Page 5 of The Cutthroat Countess

“It seems odd that he’d just hand them over if he did.”

Jo agreed. “You trust Morrison?”

“Completely. We’ve worked together many times in the past. Although I don’t know much about his personal life, I’ve been impressed by his loyalty and ethics time and again.”

“Why doesn’t he work for the Home Office anymore?”

“He was caught in an ambush last year—at the same time you and I were in France—and he was tortured. His foot was—well, he had to have it amputated when he came home. I think he could still find fulfilling work, but he is a little bitter that he would be desk-bound.”

“I can imagine.”

The low dinner gong sounded, and Jo groaned.

Elliot pulled her close and kissed her thoroughly. “We have to go in,” he murmured when he finally released her.

“I know.”

“It’s only for a little while, Jo,” he said, running his knuckles over her jaw. “Once the Season is over, you will find life in the country far less . . . structured. Your family’s property, Briarly, is among the most beautiful in England. You will love it there.”

Jo nodded and forced a smile. She could well believe that, but she also knew that their false betrothal agreement would end when the Season was over. Her home in the country might be lovely, but Elliot would not be there with her.

Chapter 23

Three interminable, Elliot-less weeks later Jo was lying in her enormous four-poster bed staring at the early morning sunlight glinting through a gap in the drapes, trying to drum up the energy to get up and go about her day. Thanks to a late night at one of the dullest dinner and card parties in the history of Britain, she hadn’t returned home until almost two in the morning. It was already six-thirty—a good hour and a half past the time she usually woke up—and her head was heavy and fuzzy after less than four hours sleep.

Rather than leap out of bed, which was normally her way, Jo took a few extra minutes to laze in the warm, soft sheets. The Castleford ball was tonight, which would make today a very, very long day. It would be the only ball that she would attend this Season, as she’d denied Edi the right to throw a welcoming ball for her.

“Next year, Cousin Edi,” she’d said—more than a few times—needing to dig deep to keep her tone pleasant.

Edi had finally accepted her decree, but Jo knew the older woman would try to force her to attend more than one function per day for the remaining weeks of the Season.

The only good thing about the ball tonight was that Elliot was finally returning today, and would meet her there.

Jo had hoped that life would slow down after her wretched dinner with the Prince of Wales—and forty of his closest cronies, but her cousin Edith was determined to squeeze every drop out of the Season—and Jo in the process.

Meeting the Regent hadn’t been as awful as she’d feared. Elliot had been right when he’d said that Jo wouldn’t be expected to speak much. There had been so many other people in attendance—all of them clamoring for the prince’s attention—that all she’d had to do was nod, smile, and try not to eat with the wrong fork or inadvertently insult anyone.

“Just ask your dinner companions about themselves,” Elliot had advised. “If there is one thing you can be certain of, it’s that people adore talking about their favorite subject.”

Those had been his words of wisdom the last time they’d had a chance to talk—which had been almost three weeks ago, thanks to the extension of his trip to Paris.

Three. Long. Weeks.

Life had lost its luster without the prospect of seeing Elliot regularly—even if it was only getting to look at him across a dinner table. Thankfully, they’d at least been able to exchange letters.

As much as it had horrified her cousin Edi, Elliot had shattered the prohibition that prevented men and women who were not married—or at least publicly betrothed—from sending letters when he’d addressed one to Angus Brown.

Amused and relieved, Jo had written back under the same name. She’d challenged her cousin to find an etiquette rule that forbade a person writing to somebody else’s pet bird.

His letter had sounded so much like him that it had made her love him even more. Indeed, she’d longed for him with a physical yearning, and that soul-deep ache—as if she were missing a limb—had forced Jo to accept the truth: she did not want to live without him. Even spending part of the year enduring a Season would be bearable if she could have Elliot beside her in bed every night.

Jo had toyed with the idea of writing him and telling him that she’d accepted his real offer of marriage. After all, she was a coward when it came to emotional declarations, and that would have spared her an uncomfortable time. But even Jo knew that to admit her love and desire for him via letter would be ill done of her. Elliot deserved a face-to-face declaration of love and acceptance of his suit.

Just settling the matter in her mind had made the last week easier to bear.

As far as Jo was concerned, the sooner she and Elliot married, the sooner she could end the farcical thinking her cousin Edith clung to: that Jo would meet and marry some titled, wealthy scion and cast Elliot aside to climb the social ladder.

Tolerating ton society would be far less stressful with Elliot at her side. She’d acquitted herself with the Regent, and her political responsibilities had been taken care of, so she could leave London and spend the rest of the year at Briarly with a clear conscience, no matter how much Edi might want her to accept house party invitations or go to Brighton.