At least he could be sure she was not Isabella. The mystery lady’s hair had been dark, but definitely brown, not black. The mystery woman’s eyes had been dark too, which ruled out Isabella. Not to mention Isabella had been wearing red. Thank Christ. He did not need that sort of guilt adding to the heaping pile already on his conscience.

Wincing, he rang for a servant, and when one appeared, he asked the chap to get him a concoction for his head. Swifdon swore by some awful drink the Marquis of Colton had invented. This morning Garrett would consider drinking horse piss if it would stop the pounding in his skull. While he waited, he leaned back against the pillows and closed his eyes, running down the list of female guests and quickly discarding those who did not have brown hair and brown eyes. His mind’s eye traveled around the dinner table from two nights ago as one by one he mentally checked off each name.

Daphne Swift was blond. Isabella had raven-black hair. Lucy and Cass would hardly be cavorting with a man in a drawing room. There were a handful of other guests, blond, redheaded, brunette, but none with those dark, soulful brown eyes. No one except …

Garrett’s eyes flew wide open. He braced both palms against the mattress and shot straight up in bed, his head hammering. His heart hammered louder. No. It could not be. It couldn’t possibly be.

Bloody hell. Of all people. Of all the blasted women in the world. He had done all of those things, every last inappropriate, unforgettable one of them, with Jane Lowndes!

Chapter 16

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

“I agree. If I had not seen it with my own eyes, I daresay I would not believe it, myself.” Lucy trotted behind Cass as she paced in front of the wide Palladian windows in the upstairs drawing room. The space smelled of the logs that burned slowly in the large fireplace and of spring flowers that had been placed on the side table by one of the maids.

“I’m at a complete loss for words.” Cass pressed her hands to her cheeks and turned in a swirl of peach skirts. Lucy noted with a bit of a smile on her face that Cass had given up the nasty habit of tugging on the ends of her gloves when she was nervous.

“It was Jane, wasn’t it?” Lucy asked, wishing she might have been dreaming the entire episode last night.

Cass nodded, a blond curl bobbing against her forehead. “Yes. It certainly was.”

“And it was Garrett, wasn’t it?” Lucy continued, smoothing her hands over her own green skirts.

“I don’t know who else it could have been. I spoke to Garrett earlier. He was wearing that emerald pin in his cravat and a matching mask.”