“I’d be honored if you’d dance with me, Mrs. Langford.” Owen Monroe was there. Jane couldn’t stop her sigh of relief. The man had a knack for materializing at the precise moment he was needed. A helpful chap indeed.

Mrs. Langford gave Owen a tight smile, but she had no choice but to accept. She took his arm and allowed Owen to lead her to the floor.

“I’m off to find my handsome husband.” Lucy gave Jane and Garrett a small wave as she trotted off.

“I’m sorry you cannot dance,” Garrett said as soon as they were alone.

“I’m not.”

He raised a brow. “You’re not?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

She leaned up to get closer to his ear so only he could hear. “Because I’d much rather … go look at the paintings in the upstairs drawing room.”

His Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed, but otherwise, his face remained a mask. “I see. And would you allow me to accompany you on such a mission?”

“I was counting upon it.”

He made to offer his arm, but Jane shook her head. “We shouldn’t be seen leaving together,” she whispered. “I’ll meet you there in ten”—she studied her ankle—“no, fifteen minutes.”

*   *   *

The journey to the upstairs drawing room took Jane longer than fifteen minutes. First, she had to wait for her chance to leave the ballroom without anyone noticing, a particularly difficult task given that everyone kept coming to inquire after the health of her foot. By the time she actually made her way from the room, she was still favoring her ankle more than she’d realized. She hobbled out of the ballroom, down the corridor, and up the stairs.

When she finally pushed open the door to the upstairs drawing room, she breathed a sigh of relief. Garrett was waiting for her on the settee in the middle of the room. He faced the portrait they’d pretended to look at the other night. A brace of candles on the mantelpiece illuminated one side of his handsome face. Jane was suddenly shy to be back here, remembering what they’d done on that settee.

Be bold. Wasn’t that Lucy’s favorite saying? Jane had become quite bold indeed. And she was about to become even bolder.

She opened her reticule, pulled out a key, and locked the door.

“What do you have there?” Garrett called, his voice warm.

“The key.” She glanced over her shoulder, giving him a positively flirtatious look—one she was not certain she’d heretofore had in her.

He whistled, his eyebrows lifted. “The key?”

“Yes. I came prepared this time. We don’t want anyone walking in on us, do we? I asked a footman for it earlier. I gave him a guinea for his trouble.”

“Not Mrs. Langford’s footman, I hope.”

“Certainly not.”