The Unlikely Lady (Playful Brides #3)(63)
Covering her mouth this time because she thought she might retch, Jane whirled and ran. She ran out of the room, heedless of the pain that throbbed in her ankle, heedless of anyone who might see her rushing from Garrett’s bedchamber in her dressing gown. She didn’t even bother to go back the way she’d come. She ran down the long corridor, around the corner, and down a second long corridor, back to her bedchamber. She had to get inside her room. She had to hide. Had to—
She’d nearly made it to her door when her ankle gave way. She collapsed to the floor. The pain in her leg and the pain in her heart collided, causing the floodgates to open. Tears poured down her cheeks. She swiped them away with the backs of her hands and forced herself to stand. She dragged open her door and staggered to the bed where she fell on the mattress, her head jerked to the side.
She sobbed and sobbed as her heart broke into a thousand tiny pieces.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
Somewhere around the time dawn cracked above the horizon and spread its insistent tendrils past the curtains, Jane rolled over and groaned. She’d cried so much her face was puffy and her eyes felt as if they bulged from her skull.
She’d been haunted by the horrifying moments in Garrett’s bedchamber again and again. She wanted to believe it wasn’t true. But when she replayed the awful scene in her mind’s eye, she knew it wasn’t a dream. Jane had seen it. Nothing about the scenario Jane had stumbled onto appeared to be forced. Quite the opposite actually, it was entirely apparent that both the participants had been greatly enjoying themselves.
Betrayal twisted like a knife in her belly. What was wrong with Garrett? She’d been late, yes. She’d been torn, hadn’t decided to come right away. But once she’d decided, she couldn’t get there fast enough. Obviously, she’d been too late. Obviously, he’d decided she wasn’t coming. It hadn’t taken him long to replace her in his bed. Disgusting. How could she have been so wrong about him? For heaven’s sake, she’d actually fancied herself in love with him. Thank heavens she hadn’t told him, or anyone else. If she’d mentioned it to Cass or Lucy, she’d feel twice the fool right now.
Garrett Upton was revolting, the worst kind of reprobate. But in a way, he’d done her a favor. A sick sort of favor, but a favor nonetheless. If she’d been on time last night, she would have made love to him. She might have given him her innocence, never knowing what kind of man he really was. No doubt she would have found out sooner or later, but not until after she’d made the biggest mistake of her life.
She pressed her palms against her aching eyes. There was no help for it. Life must go on. She intended to get up, wash her face, assist Eloise in packing her bags, and return to London today where she would set about forgetting any of this had ever happened.
She pushed herself up from the bed and hobbled over to the looking glass. Her hair was a tangled mess and her eyes were indeed swollen. As much as she was a disaster on the outside, her insides were a larger mess. In addition to her heart, her pride had taken a severe blow. She’d let down her defenses. She couldn’t forgive herself for that. She’d actually convinced herself that someone like Garrett could really fancy someone like her. Preposterous. She hated herself for letting him in even a little, for being weak. She’d spent the last sennight pretending, pretending to enjoy suitors and fripperies, and gowns and balls for once. This is what had come of it. But most of all, more than everything else, she was incensed. Incensed at Garrett Upton … for being a liar.
*
Garrett had spent the better part of the wee hours of the morning pounding on the door of what was obviously a soundproof wine cellar. The brick lining the high walls was thick, thick enough to prevent him from summoning any help, thick enough to keep him from breaking down the bloody walls. Lord knows he’d tried. He’d damn near dislocated his shoulder in the attempt. That is, after he woke with the devil of a head from the bottle of wine that had been broken over it. He’d found himself lying in the shards of glass with a wet head, stained cravat, and ruined coat.
Whoever the hell had ambushed him would deal with his reckoning later. His first thought was getting to Jane.
When a servant finally happened by to unlock the door, Garrett rushed past the footman who’d freed him. “Thanks, chap.” Without slowing down, he called, “What time is it?”
“Nearly eight o’clock, sir,” the servant returned.
Eight o’clock? Bloody hell. Where would Jane be at this hour?
His first stop was the breakfast room where Lucy, Claringdon, and some of the other guests were eating breakfast.
Lucy’s eyes went wide when she saw him. “Garrett, what are you doing here? What happened to your cravat? Why are you wearing your evening attire at this hour? Forgive me for saying so, but you look dreadful.”
Garrett tried to catch his breath. “I’ll explain later. Have you seen Jane this morning?”
This time Lucy narrowed her eyes. “Yes. She was up with the sun, quite unusual for Jane. She said she and her parents wanted to get an early start back to London.”
Garrett cursed under his breath. “Have they gone already?”
“I believe their coach is just now being pulled around,” Claringdon added.
Garrett sprinted for the door. He flew down the hallway, his footsteps echoing against the marble, and came to a sliding stop near the front door where Lord and Lady Moreland were taking leave of their guests.