The thud of his boots stopped behind the settee.
“I want to speak to you,” he said, sounding both breathless and a bit cross. “I had more to say.”
Jane’s murmured reply was muffled by the velvet couch cushion. “And I fled from you. I thought you might have cottoned on.”
He ignored the jibe. “We need to talk.”
“Do we? Must we?” She dared a peek at him. Oh, she shouldn’t have. He looked far too handsome. He was wearing well-cut dark gray evening attire with a sapphire-blue waistcoat and a snowy white cravat that matched the bright white of his teeth. He stood with one hand on his narrow hip. The other hand was rubbing through his dark hair, making the slight curls stand on end. It was charming. She hid her smile behind the back of the settee.
“Yes,” he said, simply. “We must.”
She grasped the back of the settee with both hands, her fingers clutching at the velvet. “You left Mrs. Langford to come speak with me?”
“Of course I did. Monroe is entertaining her.”
Jane pressed her nose to the cushion. “The turncoat.”
Upton made his way around to the front of the settee and Jane slowly turned to face him.
She spied a book sitting on the table in front of the settee. Desperate, she yanked it into her lap and quickly held it open in front of her face. “I’m sorry you came all the way in here. I cannot talk at the moment, Upton. I’m highly engrossed in this book.”
“The Care and Feeding of Swine?” came his sarcasm-tinged reply.
She slowly tipped the book to the side to read the cover. Drat. Poor choice, that. “Yes.” She nodded. “I’ve found I’m quite interested in the daily care of pigs of late.”
“It’s upside down.” More sarcasm.
She exhaled, flaring her nostrils. There was no help for it. “Be that as it may—”
He snatched the book from her hands and flung it across the room. It landed with a thwack against the far wall. Upton stood in front of her with his feet braced apart and his hands on his hips. A muscle ticked in his jaw. “No you don’t. You may hide from the world behind your precious books but you’re not going to hide from me. Not tonight.”
Jane’s hand flew to her throat. She forced herself to push up her chin and meet his gaze. His eyes shot green sparks. The reckoning was upon her. “Very well, Upton. Say what you must.” She clasped her hands in her lap.
He remained facing her, hands still on his hips. His breathing was labored. He searched her face. “I know it was you in the drawing room the other night.”
“Yes. You’ve already said as much.” She tried to keep her dastardly knees from shaking.
“Are you going to deny it?”
Jane fought her blush. “As much as I’d like to, what would be the point?”
“Thank you for that.” His shoulders relaxed a bit. He expelled his breath and let his hands drop to his sides.
In an attempt to distract him from her shaking legs, she plucked at the folds in her green gown. “I’m not doing you a favor, Upton. I’m merely attempting to spare myself more shame.”
He stood towering above her. “Did you know it was me? That night?”
She craned her neck to look up at him. “Please sit. You’re making me nervous.” How on earth was she supposed to answer his question?
And ye shall know the truth, and the truth shall make you free.
The Bible verse rang in her head. Mocking her. Oh, she knew her Bible verses. Perhaps she didn’t agree with all of them. Or most of them. But she knew them.
She took a deep breath. It was time for the truth. “Yes, I knew it was you.”
Upton slid onto the settee next to her, leaned forward, and braced his elbows on his knees, staring ahead into the darkened room. “The entire time?”
“No. I discovered it about halfway through. That’s why I didn’t want to remove my mask.” She took another deep breath. She might as well ask him the same. “Did you know it was me?”
“Not until the next morning.” He hung his head. “I don’t know what to say,” he murmured.
“Exactly why I didn’t feel we needed to have this conversation,” she replied with a slight, humorless laugh.
“Jane, I—”
She held up a hand to stop him. He was either going to tell her he loved her, which she somehow couldn’t picture happening, and also knew she couldn’t hear, or he was going to tell her it had been a mistake, which she already knew. Neither needed to be said aloud.
“There’s nothing to say, Upton. It’s over. We needn’t mention it ever again.”
His eyes were wide as he turned to look at her. “Needn’t mention it again? Did it mean so little to you? Do you do that sort of thing often?”