, I promise.”

  “Only a little, but Gareth, I loved it, I love you.”

  He leaned on an elbow, a tender expression in his eyes. “I like to hear you say my name.”

  “Gareth,” she said again. “It suits you.”

  A wry smile raised his lips. “I wish I could tell my mother you approve of it. She chose it from among the family names.”

  “Will you tell me about your mother?”

  A shadow crossed his eyes. “I will soon,” he promised. “Not tonight, darling. You need to sleep.”

  “Yes, I think I will.” Her breath and the pounding of her heart had slowed. Her bones seemed heavy. Lying beside his warm side, she couldn’t keep her eyes open.

  Reade woke early after a surprisingly deep, peaceful sleep and marveled at the absence of a nightmare. The erotic smell of lovemaking lingered, and he smiled as he recalled their night together. The morning sun peeked through a break in the curtains, reaching golden fingers across the carpet toward the bed. Jo was made for love. She had been a curious and passionate lover. He watched her sleep, her glorious hair spread over the pillow, her body curled trustingly against him.

  She had come to London to enjoy the Season and had been thrust into the sordid underbelly of London, her life at stake, and he wanted to make it up to her, to keep her safe and love her.

  He considered the day ahead. They were to depart London after breakfast and journey north, stopping at coaching inns for the night. While he was keen for them to reach Seacliffe, there was no need to travel at break-neck speed. They would enjoy a leisurely trip through the countryside decked out in spring finery and put up at the best inns.

  Jo stirred and smiled sleepily up at him. “Good morning.”

  “Good morning.” He gathered her warm, inviting body close and kissed her.

  A knock came at the door.

  “Sally, with my chocolate,” Jo murmured.

  He groaned and threw back the covers. “We leave in a few hours. I’ll leave you to dress.”

  Jo pouted prettily as she followed him from the bed to don her dressing gown.

  She was a naked Venus. Alabaster skin and pale pink nipples, a dark red triangle of hair below the gentle curve of her stomach, and long slim legs. His body stirred, wanting her. “Go away, Sally,” he called. “Come back in an hour.”

  With an inviting smile, Jo toyed with the curls on his chest.

  Reade cupped Jo’s derriere in his hands and pulled her against his arousal as he kissed her. He drew away to search her eyes. “Shall we, my love?”

 
She murmured an assent.

  Reade picked her up and laid her on the bed. He settled behind her, his hands on her hips and eased into her soft warmth, his fingers kneading her soft bottom. Jo squealed and panted and pushed back against his belly. Reade flipped her over and entered her again, his mouth on hers, their tongues tangling until he came with a roar.

  He raised himself on his elbows to smile at her. “That should last me until we reach the coaching inn,” he said with a grin. “Although I’m not sure, how do you feel about making love in a carriage?”

  Jo laughed. “I rather like the idea.”

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Jo raised her head from Reade’s shoulder and groggily viewed the scene passing by the window. The coach traveled through the rugged Pennine hills, the moors stretching away in a swathe of brilliant green. “You promised to wake me,” she said accusingly.

  He kissed the tip of her nose. “I hadn’t the heart, you look so appealing when you sleep, with just an occasional snore.”

  She laughed and hit him on the arm. Sitting up, she tidied her hair. “Are we near Holfirth?”

  “A few miles to go yet.”

  “Let’s go straight to the church. If there’s any news of Anabel, the vicar will know.”

  He drew her back against him. “Darling, don’t be too dismayed if there’s been no word.”

  “I’ll try not to,” Jo said, but her heart felt bruised. She didn’t want to think Virden had sent Anabel to some heathen place and left her to her fate. He’d denied it, but Reade was right, she shouldn’t believe anything the evil man said.

  A half-hour later, the coach trundled down the hill and entered the busy village. They continued along the road and pulled up outside the gray stone parish church.

  When they entered, a young man in a curate’s clothing came up the aisle toward them. Warm hazel eyes smiled a welcome. Reade introduced them.

  Jo met the smile. “We would like to see the vicar.”

  “I’m sorry, my lady. The vicar is away. He’s not expected back until Tuesday.”

  “Then perhaps you can help us,” Reade said.

  “I hope so. I’m the curate here. Donaldson is my name.”

  “Mr. Donaldson, we are seeking news about one of your parishioners,” Reade said. “She came to London for the Season last year but left shortly afterward. A friend is most concerned about her and wishes to know how she fares.”

  “Who is the lady?”

  “Miss Anabel Riley.”

  Donaldson’s eyes widened. He ran a hand through his hair and shook his head.

  Icy fingers ran down Jo’s spine.

  “I am a little surprised,” he said. “There’s no longer an Anabel Riley.” He smiled. “But there is an Anabel Donaldson.”

  “Mrs. Donaldson?” Jo wondered if she’d misheard him. “Anabel is your wife?”

  They shared a smile. “I am. Who is asking after her?”

  “Miss Charlotte Graham. They became friends last year. Charlotte became concerned when Anabel disappeared.”

  “Ah, I see. Regrettable. When Anabel’s chaperone died unexpectedly, she was forced to return home. I was most fortunate that she did. If she’d remained long in London, some other lucky fellow would have married her,” he said with a chuckle.

  Jo laughed.

  “May we have the pleasure of meeting Mrs. Donaldson?” Reade asked.

  Donaldson shook his head. “I’m afraid not. Anabel isn’t here. She’s gone to York with her mother. Unless you intend to spend a week here?”

  “Unfortunately, we are just passing through,” Reade said.

  “I am sorry to miss her,” Jo said. “Please tell her I shall write to Charlotte, who is soon to marry a Mr. Lambton, and give her your address.”

