The Unlikely Lady (Playful Brides #3)(82)

“I can’t, Isabella. I do not trust you. I also happen to be in love with someone else.”

Her eyes rounded in shock. “Don’t trust me? Why in heaven’s name not?”

“Don’t feign innocence. I know you had Boris tamper with Miss Lowndes’s saddle the day you raced each other. I also know he hit me over the head with a bottle of wine and locked me in the wine cellar the night of the wedding.”

She looked away. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Don’t you? What if I told you Jane saw you in my bedchamber that night?”

Her head snapped up and her eyes flared. “It’s her, isn’t it? She’s the one you think you’re in love with. What are you saying? That your precious, virginal Miss Lowndes was in your bedchamber that night? What would the ton have to say about that?”

He clenched his fists at his sides. “Isabella, if you tell anyone about this—”

“You’ll what?”

“I’ll tell them about everything you’ve done, including the fact that you’re breeding.”

“You have no proof about anything I’ve done. If you refuse to marry me, I’m already ruined, but the damage to your precious Miss Lowndes’s reputation will be done by then. There are already rumors swirling about her behavior at the party. One word from me, someone who was actually there, and she will be ruined completely.”

“You wouldn’t dare.”

“Try me.”

A muscle ticked in his jaw. “What do you want?”

“I want you to marry me.”

“I refuse to be manipulated, Isabella.”

“Even for your precious little bluestocking? She won’t be received in any decent drawing room in London by the time I’m through telling my tale.”

“Not if I marry her first.”





CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE

If Hughes, the butler, thought it was odd that Miss Jane Lowndes kept appearing at the Duke of Claringdon’s doorstep at all hours of the day without an escort, he did not acknowledge his concern, as a good duke’s butler should. With Lucy as the duchess, the man was assured a lifetime of odd happenings in his household.

This time, he ushered Jane into the blue salon with barely a lift of his haughty brow. Lucy came in moments later.

“Well.” Lucy rushed over and sat next to Jane on the settee. “What happened?”

Jane couldn’t hide her smile. “I just came from Garrett’s town house.”

“And?” Lucy searched her face.

“And I found it!”

Lucy clapped her hands with glee. “Let me see it.”

Jane tugged open the drawstring to her reticule and pulled out the crumpled letter. “I barely made it out of there,” she said in a rush, excitement making her words tumble over themselves. “Isabella came in and found me in the study.”

Lucy scrunched her nose as if she smelled something awful. “What was Isabella doing there?”

“She said she came to speak with her future husband. I wanted to retch. I made a quick excuse as to why I was standing behind his desk when she saw me and then I left immediately.”

Lucy covered her laughing mouth with her hand. “You did not. What did you say?”

Jane leaned in. “I told her I was playing a game of hide-and-seek with the dogs.”

“No!”

“Yes.”

“Did she believe you?” Lucy’s eyes danced with mischief.

“What do I care? I slipped the letter into my reticule and left, but not before informing her that Garrett had told me I might have the use of his library whenever I like. I couldn’t resist.” She slapped her knee to punctuate her words. “That harlot.”

“That’s perfect. Did she have an apoplectic fit?”

“She gave me a stare that could turn water into ice. I believe she reminds me of Medusa.”

“She reminds me a great deal of Medusa. Though admittedly her hair is more fetching than snakes.” Lucy waved a hand in the air. “Enough about her. Show me the letter. Have you read it?”

“Not yet. I haven’t had a chance. I was so nervous. I’m still shaking.” Jane held out her trembling hand for her friend’s inspection.

“You did an excellent job. Mission accomplished. Now, let’s see the letter.”

Sitting side by side, the two unfolded the letter and both scanned the page. Lucy sucked in her breath. Jane gasped. They turned to look at each other.

“So sad,” Lucy said, shaking her head.

“It is sad, but I don’t believe for one moment that Harold Langford actually wrote this.” Jane jabbed a finger at the paper.

“I don’t either,” Lucy agreed. “But how would we prove such a thing?” She tapped her finger against her cheek.

“If I knew what Mrs. Langford’s handwriting looked like, I could compare the two. I’m certain she disguised it.”

A slow smile spread across Lucy’s face. “Aren’t you the expert in that particular field?”

Jane frowned. “Yes, but how can we get a writing sample from Isabella?”

Lucy snapped her fingers. “I have one!”

“What?”