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The instant Jasper stepped through the doors of the Leightons’ ballroom, his gaze found Miss Hartley. She was a vision in

a gown the color of silver moonlight, curls of glossy mahogany hair cascading down from an artful twist.

It almost hurt to look at her.

It was worse to crave her smile. But he’d made sure she wouldn’t smile at him again.

This searching for her in a crowded room had to stop. It was turning into a bad habit. Then again, with a habit a man could

control his actions. This felt more... reflexive, like breathing in and out.

Disliking that observation, his hands clenched into fists.

A matron and her charge standing nearby squeaked in startlement at the sound of his knuckles popping. Then they looked up

and recognized him. Eyes wide, they scurried down the stairs.

When his gaze immediately swiveled back to Miss Hartley, he saw her being introduced to a tall, black-haired man with a military

bearing.

Because it served his purpose to have a basic knowledge of all guests at a party he attended, he knew that a certain Captain

Summerhayes had joined the ranks of the gentlemen in want of a wife. Since there were no dark deeds or scandals associated

with the recently retired naval hero, Jasper didn’t consider him a man who might fall into step with the likes of Redcliffe.

So he had no qualms against him.

And yet, as he watched Summerhayes earn a smile from Miss Hartley, he wondered if he should keep an eye on the man, just in case.

Feeling the beginning rumble of a growl in his throat, he subdued it. He needed to focus. There was a reason he was here,

and it wasn’t because of her.

He’d been summoned.

It wasn’t often that the Earl of Redcliffe ordered his idiot nephew to appear at a society event where he would also be in

attendance. He usually preferred to ignore the familial connection altogether. Unless he could use it to his advantage.

It didn’t take long for Jasper to discern what that was.

His uncle was seeking a young bride, preferably one from a large family of males to better his chances for producing an heir.

If she should happen to possess a sizeable dowry then all the better. For this Season, Miss Handscombe was the woman to woo.

Unfortunately for Redcliffe there were a half dozen younger men who were currently pursuing her.

But Redcliffe was nothing if not a master at understanding how to worm his way into someone’s good graces. He’d been manipulating

society into believing what he wanted them to for decades. Most never knew how ruthless and wicked he truly was.

Jasper did. And he knew precisely why his uncle had summoned him this evening.

Redcliffe wanted to play the woebegotten earl, who’d been saddled with a numbskull heir. It was a familiar tactic he used

to earn a woman’s sympathy, forging a path toward courtship.

Regrettably, there was no way for Jasper to stop these first paving stones from being laid without revealing his true self.

And he couldn’t afford to do that.

Besides, warning Miss Handscombe directly would never work. No one had ever believed him about Redcliffe, not when it mattered most.

Therefore, after this night was over, Jasper would do his utmost to play matchmaker for Miss Handscombe and find her a suitable

candidate. Literally anyone else would do. And the sooner, the better.

Over the years, he’d shielded over a dozen different debutantes from Redcliffe’s intentions. And he would continue to do so

for the rest of that blackguard’s life.

He only wished he’d been able to save all his uncle’s victims.

With dark memories dogging his heels, he made his way along the outskirts of the room and toward the open terrace doors where

his uncle was holding court. When their gazes met, the constant hatred and revulsion that was always between them flashed

for an instant before it was blinked away.

Redcliffe made a show of lifting his watch fob to check the time, then leveled Jasper with a glare as he snapped it closed.

“I see you decided to join us.”

Jasper inclined his head and mentioned nothing of the missive threatening the withdrawal of next month’s allowance should

he not make an appearance.

“And this, Miss Handscombe, is my”—Redcliffe paused to take a long-suffering breath—“nephew, Viscount St. James.”

“A pleasure, my lord,” she said with a curtsy.

Jasper bowed and lisped, “Miss Handscombe.”

Her eyes widened for an instant before softening with pity as one looked upon a wounded animal. It was one of the typical

responses, especially from beautiful women. There were some who’d recoiled in horror either at his size or the fact that they

were worried the lisp was a contagion and would make idiots of anyone within earshot. Some had even laughed in his face.

Of course, there had been two or three exceptions, most notably Miss Althea Hartley.

At the mere thought of her, his gaze surreptitiously sought her again. She was dancing the quadrille with Summerhayes.

