The Unlikely Lady (Playful Brides #3)(28)

“There were two of us here tonight,” she answered, lowering her voice in a desperate effort to disguise it. “Neither is more at fault. But it’s true, we should get back.” She took another deep, shaky breath. “Right away.”

He stood, adjusted his clothing, and held out his hand toward her. “Allow me to help you up.”

God help her, she took it. Perhaps it was the part of her that wanted to enjoy this last moment of scandalous behavior. Perhaps it was the part of her that knew something like this would never happen again. Perhaps it was the part of her that knew that Upton, when he knew who she was, would never be this kind, considerate, and solicitous of her. That was the part that made her feel a little sad for a reason she couldn’t describe.

Instead, she took his hand and allowed him to pull her to her feet. Before she could turn to go, he pulled her into his arms one last time and placed a warm kiss on her cheek. “To an evening I’ll never forget, Lady Blue.”

Jane’s throat inexplicably tightened. She couldn’t answer.

She didn’t have to. The click of the door handle across the room had them both spinning toward it.

“What was that?” Jane asked, her eyes as wide as an owl’s.

“I didn’t see anyone,” Upton replied. “But let’s hope if someone was there, that they didn’t see us.”

Jane pressed her fist against her mouth. “Or if they did, they didn’t know who we were.”





CHAPTER FIFTEEN

Jane awoke to a pounding head. She had tossed and turned for what felt like hours before sleep finally overtook her. She’d awakened every bit as full of nerves and doubt. What in heaven’s name had she been thinking last night? She’d known it was Upton. Known it! Perhaps not the entire time, but long enough to make it reprehensible that she hadn’t stopped kissing him. Which was more than she could say for him. He’d clearly thought she’d been some mystery harlot, but she’d discovered who he was and she’d still allowed him to kiss her.

She had no excuse. Absolutely none. The worst part was, she could only hope Upton wouldn’t put it together and realize he’d been passionate with her.

What was her excuse? Could she blame it on the lack of spectacles? Obviously that had played a part in her not recognizing him sooner. Was it the gown? The lilac perfume? Blast and damn that lilac perfume. It had attracted a gentleman all right, but the entirely wrong one. Not that there was a right one, but that was hardly the point.

She sat up and hugged a pillow against her chest. She’d kissed Upton last night. Kissed him and liked it.

Not to mention the fact that someone—God knew who—may well have seen them. After they’d righted their clothing and Jane had done what she could to secure the loose pins in her chignon, they’d left the drawing room. The corridor had been empty but Jane had had the feeling someone had been there. Hopefully, it had merely been a servant. A discreet servant. Likely that’s exactly who it had been, but Jane couldn’t shake the feeling that the scandal she’d been courting may have found her before she’d had the opportunity to properly plan it. The only thought that kept her from a fit of apoplexy was the knowledge that a servant, even a nosy, indiscreet one, wouldn’t have known who she was in the demimask. If it had been another party guest, that same possibility existed. Perhaps she’d picked a good night to be scandalous. A good night indeed.

She took a deep breath, pressing the pillow closer to her chest. The more concerning issue of the two that confronted her at present wasn’t whether a servant had recognized her. It was keeping Upton from finding out it had been her last night. To that end, she must treat Upton with the same barely concealed distaste she always did. Upton was no fool. He might be a profligate rake who seduced young unknown ladies in drawing rooms, but a fool, no. She had no idea how she would manage it but she had to. She just had to. Upton must never, ever guess that it was she. The embarrassment, the mockery. She couldn’t live with that.

*

Garrett groaned and rolled over in his bed. The sunlight pouring through the window told him it was morning, the pounding in his skull reminded him that he’d had far too much to drink last night. Far, far too much. The only good thing about it was that he’d passed out and apparently managed to sleep through the night. No nightmares for once.

The previous night’s events came rushing back at him. Drinking with Monroe, dancing with the lady in blue, taking her to the upstairs drawing room and … Blast it. He hadn’t acted gentlemanly last night. Something about her scent and her gown and her … assets had combined to make him more than a bit … libidinous. But who was she? Who? There weren’t many possibilities. He knew most of the members of the house party. At least he had until last night. Had someone else arrived for the ball? The lady last night had seemed like a dream woman. This morning he realized it was only a matter of narrowing down the list of guests.

At least he could be sure she was not Isabella. The mystery lady’s hair had been dark, but definitely brown, not black. The mystery woman’s eyes had been dark too, which ruled out Isabella. Not to mention Isabella had been wearing red. Thank Christ. He did not need that sort of guilt adding to the heaping pile already on his conscience.

Wincing, he rang for a servant, and when one appeared, he asked the chap to get him a concoction for his head. Swifdon swore by some awful drink the Marquis of Colton had invented. This morning Garrett would consider drinking horse piss if it would stop the pounding in his skull. While he waited, he leaned back against the pillows and closed his eyes, running down the list of female guests and quickly discarding those who did not have brown hair and brown eyes. His mind’s eye traveled around the dinner table from two nights ago as one by one he mentally checked off each name.