The door to the library had opened and closed with a resounding bang. Sliding her spectacles over her nose again, she sat up quickly and leaned over the back of the settee. Who was it?

“Jane, are you in here?”

Upton. He had followed her. Oh, God. Oh, God. Oh, God. She wasn’t ready to face him. Most likely she would never be ready but she certainly was not tonight. Not now.

“No,” came her weak reply. She mentally cursed herself for such a woeful response.

He strode to where she sat huddled on the settee at the far end of the room, knees pulled up to her chest. His boots pounded on the wood floor as he approached. She pressed her forehead to the back of the settee, covering her eyes, spectacles and all. It was going to be embarrassing enough to speak to him, let alone look at him. Yes. Looking at him was asking far too much.

It was weak of her to hide, but at present she just didn’t care.

The thud of his boots stopped behind the settee.

“I want to speak to you,” he said, sounding both breathless and a bit cross. “I had more to say.”

Jane’s murmured reply was muffled by the velvet couch cushion. “And I fled from you. I thought you might have cottoned on.”

He ignored the jibe. “We need to talk.”

“Do we? Must we?” She dared a peek at him. Oh, she shouldn’t have. He looked far too handsome. He was wearing well-cut dark gray evening attire with a sapphire-blue waistcoat and a snowy white cravat that matched the bright white of his teeth. He stood with one hand on his narrow hip. The other hand was rubbing through his dark hair, making the slight curls stand on end. It was charming. She hid her smile behind the back of the settee.

“Yes,” he said, simply. “We must.”

She grasped the back of the settee with both hands, her fingers clutching at the velvet. “You left Mrs. Langford to come speak with me?”

“Of course I did. Monroe is entertaining her.”

Jane pressed her nose to the cushion. “The turncoat.”

Upton made his way around to the front of the settee and Jane slowly turned to face him.

She spied a book sitting on the table in front of the settee. Desperate, she yanked it into her lap and quickly held it open in front of her face. “I’m sorry you came all the way in here. I cannot talk at the moment, Upton. I’m highly engrossed in this book.”

“The Care and Feeding of Swine?” came his sarcasm-tinged reply.

She slowly tipped the book to the side to read the cover. Drat. Poor choice, that. “Yes.” She nodded. “I’ve found I’m quite interested in the daily care of pigs of late.”

“It’s upside down.” More sarcasm.