Jasper took an immediate dislike to the swarthy naval hero. The man lingered far too long at Miss Hartley’s and her chaperone’s

sides. Hell, he’d barely stepped away since they’d been introduced. And considering it was only their first introduction,

he certainly didn’t deserve so many of Miss Hartley’s smiles. Three, by last count.

But Jasper forced himself to return his attention to his uncle.

Redcliffe was in the middle of explaining how magnanimous he was. “...Of course, given that he’s my late sister’s only

child, I’ve done whatever I could for him. It was what she would have wanted.”

“Your commitment to family is admirable, my lord,” Miss Handscombe said.

Commitment was a more apt word than she knew. If it wasn’t for Redcliffe having Jasper’s mother committed to an asylum after a supposed

fall down the stairs, she might still be alive. But that was what happened to those who opposed his uncle—they were made to

disappear as if through no fault of his own.

“You may run off to the refreshment table, nephew,” Redcliffe said now that his usefulness was over. “Just do your best not

to spill it this time, hmm?”

Without waiting for a response, his uncle led his latest quarry away, bending his head to murmur, “The poor boy never gained

an ounce of coordination, no matter how many dancing masters I hired for him. I, on the other hand, would be honored to demonstrate

that some men can be graceful at any age. During the dinner waltz, perhaps?”

“I’d be delighted, my lord.”

Jasper walked away, thinking about Miss Handscombe and how to keep her from becoming his uncle’s next target.

As the music ended, his attention swerved to the dance floor as Summerhayes escorted Miss Hartley back to Lady Broadbent.

He said something that earned a nod and Althea presented a tile at her wrist for him to sign.

So it would be two dances with the naval captain, would it? And considering her next partner was there to escort her to the

floor, Jasper would hazard a guess that she had just given Summerhayes her waltz.

The growl he’d been holding back rumbled in his throat, startling a pair of wallflowers with a squeak as they scampered on

by, glancing over their shoulders as they whispered.

“If I had to dance with St. James, I don’t know what I’d do. Faint, likely.”

“Well, if he ever asked me to dance, I’d find another partner even if I had to drag them to the floor myself.”

Behind his spectacles, Jasper’s gaze swiveled from Miss Hartley to Miss Handscombe to Captain Summerhayes as an idea began

to form.

***

Thea spent the evening avoiding St. James, while trying to appear as though she wasn’t avoiding him.

She’d fielded more than one teasing comment about his presence at the ball and speculations regarding what he might spill

on her next. And she was tired of the snickering.

She needed attention, of course. An invisible woman could not find a husband, after all. But she hated this kind of attention.

Hated being an object of ridicule. It reminded her too much of her time with Kellum.

Yet, even more than that, she hated what those episodes had cost St. James. They’d further cemented the ton ’s low opinion of him. Knowing they were wrong, but being able to do nothing to alter their judgment, only left her conflicted

and, frankly, irritated.

Of late, she was always irritated. And even that irritated her.

Gone were the days of eternal ennui, and vexation swept in like a thunder cloud.

To make matters worse, she missed talking to St. James. Which made her a complete dunderhead because he obviously hadn’t enjoyed

talking to her. He’d proved it by walking away every time they were in the middle of a conversation.

Enough, she thought. She would think no more of him.

Saints be praised , the chorus jeered.

Wanting a break between sets, she’d left the tarantella open and stood with Lady Broadbent between the pilasters and potted

topiaries in urns that lined the room.

“Who was that gentleman I saw you with when I was dancing the quadrille?” Thea asked.

“I assure you, I was with no gentleman.”

The harshness in her chaperone’s tone piqued her interest. Especially because, from her vantage point, it almost looked as

though the countess had given him the cut direct. But clearly she didn’t want to discuss the matter.

The countess opened her fan and turned her head to whisper. “I must say, if Captain Summerhayes is our highwayman, as we suspect,

he is rather charming.”

Accepting the change of topic without argument, Thea’s gaze skimmed the crush.

She found the captain on the far side of the ballroom, standing in the midst of a handful of younger gentlemen who looked

at the naval hero with godlike adoration. “A man renowned for heroism would also explain why he’d targeted that dreadful Lord

Abernathy.”

“Quite. In a sense, one could almost overlook that entire episode as something just shy of chivalrous. While I may have experienced a bit of dismay, he didn’t harm either of us. And whatever the viscount received was well deserved, if you ask me.”