The Unlikely Lady (17 page)

This Jane
had
to see. She lowered the book and eyed the widow. Mrs. Langford's eyes grew dark and she looked down, allowing her eyelashes to splay against her cheeks in a display even Jane had to admit was fetching. “Yes. Of course. It's for the best that
Mr. Upton
be the one to take me home in my disheveled state.”

What the devil did
that
mean?

Cass and Lucy exchanged shocked glances.

Mrs. Langford stepped closer to Lucy and Cass, but Jane was still able to hear what she said next. “Because Mr. Upton and I are close. Quite close indeed.”

The book nearly toppled from Jane's hands. She grabbed for it and righted it just as Upton strode back to them, a horse in tow. “Let's get you back to the manor house,” he said to Mrs. Langford. He led the widow by the hand and readily helped her onto the mount. From her position in front of Upton, Mrs. Langford gave Jane a smug smile. Jane nudged at her spectacles.

Upton tapped the horse with his heels and the pair took off, leaving Jane, Lucy, and Cass to stare after them, wide-eyed.

Jane let her arm holding the book fall to her side. “Ladies, you don't suppose all this time we've been in the presence of Garrett's mistress?”

 

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

When the gentlemen joined the ladies after dinner that night, Mrs. Langford kept her sultry gaze trained on Upton. Jane couldn't take any more of the two of them. She'd been a complete fool telling Upton she'd get to the bottom of why Mrs. Langford had come. It had been obvious the entire time! If Jane hadn't allowed first her dislike of Upton, then her scandalous interaction with him, and finally her suspicion that he was in love with her, to cloud her judgment, she would have seen it from the start. Upton, the cad, had managed to invite his
mistress
to his friends' wedding. Even worse, he'd kissed
Jane,
too. Was the man so overcome with his base instincts he couldn't limit his sexual appetite to only one woman at a house party? What would Mrs. Langford say if she knew the man keeping her had been kissing another lady in the upstairs drawing room the other night? It was disgusting to contemplate.

Of course, there was no chance Jane would be the one to tell Mrs. Langford about her lover's defection. Jane would be admitting to being the other woman, and she'd rather die. No. She would keep Upton's dirty secret.

What nonsense of Lucy to tell her Upton loved her. Utterly ridiculous. How could he possibly be in love with her and invite his mistress to the house party at the same time? Lucy had informed Jane that Upton obviously had decided he'd fallen in love with her after Mrs. Langford's arrival, but the entire thing was sickening. If this was Upton's type of love, Jane had no use for it.

The worst part wasn't realizing what a degenerate the man was. The worst part was knowing she didn't have the right to be angry. Upton hadn't known it was her whom he'd kissed. He'd been kissing a stranger during a drunken masquerade ball. He probably hadn't given it a second thought. How many women did Upton consort with? Regardless, she was through with him. She'd have to suffer his company for the remainder of the house party, but then Jane would make it clear to Lucy that if she wanted to spend time in her cousin's company, she would do so without Jane.

Surprisingly, Upton made his way directly over to where Jane sat on a settee in the far corner. He'd searched the room when he'd entered as if looking … for her? Mrs. Langford was on the opposite side of the salon, no doubt being catty to Daphne Swift. Poor Daphne, it looked as if the young woman had purposely engaged the widow in conversation.

Jane watched Upton's approach out of the corner of her eye. He stopped a few paces from her. He cleared his throat and she tilted her head to look at him. He gestured to the seat next to her. “May I?”

She opened her mouth to reply, just before Owen Monroe materialized directly behind Upton.

“Always getting to Miss Lowndes before I do, Upton,” Owen said, flashing a smile.

Upton turned his head and scowled at Owen. Jane raised her brows. Was it possible that Owen Monroe wanted to spend time in her company as well? What was in that perfume Lucy had allowed her to borrow? Jane had dabbed it beneath each ear tonight before she'd come to dinner. Apparently, it was attracting rakes hither and yon. Potent stuff, that.

Jane nodded her assent to Upton to sit and then said, “Lord Owen, please join us.”

