As for the contents of the letter, they were as good as could be expected. Hunt had a lead and was pursuing it. Julian couldn’t ask for better news so soon. But, damn it. He shouldn’t be here, enjoying the merriment of a country house party while God only knew what was happening to Donald and Rafe in France.Ifthey were still alive, they were no doubt being held and likely tortured.
Julian crumpled the letter in his fist and tossed it into the fireplace. Wartime correspondence should be destroyed immediately.
Wait.
It wasn’t wartime any longer.
Well, it was as long as Donald and Rafe weren’t safe. Julian shook his head. He had to finish this nonsense with his supposed engagement and get to France to help his friends as soon as possible. Which meant no more waiting. He had to find Penelope Monroe immediately.
He turned his attention to the second letter, nearly forgotten in his grasp. He glanced down at it and sucked in his breath. It was from Cassandra.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Jane was ushered into the green drawing room at Garrett Upton’s house the next morning. His home was nowhere near as grand as the Upbridge estate that would one day be his, but it was large and serviceable and only a few miles’ ride from Lucy’s house. Jane had left her maid and the groomsmen outside with the coach. This was a conversation much better held in private.
She glanced around. Upton was not yet in the room. She rolled her eyes. He was going to make her wait. Of course he was. Now how hadshegot so wrapped up in Lucy’s latest scheme? She shook her head. Lucy had that way about her. The moment she got a notion in her head, she began to put it into action and the rest of them just fell into the choreographed affair that she pulled off with such aplomb. It was shocking, really.
This time, however, Jane was truly worried that Cass would end up with the bruises from this particular charade. The potential for the outcome to devastate Cass was great, something Jane doubted that Lucy had considered when she’d come up with the scheme.
Regardless, all Jane could do at this point was help, hence her visit to Upton’s lair. She had been charged with convincing Upton to either stay away or play along and she intended to accomplish her mission, one way or another.
She strode over to the wall and pulled her spectacles down her nose to get a better look at one of the portraits. Hmm. Upton. Around age twenty, she would guess. A handsome chap, she had to admit, for all that he usually drove her mad. She turned away. The last thing she wanted was to think about Upton’s looks.
She took a seat on the settee in the center of the room, pulled her book from her reticule, and settled down to read. The joke was on Upton if he intended to make her anxious while she waited. As long as she had a book—and she always had a book—she didn’t much mind where she was.
Her wait was not to be long, however. In the span of five minutes, Upton came strolling through the doors, his hands in his pockets, whistling as if he hadn’t a care in the world. Too bad, he might be a charming chap if he wasn’t so… Upton.
She glanced up and snapped the book shut.
His trademark nonchalant smile rested on his face. “Ah, Miss Lowndes, to what do I owe the pleasure?”
Jane gave him a long-suffering stare. “The pleasure? Really?”
He shrugged. “Would you rather I be rude?”
Jane eyed him carefully. Upton made her grit her teeth. The man was too confident by half and loved nothing better than to tease her about her bluestocking tendencies and her love of reading. In turn, she loved nothing better than to make fun of his penchant for gambling and drinking and being a general profligate scoundrel. But staring at him now, even she had to admit the picture hadn’t lied. He was a good-looking man, about six feet tall, square shoulders, mahogany-brown slightly curly hair, hazel eyes that turned to dark green when he was worked up over something. Yes, Upton was handsome, which made dealing with him all that much more frustrating. Oh, ick. That was two thoughts about Upton’s looks in one day. She shook her head.
“I’d rather you be honest,” she retorted.
He gave her his own long-suffering stare, one that he’d no doubt perfected in her company over the years. “Let’s cut to the chase, shall we, Miss Lowndes?”
She raised her chin. “By all means.”
“Fine, then, I’ll save you some time.”
“Please do, Upton, I’m quite busy today.”
He smirked at her. “Busy ripping gentlemen to shreds with your barbs or simply busy reading and educating yourself far beyond the boundaries of propriety?”
“Oh, both, Upton. I have a full day planned. Of course, you wouldn’t know a thing about the joy of reading, having never finished a book in your life, but I assure you, it’s every bit as taxing as gambling, drinking, and chasing ladies of ill repute. Just in an entirely different way.”
He gave her a slight mock bow. “Ah, off to a fine start shredding gentlemen with your tongue. Well done. It’s not even noon. But I must ask, how exactly do you know so much about gambling, drinking, and chasing ladies of ill repute?”
Her smile did not falter. “I read. A lot.”
They glared at each other.
“My dear Miss Lowndes,” he finally choked out. “I believe you are here because I have become aware that you, my cousin Lucy, and our good friend Cassandra are even now ensconced at Upbridge Hall at a questionable house party where Lucy and Cass are pretending to be people they are not.”
