How could she have been so very foolish as to believe there was anything warm, good, or kind about Gabriel, the Marquess of Waverly? The memory of that blasted kiss had thrown her logic into disarray. It had forced her to see past the curt, condescending lord to the man. In that, she’d seen warmth and pain and a gentleman who would not force his attentions upon her—a man who saw her as a person that mattered, regardless of her station. What a fool. And yet for the restored order of her thoughts about him, why could she only focus on one particular truth of that meeting in the early morn hours? He’d had his heart broken. There was no other explanation for his cynical grin and his emotionally flat words on the matter of love. Jane plucked at the pages of her book—the same poor, forgotten volume she’d muddled her way unsuccessfully through the prior evening. Lords and ladies didn’t know broken hearts and pained regrets. Their station protected them from hurts and uncertainties.
