“I’m not here to threaten you. I’m here to tell you something.”

“What’s that?”

Jane crossed her arms over her chest and firmed her jaw. “Leave Garrett Upton alone.”

Isabella laughed loud and long. Jane had to fight the urge to cover her ears, the sound was so strident. “You haven’t spoken to him recently, have you?”

“What does that have to do with anything?”

“No matter. Suffice it to say the last time I spoke with him, he was suffering from a temporary bout of insanity. But I still intend to have him, Miss Lowndes. Mark my words.”

Jane raised her chin. “Don’t pretend you love him.”

Isabella laughed again, a short bark this time. “Of course I don’t love him. Who said anything about love? Love has little place inside a marriage. I never loved Harold either, though the poor sop loved me. He loved me desperately.” She sighed.

“You’re hideous.”

“You’re naïve.”

“Why do you want to marry Garrett if you don’t love him?”

“Good God. You’re more naïve than I thought. I’m not certain if he told you, but Garrett’s been paying my bills, Miss Lowndes.” She gestured to the gaudily decorated room. “Look around you. I’ve grown quite accustomed to this way of living. Better than any I could have afforded as the wife of a soldier. Harold and I never lived this way.”

“So you’re using Garrett for money?”

“I quite enjoy living like a countess.” Isabella smiled tightly. “Inheriting the title one day also won’t be half bad.”

“Why don’t you just find some other rich man to marry?”

“So easy is it? Is that why you’ve been unsuccessful in the marriage mart?”

Jane clutched her reticule so tightly her knuckles turned white. “I haven’t been attempting to marry.”

“So you say. It’s not as easy as it seems, I assure you. With Garrett, I have the upper hand.”

Jane narrowed her eyes on the widow. “The upper hand?”

“Guilt, Miss Lowndes. It’s extremely useful.”

Jane counted three. She desperately wanted to slap Medusa but that would hardly be helpful. “You mean Garrett’s guilt over Harold’s death?”

“Of course.”

Jane loosened the strings on her reticule. “I know you forged the letter from Harold to Garrett and I can prove it.”

If the widow was surprised, her face didn’t register it. She looked bored instead. “Really? How can you prove it?”

Jane pulled the letter from the purse. “I compared the letter with your handwriting.”

Isabella sneered. “Is that what you were doing in Garrett’s study yesterday? Sneaking around stealing letters?”

“Garrett deserves to know the truth.”

“Even if you were right, Miss Lowndes, what do you want me to do about it?”

“I want you to admit it.”

“Fine, I admit it. Who cares?”