  “Anabel will be delighted. It upset her very much to have to leave London in a rush with no time to tell anyone. Nor did she have her friend Charlotte’s address.” He stood. “I am remiss. May I offer you tea in the rectory?”

  “Thank you, but no. My wife and I are eager to reach Cumbria before nightfall.”

  “Anabel will be sorry to have missed you.” Donaldson followed them out of the church into the sunshine. “Godspeed.” He raised his hand as they settled in the coach.

  The horses leapt forward, and the vehicle rocked its way down the road. Jo snuggled against Reade, and he drew the rug over them.

  He kissed the top of her head. “Content now, my love?”

  “I am, thank you, darling.”

  “A happy ending,” she said. “I must write to Charlotte, and Papa, and Aunt Mary, tonight.”

  “Tomorrow, Jo.”

  She met his ardent brown gaze and smiled mischievously. “Yes, tomorrow.”

  Their spirits lifted. They were no longer seeking an answer to the fate of Miss Riley. They laughed and kissed, and they talked. Reade did most of it. His sympathetic bride listened quietly as he told her about his childhood and the tragedy which had changed the course of his life. His father’s coldness drew a gasp of surprise from loyal Jo. For a parent not to love their children was anathema to her. That a father didn’t love a son like Reade, impossible!

  He laughed. “I wasn’t lily-white, my love.”

  “No boy would be. I imagine our sons won’t be. But you will love them dearly. And wish the best for them.”

  “You have a big heart Jo, with room enough for everyone. Not everyone has that capacity.”

  She nodded thoughtfully. “But you do.” She traced the straight line of his nose with a finger. Her feather-light touch across his lips and into the dip in his chin brought her close, and his body stirred. “Your work was all about helping unfortunate people, wanting good to triumph over evil.”

  He drew her close. She was sensitive and perceptive, his bride. Having her near made him want her. The scent of her skin, her hair, her soft, wide inviting mouth, her essence, and her passion. He took control of himself. “We shall arrive at Seacliffe in an hour or two.”

  She sat forward, a casual hand on his knee, warm and inviting. “What were you saying earlier about love and a carriage? she asked, smiling mischievously.

  He pulled her onto his lap.

  “Might be better to show you, darling.”

  Epilogue

  It was late in the afternoon when the coach passed through the tiny hamlet, which was the coastal village of Seacliffe. A mile farther on, they entered through a grand set of gates.

  Jo clung to the windowsill, staring out as they continued along a drive bordered by hedges and trees bent by the wind. A glimmer of deep gray-blue water appeared through the foliage.

  “I caught a glimpse of the ocean!” she cried, her pulse racing.

  “The Irish Sea.”

  The coach emerged from the trees, and the gravel drive took them along beside a sweep of lawn. A stone castle complete with turret and towers loomed ahead of them with the backdrop of the sea behind it.

  For a moment, Jo couldn’t speak, then she turned half laughing, half accusatory. “You didn’t tell me it was a castle!”

  As the coachman drew the horses to a stop, Reade edged forward on the seat with his hand on the door handle. “You’re not disappointed? It’s not the neat manor house I know you wanted.”

  She poked him in the side. “I can’t wait to see it.”

  “Castles are not the most comfortable of residences,” he said, turning to help her down. “I have attempted to make it so.”

  A thin, grizzled man dressed in black opened the enormous oak door with a brass ring in the shape of a lion.

  “I trust you had a pleasant journey, Baron.”

  “We did, thank you, Hyde. This is Lady Reade.”

  He bowed. “Lady Reade.”

  Jo doubted she would ever grow used to the title. How did the daughter of a haberdasher arrive at this? “How do you do, Hyde. I plan to ask you a million questions later.”

  Hyde bowed again. “It shall please me to answer them, my lady.”

  They entere
d the soaring-roofed great hall, their footsteps echoing across the stone floors. Reade led her into a smaller chamber with furnishings of blue velvet and gold and an enormous stone fireplace. The furniture was of oak. Bookshelves lined two walls, another wall taken up with windows filled with the sky and sea. A ginger-haired cat with a bushy tail sat curled up on the sofa. It leaped down and stalked over to Reade to rub against his legs. He picked the animal up and held it in his arms.

  “So this is Alistair.” Jo stroked his soft fur. A vibration rumbled through his body. “He loves you.”

  “He’s close to twenty years old,” he said. “You’re an old cat, aren’t you, Alistair?”

  Alistair took umbrage at the reference to his age and leaped down from Reade’s arms to stalk out the door.

  Jo crossed the brightly patterned Eastern rug. A hand on the damask curtain, she stared out at the windswept expanse of grass leading down to the shore. Birds wheeled about in the sky. She breathed in the salty smell and listened to the roar of the sea. Out on that wind-tossed water, Reade had lost his mother and brother when he’d been just a boy. Compassion for him twisted her heart. She turned to observe him where he stood at her shoulder.

  She slipped her hand into his. “How extraordinary this view is. And how perfect a setting for my big Viking.”

  He chuckled and pulled her onto his lap on a gold velvet wing chair. “I’ll take you for a tour of the castle and grounds shortly before it gets dark. And after supper, I believe we will go early to bed.”

  The next morning, Jo smiled and stretched languidly in the carved oak four-poster bed hung with crimson velvet. Reade had been an insatiable lover last night. She was learning to please him and to take her own pleasure. Her cheeks heated as she recalled their unrestrained passion. He had ridden out to visit the farm and fetch his dogs while she planned her day. After she attended to her letters, she would take a stroll along the shore.

  A maid came in with her chocolate.

  “Thank you, Maude. I wish to speak to the housekeeper and the staff this morning after breakfast.”