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The moonlight illuminated the bottom portion of his face, just enough for her to see the corner of his mouth twitch as he inclined his head.

“‘Stand and deliver’ is far too cliché. I wrote better dialogue when I was seven. So, if you expect to have a lengthy career

as a brigand, perhaps something a bit more ominous next time, hmm?”

He touched the brim of his hat in salute. Then he was gone.

As she leaned back against the squabs, it really did feel like she was waking from a dream. But the best kind of dream, with

all the tingles of inspiration dancing through her veins.

This was what she’d been waiting for. And now, she couldn’t wait to return to the townhouse and spend the rest of the night

writing.

***

St. James rode off into the night, cursing himself for being so careless.

Abernathy—that cretin—was supposed to have been alone. Damn it all!

The men he went after were always alone. He ensured it.

When he robbed the men who supported and associated with his uncle, it was as if they were all Redcliffe. They all deserved

to know what it felt like to be at someone else’s mercy. And besides, he was only doing what he had to do to protect those

he cared about, especially his aunt and cousins, who were forever in Redcliffe’s sights.

Being a highwayman was a means to an end. On any other night, he could close himself off, just do the job and be done with

it.

But then she was there.

The instant he’d seen Miss Hartley, it had been impossible to remain detached. And remembering the way that Abernathy had been ready to simply dispose of her to save himself made his stomach crawl and rage boil in his veins.

Long ago, Jasper had sworn an oath to his mother that he would never inflict the harm that had been done to him on anyone

else. But tonight, he’d been tempted—so bloody tempted—to renounce that promise.

He always left the men he robbed with a threat of death hanging over their heads if they were to speak of the encounter. For

the first time, he’d been prepared to follow through.

In the end, that hadn’t been necessary. Miss Hartley had proven herself to be braver than he could have imagined. If not for

the fact that her brazen display of temper might have put her in more danger, Jasper would admit to being rather impressed.

As for Abernathy, the man had soiled himself so thoroughly that his mortification made murdering him counterproductive. A

proud man would sooner die than ever speak of such an encounter.

Besides, the threat of death was merely pragmatic. It kept word from spreading and ensured his continued anonymity. No one

could ever discover the truth. If they did, then everyone he was trying to protect would no longer be safe.

For the past two years, there hadn’t been a single instance when someone had talked. And yet, considering the story that Miss

Hartley relayed at Beaucastle’s that evening, it was clear that someone had.

But who?

Jasper didn’t know. He only hoped that his elaborate stumble at Beaucastle’s would be the most noteworthy thing the guests

recalled and the tale would go no further.

Reaching the old tavern with its sloping roof and weathered shingles, he pulled on the reins of his black destrier. Not many travelers ventured this far from the main road where it cut deep into the forest, which made the place ideally located.

At one time, its seclusion drew the interest of ruffians and thieves. But after making an alliance with one of the men who

skirted the line between right and wrong—just as he had to do—this place had become a safe haven.

For the past two years, David and Nan Barrett ran the place. They’d both been former servants of Redcliffe’s. Barrett had

been a footman and Nan, a serving maid. But during a garden party one day, Redcliffe had cornered Nan in the summerhouse and

made improper advances. Hearing word of this, the hotheaded Barrett saw red.

Jasper had just sold his commission and returned to his uncle’s house as this tableau had begun. He saw Barrett stride across

the lawn in front of a hundred guests, a dueling pistol from the study hanging at his side.

Intervening in his usual fashion, Jasper had pretended to be a clumsy oaf, deftly disarming Barrett before anyone was the

wiser, explaining in his ear that Nan was already in safe hands and unharmed. But he knew Redcliffe. His uncle always got

what he wanted. And when he did, Barrett would end up at the short end of a hangman’s noose.

So, it was clear that they would need new employment, a place far from Redcliffe’s reach. That was when Jasper had found this

tavern, and the seeds of an idea were first planted—a way to fight back against Redcliffe.

Ever since, the Barretts had been his loyal friends. They were among the trusted few who knew of his midnight escapades and

the vital importance of keeping his secret. They knew there were too many lives at stake for anything to go wrong.

Just like it had tonight. And it was his own fault.

Jasper muttered an oath as he dismounted. He was never more in need of pint than he was tonight.

Reaching into the saddlebag, he withdrew a carrot and fed it to his stalwart mount, rubbing the flat of his hand over his black coat. “You did well, Berserker.”

As with Garmr, he’d chosen a name from the Norse fables his father had read to him long ago. Berserker was a fitting name

for this enormous destrier, whose shaggy fur gave him an almost bearlike appearance. Not to mention a similar appetite, for

he gobbled up the carrot and was already snuffling out another that Jasper had hidden up his sleeve.

“There,” he said with fond amusement as the horse wasted no time.

Withdrawing a large bone from the bag, he kneeled down to Garmr and scrubbed a hand over his hide in praise. “And you did

well, too.”

The dog panted in bliss, his leg thumping on the ground as he received a scratch behind the ears.

Behind Jasper, the warped front door cracked against the shingles. As Roly rushed out, a distant feminine voice shouted, “And

close the door.”

“Aye, Nan,” he sighed, doing as he was told before rushing over to fawn all over the dog as if they’d been separated for years

instead of hours. “How’d he do? I couldn’t sleep a wink for worry. But I heard his howl all the way from the kitchens.”

