The Unlikely Lady (Playful Brides #3)(37)

He hadn’t been able to get what Cassandra had told him earlier out of his head. Jane Lowndes was in love with him? Could it be? It was true that she had been quite … congenial with him the other night, but that had been when they didn’t know who the other was, hadn’t it? Or had she known all along? No. It couldn’t be.

He was tired of guessing. He would ask her to dance, they would talk, and he would be able to tell by her reaction whether she was in love with him. It would be simple enough. Didn’t women who were in love simper and bat their eyelashes and that sort of thing? He could hardly imagine Miss Lowndes doing something like that. Normally, if she did anything of the sort, he’d probably ask her if she had something in her eye, but that wasn’t the point. The point was that there must be some sign, some tell, of a woman in love, some indication of whether Miss Lowndes, Jane—why was it so difficult to remember to think of her as Jane?—was such a woman. He would know soon enough.

Garrett squared his shoulders and took a deep breath, then made his way to the refreshment table where Jane hovered near the teacakes. She wore a light pink gown that wasn’t at all hideous. In fact it enhanced her figure. Had he ever seen her in pink before? Bloody hell, this was going to be awkward enough without him thinking about her figure again.

“Miss Lowndes?”

She swiveled on her heel and turned to face him, a large, telltale lump of teacake pushing out her cheek. She had the look of a hare trapped in a game warden’s snare. Pure fright.

She had the grace to chew and swallow before she responded. “Upton,” she said, gulping down the last bit. “What can I do for you?”

He bowed slightly. “I’ve come to ask you to dance. Would you do me the honor?”

She glanced back as if she expected another lady to be standing there. “Me?” She pointed to herself, eyes wide.

He had to smile. “Yes, you.”

Without looking, she set her empty plate on the table, pushing it behind her with a flick of the wrist. “I suppose I can dance with you.”

He bowed to her. “Thank you.” He held out his arm. She took a step forward and put her hand on his arm. He led her to the dance floor.

Was her hand trembling?

He pulled her into his arms as a waltz began to play. He’d tipped the musicians a goodly sum to play this waltz. It afforded the perfect opportunity to speak with Jane.

He spun her around. “Are you having a good time?”

Again, she had the look of a hare caught in a trap. Her eyes were wide and she was trembling. “Here? With you?”

“I meant at the party in general,” he said.

“Yes, of course.” She didn’t meet his eyes. A sign of a woman in love, was it not?

He laughed. “You’re lying. You’ve never enjoyed a party before in your life.” Her throat worked. Another sign of a lady in love?

“Then why did you ask me? I’m doing my best, Upton. Don’t I deserve credit for that?” She met his gaze this time and her dark brown eyes were bright and full of mischief. Quite charming, actually. Damn it. Now he had to look away.

He smiled at her. “You do indeed. Tell me, how is your plan coming? Done anything scandalous lately?”

*

Jane blinked at Upton. She’d spent the last several minutes desperately attempting to interpret everything he’d said and done. He’d made his way directly to her and asked her to dance, hadn’t he? Very not Upton-like. That had to be a sign he was in love with her, didn’t it? He hadn’t mentioned her teacake consumption. Also quite un-Upton. Now he was being nice to her and laughing when she said something funny, a third entirely probable sign that the man was madly in love with her.

This was difficult. Why couldn’t it be something tangible to interpret like, say, handwriting? She’d learned a great deal about handwriting of late. For instance, if a letter written to someone contained wide, scrolling letters, it meant the author was infatuated by the recipient. Would it be odd to ask Upton for a sample of his handwriting? It would, wouldn’t it? She shook her head and refocused on his question. “Something scandalous?” she managed to ask in a tone she hoped sounded nonchalant.

“Yes, the scandal you and Lucy are hell-bent on creating.”

“Oh, we’ve been…” Good heavens, was she perspiring? She removed her hand from his shoulder and waved it in the air briefly. “Considering our options.”

“I see,” Upton continued. “And what of Mrs. Bunbury?”

Jane had to concentrate on his words, because otherwise she was thinking about his shoulder. Specifically how good it felt under the tips of her fingers, even through her glove. The man was surprisingly muscled for being Upton. He wore impeccably tailored black evening attire with a sapphire waistcoat and a starchy white cravat that looked enticing against the bit of stubble from his chin that had scraped the soft skin of her cheeks last night. That, coupled with the heady scent of him, and she was finding it altogether too difficult to follow the thread of the conversation.

She sucked in her breath. “Mrs. Bunbury? Yes. We have made progress there.”

“What do you intend to do?” he asked.

Jane squeezed his shoulder just barely. She couldn’t resist. “Lucy says we should keep Mama guessing by constantly acting as if Mrs. Bunbury has been in our presence and left just before Mama arrives.”