Upton's frown deepened. Jane's grin widened.

“Don't mind if I do,” Owen replied, pushing up his dark coattails and sitting on the opposite side of Jane.

She glanced from side to side. She was properly squeezed between the two large, handsome men. As if her blasted stays weren't enough.

“What did you wish to speak to me about, Upton?” she asked without turning toward him.

He, too, kept his gaze focused on the wall across from them. “Why do you think I had something specific to say?”

She turned to him and was immediately aware of how close he was. Their thighs nearly touched. “You've sought out my company during two events now. I thought perhaps there was something you wanted to say to me. Otherwise, I'm certain Mrs. Langford is missing your company. Perhaps she might take a tumble from the settee and require your assistance helping her to her bedchamber.”

Owen snorted.

Upton's confident smile fell just a bit. He glared at Owen. “No, I'm quite content here but perhaps
you'd
like to go spend time with Mrs. Langford, Monroe.” Upton jerked his head in the widow's direction.

Owen calmly shook his head. “No, I'm content here as well.”

Upton took a deep breath and turned toward Jane finally. “Very well. Miss Lowndes, allow me to apologize for Mrs. Langford's—for some of the things she said earlier.”

Jane fixed him with a stare over the top of her spectacles. “Only
some
of what she said?”

Owen's gaze bounced between them, his handsome face full of amusement.

Upton cleared his throat. “Some of the things she said were…”

Jane arched a brow. “Rude? Ignorant? Wrong?”

“Inappropriate,” Upton finished.

“That too,” Jane allowed.

Upton shifted a bit closer to her. “I'm sorry she came with us in the boat. I'd hoped to—”

“Not to worry, Upton. I wouldn't expect better behavior from a
friend
of yours.” She smiled at him sweetly. Neither of the gentlemen could possibly miss the emphasis she'd placed on the word “friend.”

Owen whistled. “Point one, Miss Lowndes.”

“She's
not
a friend of mine,” Upton growled. “She's just—”

Jane kept her smile pinned to her face. “I'm sorry. I was under the impression she was invited here expressly because she mentioned her friendship with you. Was I mistaken?”

Upton scrubbed a hand across his face. “That's true, but—”

“Point two, Miss Lowndes,” Owen added.

Upton leaned forward and gave Owen a condemning glare.

Upton began again. “She's more of a longtime acquaintance than a friend and—”

“So a lady you've known for over ten years, a lady with whose husband you served in the war, is only an acquaintance? My. I shudder to think how you'd describe me then. I've only known you for four years and that is because of my friendship with your cousin. What am I? A stranger?”

Owen winced. “Point three, Miss Lowndes.”

Upton clenched his jaw and turned sharply toward Owen. “Must you?”

“Yes, I must,” Owen replied with a laugh. “This is highly entertaining, watching Miss Lowndes hand you your arse. Please do continue.”

Despite his vulgarity, Jane smiled and nodded at Owen. In this particular instance, Owen was entirely correct. Nice chap, Owen Monroe.

Upton turned back to Jane. “I merely wanted to offer my apologies if anything Mrs. Langford said offended you.”

Jane folded her hands in her lap. Now he was apologizing on behalf of his mistress? Speaking of vulgar. “It
did
offend me, Upton, but then, her mere presence offends me. However, I'd prefer it if the apology came from the lady herself and something tells me that is not about to happen.” Jane glimpsed Mrs. Langford sauntering toward them. “Ah, look, here she comes. Right on cue. While it's been a pleasure arguing with you as usual, Upton, I am not about to sit here and listen to any more of her ignorant vitriol. Nor am I inclined to watch her pretend to trip and fall into your arms again. Therefore, I am off to the library, where I can find much better company than Mrs. Langford in the inanimate objects.”

“Game, set, match to Miss Lowndes,” Owen said.

Jane nodded to him. “Good evening, Lord Owen.” She stood, smoothed her skirts, and marched away.

“Jane, don't go.” Upton's voice held a vulnerable quality she'd never heard before. The tone stopped her. The use of her Christian name stopped her. She turned slowly to face Upton again. Owen's brows had shot up. Apparently, Upton's use of her Christian name had surprised him too.