“He played his part well.” Far better than his master , Jasper thought to himself, wondering about the ramifications that would likely arise after this night’s catastrophe. He

had a sleepless night ahead of him to formulate potential counterattacks. But for now, he turned his attention to the ever-bedraggled

boy. “Worried, hmm? It looks as though all that worrying put most of Nan’s kitchen on your cheeks and chin.”

As the words were spoken, the wolf licked every last smear of food from the giggling boy’s face, before lowering to the dirt

to gnaw on his bone.

Jasper felt a grin tug at his lips. “He’ll need a dish of water. Can you fetch that for him?”

Roly was already bounding across the stable yard to the old stone well. And Jasper gave Garmr and Berserker one last pat before

he headed inside.

A welcoming fire crackled in the stone hearth along the far wall. Jasper’s footfalls sounded heavier than usual as he crossed

the aged hardwood floor, then slumped down onto a sturdy wooden chair, absently tossing his satchel onto a nearby table.

Barrett’s stocky frame ambled over to him, a tankard in each hand. His brows inched upward toward a short crop of brown hair.

“Long night?”

“You don’t know the half of it.”

His friend slid one ale across the table then sat down and took a long pull from the other. “Nan’s coming with a bowl of stew

and loaf of bread. She’s already made up a room for you upstairs. Though Pamela will be heartbroken to find out that she wasn’t

here waiting for you.”

“Don’t encourage her. The last time I was here she came in to clean the room while I was having a bath. Offered to scrub my

back.”

“There ain’t many men who would have turned her down.” That statement earned Barrett a smack on the back of the head from

the willowy blonde beauty carrying the tray behind him. “O’ course, I wasn’t speaking for myself. I knew you were standing

there, my love. Just having a go with you.”

“Mmm-hmm,” his wife murmured, her brown eyes slitted. Nan plunked the earthenware bowl and bread on the table without fanfare,

then stabbed the crosshatched loaf, the blade of a carving knife twanging. “Oh, I’m not worried. I know too many ways to slice

and cook an animal to be worried,” she said sweetly as her husband choked on his ale. Then she patted him on the cheek, offering

a taunting grin. “Aww, don’t worry, love. Just having a go with you.”

As she left them, Barrett leaned forward to wipe the froth from his shirtfront. Even so, he grinned as he watched Nan’s hips sway as she sauntered back to the kitchen. “That woman’ll be the death of me.”

“You wouldn’t have it any other way,” Jasper said as he tore off a hunk of bread and tucked into his meal. He knew that, as

much as the couple enjoyed their verbal sparring, they loved each other.

They actually reminded him of his own parents. At least, what he remembered of them during those brief years of happiness.

He’d been about Roly’s age when his father died. Then his mother was forced by circumstance to move back into the Redcliffe

estate, and they were never happy again.

“Aye,” Barrett agreed. “I suppose having such a wife ain’t all that bad. And she dotes on that boy, too. Let him eat an entire

cake, waiting for you.”

Jasper lifted his head, eyebrows raised. “There was cake?”

“Pamela pinched it from the lady she cleans for. Left it here just for you.” Barrett hesitated and looked over his shoulder

before lowering his voice. “I could still send her a missive. She’d be happy to help you rid yourself of that broody tension.”

Jasper returned to his meal. He wasn’t interested in Pamela. He’d already said as much and he didn’t like to repeat himself.

So he took out whatever tension he had on lamb, potato and bread, replaying the events of the night in his mind.

Barrett set down the tankard and jerked a nod toward the satchel. “Why’d it take so long? The prig put up a fight?”

“Not much of one. But the hellion with him sure did.”

Barrett cursed. “Some light o’ love?”

“No.” Jasper shoved the empty bowl away. “A debutante and her chaperone. Apparently, their carriage hit a rut on the way to

the party.”

“Proper ladies?” He whistled. “Quite the surprise, I’d say.”

Both men knew that Jasper was not a man who dealt well with surprises. He liked strategy. He planned things out. Accounted for variables.

But he never counted on her.

Althea Hartley had been nothing more than a distraction all week. Not only had she cost him a bottle of port and his monthly

allowance, but the repercussions of her presence in the carriage were yet to be determined. And he hated being unable to calculate

an outcome with any degree of certainty.

Abernathy was supposed to have been alone, damn it all!

“You don’t know the half of it,” Jasper said again and downed the rest of his ale.

He stood and moved to the hearth, bracing his hands against the mantel. Staring into the fire, he briefed Barrett on the main

points of the encounter, leaving out the part where she’d fallen from the coach and into his arms. And the fact that she smelled

soft like some sort of rare flower with petals so delicate that they’d surely crumple in his gargantuan hands.

But she hadn’t crumpled. She hadn’t even tried to shove out of his embrace. Every delectable hillock and valley on her lithe

body had been molded against him. And when Garmr had growled, the way she’d held on so tightly with her legs wrapping around

his hips would fuel his forbidden fantasies for a lifetime.

“But you left her with a warning, right?” Barrett asked, the words more of a statement of common sense than a question.

Jasper didn’t like to lie to his friends. He already spent the majority of his life lying to everyone about who he was. So,

he looked over at him squarely. “It slipped my mind.”

One corner of Barrett’s mouth lifted. “Must have been some hellion.”

“You have no idea.”