She whirled around to face him and shrugged even though he could tell she was fighting back tears. She carefully limped back closer to him, no doubt so her mother wouldn’t overhear. “Something? What something? You’re experienced, Upton. Far more experienced than I. Do you propose marriage to every lady whom you kiss in a drawing room?”

His head snapped to the side as if she’d slapped him.

“No.” His voice was harsh, hard.

“We suffered a bout of temporary insanity, you and I.” Jane’s voice crackled with ice. “I promise you it will never happen again.”

Chapter 35

CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

London, two days later

Garrett rubbed the top of the dog’s head. He sat in the wide leather chair behind his desk in his study. It was nice to be home, back into the routine of things. He had a stack of correspondence half a foot high. He’d thrown himself into his work like a madman, anything to keep from thinking about Jane.

Jane. What the hell had happened with Jane? Would he ever understand women? That woman in particular? Why had her defenses reappeared so quickly? She hadn’t even allowed him the chance to explain. Not that it mattered. He had asked her to spend the night with him without a promise. That had been poorly done. But he’d done the right thing as soon as he’d been able. He’d fallen to his knee on the bloody front lawn of the Morelands’ estate, and she had thrown it in his face as if it meant nothing.

He scrubbed his hand through his hair. Somehow he’d lulled himself into believing something special had developed between them.

She was frightened. He knew that. She was feeling things she’d most likely never felt before. Perhaps her refusal of him had been her way of keeping him at a safe distance. Wasn’t that Jane’s specialty? The entire world was at a distance from her, viewed from behind those silver-rimmed spectacles or from behind the pages of a book. She hid from people, hid from the world, hid behind her cloak of intellectual superiority. Only he’d been able to coax her out, just a bit, but then she’d slammed the door right back in his face.

She’d been cold to him that morning she’d left. So cold. He’d never seen her that way before. But that cold woman wasn’t Jane. Not truly. He knew how warm she could be.