“Yes?” she said, doing her best to keep her face blank.

“Don't go,” Upton repeated. Why did he have to look almost boyish? But even at his most charming, he couldn't keep her here to watch him interact with his mistress, of all people.

Jane stepped closer so only he could hear her reply. “In case you haven't noticed, Upton, Mrs. Langford is much more interested in your company than I am. I'm not about to compete with her for your attention. Not to mention how disgusted I am by your relationship.”

His brow knotted into a frown and Jane turned again just as Mrs. Langford sidled up.

Upton placed a hand on Jane's elbow. “Stay,” he pleaded.

“No, thank you.”

She took a step, but he grabbed her arm and pulled her close to whisper in her ear. Gooseflesh pebbled her neck. She tried to will it away, but Upton's deep voice vibrated along her nerves. “Don't walk away from me, Lady Blue.”

 

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

Jane had no recollection of how she managed to make it to the library. In fact, she had no memory of retrieving her jaw from the floor, let alone fleeing, but less than five minutes after Upton had fiercely whispered those shocking words, she was lying on her back on the settee in the empty library, one hand resting upon her forehead, wondering how angry Cass would be if Jane left the house party before the wedding actually took place.

She could not face Upton again. Ever. She could
not
. She made a mental list. Things she would never do, ever: travel to Egypt and view the frightening tombs of mummies, sleep outside on the ground with insects, give up teacake for Lent, and face Garrett Upton
ever
again. Yes. Quite a good list, actually. And a plausible one. She could just stay here, in the library, her happy spot. There was a window that overlooked the village church in the distance where the wedding ceremony was to be held. Perhaps Cass would allow Jane to view the nuptials from her safe little perch here. Teacakes could be served here, couldn't they?

Jane rubbed the back of her hand against her forehead and blew out a long, deep breath. When had everything become so complicated? When she'd kissed Upton, that's when. The good thing about being a spinster bluestocking was that one didn't ever do anything to embarrass oneself. The bad thing about being a spinster bluestocking was that when one
did
do something to embarrass oneself, one had no resources or experience with which to deal with said embarrassment.

Very well. She'd got herself in this predicament. She'd get herself out. One problem at a time. All she had to do was think. Think.
Think!
She removed her spectacles and rubbed her temples.

Slam.

Jane jumped.

The door to the library had opened and closed with a resounding bang. Sliding her spectacles over her nose again, she sat up quickly and leaned over the back of the settee. Who was it?

“Jane, are you in here?”

Upton. He had followed her.
Oh, God. Oh, God. Oh, God.
She wasn't ready to face him. Most likely she would never be ready but she certainly was not tonight. Not
now.

“No,” came her weak reply. She mentally cursed herself for such a woeful response.

He strode to where she sat huddled on the settee at the far end of the room, knees pulled up to her chest. His boots pounded on the wood floor as he approached. She pressed her forehead to the back of the settee, covering her eyes, spectacles and all. It was going to be embarrassing enough to speak to him, let alone
look
at him. Yes. Looking at him was asking far too much.

It was weak of her to hide, but at present she just didn't care.

The thud of his boots stopped behind the settee.

“I want to speak to you,” he said, sounding both breathless and a bit cross. “I had more to say.”

Jane's murmured reply was muffled by the velvet couch cushion. “And I fled from you. I thought you might have cottoned on.”

He ignored the jibe. “We need to talk.”

“Do we? Must we?” She dared a peek at him. Oh, she shouldn't have. He looked far too handsome. He was wearing well-cut dark gray evening attire with a sapphire-blue waistcoat and a snowy white cravat that matched the bright white of his teeth. He stood with one hand on his narrow hip. The other hand was rubbing through his dark hair, making the slight curls stand on end. It was charming. She hid her smile behind the back of the settee.

“Yes,” he said, simply. “We must.”

She grasped the back of the settee with both hands, her fingers clutching at the velvet. “You left Mrs. Langford to come speak with me?”

“Of course I did. Monroe is entertaining her.”