“I care. Garrett cares. I intend to show Garrett the letters and tell him you confessed. He’ll never marry you.”

A slow smirk spread across the widow’s face. “What if I told you he already knows?”

Jane sucked in her breath. “No he doesn’t.”

“Yes he does. But he’ll still marry me. I’m certain of it. I have one final card to play. He’s beautiful, my future husband. I’ll give him that. Beautiful, but stupid.”

“How dare you! You don’t even know him. Garrett’s far from stupid.”

The widow tapped a tapered fingernail against her chin. “I used to think so too, but now … I’m not so certain.”

“He already knows you tampered with my saddle the day of the race. He knows you had your footman lock him in the wine cellar.”

“Yes, and he knows the letter is a fake. At least he suspects it. But he’ll marry me nevertheless. That’s how naïve you are, Miss Lowndes. You actually think the truth matters. Besides, what do you care? I thought you believed him to be a reprobate.”

“He’s not a reprobate. He’s intelligent and funny and opinionated. He loves to attend the theater and he’s wonderful with his dogs. He’s kind to servants and he’s good to his mother. He gave me a first edition Mary Wollstonecraft, and he’s allowed your husband’s death to make him sick with guilt all these years. He’s a strong, good, noble man. You don’t deserve him, Isabella.”

Another sharp bark of laughter from Isabella. “You do?”

“No. I don’t deserve him either, but at least I’ll spend every day of my life trying.”

Isabella’s lip curled. “People who fancy themselves in love make me ill.”

“Stay away from him.” Jane’s voice simmered.

Isabella rolled her eyes. “I’m going to have to ask you to leave.” She rang for her butler. “Garrett Upton is going to be my husband and I insist that you stay away from him.”

Jane raised her chin and glowered at Isabella. “Whatever your so-called one final card is, I wish you well, Mrs. Langford, because you’re going to have to fight me for him, and I never lose.”

Chapter 47

CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN

Garrett strode into the church. With each step, anger and bile rose in his throat. He was through playing Isabella’s games. He’d received a letter from her this morning with a vague threat, demanding he meet her at St. George’s at ten o’clock. He was here, but only to tell her once and for all that if she didn’t leave him alone, he would have her arrested for every vile thing she’d done.

Isabella Langford was beyond evil. How had Harold, the good man that he was, stood being married to her?