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“Beatrice,” Jo said slowly. “That is not why I am here.”

“Oh. I just assumed—apologies.” She continued fiddling with her skirts nervously.

“I am here because of the announcement in the papers. About your betrothal to Lord Lansdowne.”

Beatrice reacted in a way Jo would have never expected. She giggled. The maids came at that moment and set up a tea tray. While Beatrice poured them tea, Jo frowned thinking of her reaction. She seemed quite pleased with herself.

“When we first met,” Jo said as she accepted a cup of tea from Beatrice, “you were quite horrified at the prospect of marrying old Lansdowne. But now you’re willingly betrothing yourself to him?”

Beatrice shrugged. “I thought it was quite clever. Now, instead of being a ruined, jilted bride, I am the woman who jilted a young and virile viscount for an old and shriveled baron.” She let out a laugh. “Did you see the caricatures? They are now trying to speculate if Lansdowne is perhaps more well off than Lord Gage and that that was the reason for my defection. I suppose I can live with the moniker of an opportunist attached to my name.”

Jo licked her lips. “But can you live as the wife of an old baron? Can you be happy with a man you dreaded to marry?”

Beatrice let out a breath. “I would not be happy with Lord Gage, either. Not while he is so obviously in love with you. He would be miserable, too. And so would you. This way, three out of four people involved in this situation will be happy—assuming of course, that I won’t make Lord Lansdowne miserable. And I will get what I always wanted. A month of freedom in London. Besides, Lansdowne is old. He might die soon, and I will be a wealthy widow.” She ended on a laugh.

A surprised chuckle left Jo’s lips. Quite a wicked lady nested beneath the shy, bespectacled facade.

* * *

Once again, Richard found himself sitting haphazardly in his carriage. He instructed the driver to move the carriage farther from Miss Fowley’s house because he didn’t want to invite scandal.

If his carriage was noticed by her house after their quite public split, speculation would abound. Not that there was anything wrong with visiting Miss Fowley during the day, but Richard didn’t want to take any chances.

There would be enough scandal for him and Jo. He didn’t want to drag Miss Fowley into more misfortune than he already had.

Richard watched out the window as Jo exited the house and now stood on the curb, waiting for Richard to collect her. Richard rapped the roof of the carriage and it moved in Jo’s direction.

As soon as Jo settled inside the carriage, she threw up her hands. “She doesn’t want our help. In fact, it seems like she thought it all through. And quite brilliantly, might I add? She is more put together than either of us. And perhaps, by spurning her, you actually made a poor choice.” She chewed on her lip, obviously still worried about Miss Fowley. Or perhaps something else was troubling her.

Richard leaned forward and took her hands in his. His eyes closed briefly from the contact. God, he’d missed her. “I’ve made quite the muddle of things, haven’t I?”

She swallowed a bitter chuckle and looked at him, her gaze imploring.

Richard squeezed her hands. “I shall not leave Miss Fowley in trouble. Don’t you worry.”

Jo’s expression turned annoyed. “You are going to have her followed, aren’t you?”

“What do you mean ‘going to?’” he asked with a slight smile.

“Richard!” Jo laughed, and he tugged on her arms.

“Come here.”

He pulled her onto his lap and caressed her face. “I missed you so very much,” he whispered, staring into her eyes.

She swallowed. “I missed you, too.”

He leaned in until their lips almost touched but didn’t move beyond that. He just closed his eyes, inhaling her scent.

She was the one who leaned into him and pressed her lips against his, but he was the one to turn that kiss from innocent to boiling hot.

He devoured her mouth, hungry for her taste. He rejoiced with every little moan and the answering pressure of her lips. And then she slipped her tongue past his lips and Richard could not control himself any longer.

He angled her mouth for better access, swirling his tongue inside, rubbing it against hers, and collecting the taste of her from every corner. His hands roamed her body, tugging on her gown, dying to touch her naked skin.

She turned away suddenly, her breathing labored, but he continued kissing her face, her neck, then swirled his tongue against the sensitive spot where her pulse raced against her skin.

“Richard, stop,” she breathed, but her fingers sifted through his hair, holding him close.