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.