The Duke of Defiance (The Untouchables #5)(73)

This time when Nora came toward her, Jo let her. And when her sister’s arms came around her, Jo buried her face in her shoulder. She didn’t cry, but she closed her eyes and thought of all the times Nora had held her after their mother had died. She might not remember their mother too clearly, but she remembered that.

Jo lifted her head and eased back. “I’m sorry. I guess I’ve been holding that in a very long time. I don’t really blame you—at least, not anymore. I wouldn’t want your life to be different. I’m so glad you have Titus and Becky and Christopher.” She glanced down at Nora’s gently rounded belly. “And the new baby.” Her throat knotted.

“Did you think you were with child?” Nora asked.

Jo nodded, unable to voice any words.

“Oh, Jo.” Nora hugged her again. “But maybe there’s still hope. I didn’t get pregnant right away with Titus.”

Jo pulled back and summoned a wobbly smile. “Please don’t. I can’t bear to hope anymore. It’s too hard. Anyway, Bran needs an heir, and if I can’t give him one, he must find someone who can. I’m not sure how much longer I can stay with him.”

“You mean you’d resign your position?”

“I have to.” Jo’s heart squeezed. “I don’t think I can bear it.”

“You love him,” Nora said.

“Yes.”

“I’m ready, Jo!” Evie bounded into the room with a gleeful smile.

Jo was glad she hadn’t cried. She leaned down and swept Evie into a hug. “Did you have a fun time?”

“Yes! We stayed up very late and ate Shrewsbury cakes!”

Nora chuckled. “The cook sent a tray up. She can’t seem to help herself from spoiling the girls.”

As Jo and Evie turned to go, Nora touched her arm. She sent a worried glance toward Evie, who was thankfully oblivious. “Think about things before you make any decisions,” she whispered. “I’m here if you need me.

Jo appreciated the support. “I truly am sorry for before.”

Nora shook her head briskly. “Don’t be. It was long overdue for you to let that out. I love you.”

Jo found a small smile, then left with Evie.

Once they were settled into the coach, Evie snuggled close to Jo on the seat. “I missed you and Papa last night. I’m so glad you’re my governess.”

Jo’s throat clogged with thick emotion as she pressed a kiss to Evie’s head. Yes, she should leave, but she wasn’t sure she could.



Bran stood in the corner of the drawing room at the Kendals’ town house while everyone else engaged in bright conversation. Well, almost everyone. He noted that Jo, seated on the opposite side of the room, seemed rather subdued. But then she’d been like that the past several days.

He’d barely spoken to her since the amazing night they’d spent together, and she’d informed him that she couldn’t receive him because she was indisposed.

They’d arrived at the dinner party together, and aside from Evie being with them, the short coach ride had been fraught with tension—and not the kind he usually felt with her. Instead of being consumed with desire and the need to touch her, he’d been off-balance and unsure.

Upon their arrival, Evie had gone up to the nursery to be with Becky and to rehearse the puppet show they would give after dinner. Jo had moved away from him with alacrity, and he hadn’t been close enough to talk to her since.

Lady Dunn came to his side, leaning rather heavily on her cane. “Why are you lurking in the shadows over here? The purpose of this party was to give you a chance to meet people and establish yourself.”

It wasn’t a terribly large party, but he supposed there were a few people of import here, and he’d already met them when the gentlemen had taken port after dinner. “I’m not lurking. I’m enjoying a few moments of solitude.”

“I see.” She followed his gaze and inclined her head. “I do see. How are things with Mrs. Shaw?”

“She’s working out quite well. Evie adores her.”

“Don’t be obtuse. Have you given any more consideration to making her your countess?”

He’d done little else the past few days since realizing he was in love with her. “Yes. It may happen.” Or not. Given her behavior, he had to wonder if she’d decided to end their affair.

“I shall continue to hope so,” his godmother said. “You’ll make an excellent match.” She patted his arm, then doddered off.

Bran knew he should make an effort to talk to people, but it was difficult when all he wanted to do was tear off his coat and cravat. Then he would be more at ease. Damn Society and their stupid rules.

Just as he’d almost talked himself into going to talk to West, his mother approached him with another woman in tow.

“Knighton, have you met Mrs. Rollins?”

Bran eyed the woman. She was perhaps a few years younger than him—about Jo’s age, he would guess—with velvety brown eyes and ebony hair. “No, I haven’t had the pleasure.” He offered a bow. “How do you do?”

She curtsied. “Well, thank you. It’s an honor to meet you.” She looked him in the eye and carried a confidence that had been absent in the frivolous young women he’d danced with at the Andover ball.