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The hiss of rending silk had drawn every eye around them and a few startled gasps.

Thea had looked down to find that St. James hadn’t just torn her hem. The stitching at her waist sagged on one side, as well,

leaving a hole that revealed her petticoat beneath.

A torn hem might have been easily repaired in a retiring room. But exposing one’s undergarments guaranteed that she would

have to leave the ball and leave her conversation with St. James unfinished.

She was absolutely incensed!

With two wardrobe mishaps between them, not to mention all the tongues wagging, both Thea and Lady Broadbent returned to the

townhouse.

On the short drive, she explained to the countess how the events led to her waltz with St. James, about Miss Handscombe’s

partner changing from Redcliffe to Summerhayes, and that anyone nearby would have noted that she had been quite unprepared

to take the floor with St. James.

She did not, however, reveal her startling discovery.

Without knowing the reason behind his subterfuge, she felt it would be best to keep the true identity of the highwayman to

herself.

Still, she was being much kinder to St. James than he’d been to her. Three gowns ruined! Three! She was going to start carrying a pair of scissors with her so that she could even the score.

Although, it went without saying that she wouldn’t be able to see him in public again. His escapades had made sure of that.

Any woman who welcomed the attentions of that man would become a pariah.

So her encounters with him would have to be kept in secret. Since he’d already proven just how skilled he was at hiding the

truth beneath the ton ’s nose, she wasn’t worried. But she was determined.

Now that she’d found her muse, she wasn’t about to let him go.

It was half past midnight and she’d already written ten pages of a new play, drawing her inspiration from true events. And

it was good, too.

As the tip of her pen scratched over the page, it was as if the curtains of the stage had been wrenched apart and she could

see every scene and character, feel every line as it coursed through her blood. A sense of unshakable knowing filled her,

banishing the crippling doubt that had plagued her for a year.

This would be her best work yet.

Her stomach chose at that moment to issue a mournful growl, reminding her that she hadn’t eaten since breaking her fast that

morning.

When they had returned early from the ball, the housekeeper offered to prepare a meal of cold meats, cheese and fruit for

them. But Lady Broadbent had been too agitated and chose to have a glass of claret sent to her rooms before she retired for

the evening. Thea, in a display of solidarity coupled with a smidgen of guilt, decided against it as well and went up to her

own bedchamber to prepare for bed.

But now there was no quieting the beast.

Deciding to slip downstairs to raid the larder and, perhaps, write a few more pages afterward, she stood up from the slender writing desk by the window and stretched.

When she reached for the lamp, she grinned at the ink staining her fingers.

It had been so long since she’d written with such abandon that she felt rather proud of the mark of her labors.

Just before she moved away from the desk, she heard a faint tap and clatter against the glass.

It sounded like hail. Absently, she wondered if a storm was brewing. If so, she should close her window.

Setting down the lamp, she parted the sheer curtain and positioned her fingertips on the sill. That was when she saw movement

in the back garden, a shadow passing along the hedgerow toward the gate. Her pulse quickened.

Cupping her hands around her eyes, she pressed her forehead against the glass and peered closer. But there was no one there.

And yet...

As her gaze skimmed the small garden once more, she caught sight of something fluttering amidst the hedges. There was just

enough light to see the cluster of colors.

She smiled. Oh, St. James and his paper flowers. She could almost forgive him for ruining another dress. Almost. But she wasn’t

that forgiving.

Slipping into her dressing gown, she tied the sash at her waist in a hasty knot, picked up the chamberstick and went downstairs

to collect her bouquet.

Thea never saw the man move out of the shadows until it was too late.

***

“Don’t even think about biting me,” Jasper warned, low in her ear when her lips parted beneath his hand.

At the commanding growl of his voice—his true voice—her struggles instantly ceased. But she huffed and muttered an indecipherable string of words that sounded suspiciously like a scolding.

Once they were inside his carriage and it was clipping along the street, he asked, “If I remove my hand, are you going to

scream?”

She shook her head tersely.

The instant he did, her rant began.

“I wasn’t going to bite you. I was warning you that if you’ve ruined my dressing gown, I am going to take a pair of scissors

and slice your coat to ribbons.”

When she bent forward to examine the state of her garments, he regretted holding her on his lap with an arm braced over her

middle. He’d only wanted to keep her from injuring herself in case she tried to flee.

But now he was all too aware of the warm, softly scented, curvaceous woman in her nightclothes—and little else—on his lap.

He swallowed. Then quickly deposited her down onto the bench beside him. Even then she was still too close. He wished he owned

a larger carriage with enough room for two benches.

“Why did you venture into the garden dressed like that? Where is your pelisse?”

“Well, I was hardly expecting to be kidnapped.”

When she crossed her arms beneath her unbound breasts, he jerked out of his caped greatcoat as if she were on fire and draped

it over her to smother the flames.

“Thank you, I suppose. I was rather cold,” she said, offering information he’d discerned for himself. “You are surprisingly

considerate for one who is carting me off in the dead of night.”

Trying to replace the vision that burned hotly through his eyes, he slid a finger beneath the leather window shade and peered out at the lamplit street.

“For town it is hardly that late. The festivities are still transpiring at the Leighton Ball. Many revelers at other parties won’t return to their houses until it is near dawn, which is when I intend to return you. .. if you cooperate.”

“And what is that supposed to mean?”

“I’m taking preemptive measures against blackmail. In short, if anyone were to discover that you spent time alone with me”— in your nightdress , he thought and blew out a breath—“then your reputation, as well as that of your chaperone, would be ruined.”

He anticipated one of two reactions. Either she would be in hysterics and begin pleading and negotiating in tearful sobs,

or she’d lose her temper as she had done in Abernathy’s carriage and would begin to rant, cursing his very existence. Given

her frank nature, he expected the latter more than the former.

Yet, as he waited a breath— two , three —and heard neither, he let the shade fall then turned to face her.

Without the ambient light reflecting off her white garments, the interior of the carriage was too dim for him to read her

expression. Even so, he could feel her gaze on him.

“Are you always this calculating?” she asked.

He detected nothing other than curiosity in her tone, which had the unfortunate result of making him more curious about her.

But it also made him aware that he’d miscalculated her reaction. Again.

“Always,” he said.

“It must be exhausting.”

He tensed, knowing precisely where this was going. “We are not discussing the reasons behind my charade. Do not think you

can manipulate me or worm your way out of the situation with a show of sympathy.”

“Very well.” She heaved out a sigh. “Are we just going to drive around London all night? Because I’m rather hun gry, and my sisters have informed me countless times that my demeanor is not entirely pleasant when I’m hungry.”

Against all reason, Jasper felt a corner of his mouth twitch. “No, we have a destination. My driver is taking us to an establishment

with a lodging where we will sleep.”

At this, she sat straighter, his coat slipping down to her lap. “ Sleep? You said I would be returned before dawn.”

“It would hardly be blackmail if I were the only witness. Then it would be your word against mine, and it couldn’t have escaped

your notice that my word carries little weight. But you need not fear about your virtue. At least, in fact . It is only the illusion of your virtue that I hold in the palm of my hands.”

“And if someone I know should see us in this establishment , are you prepared to marry me?” she asked, her voice rising.

At last, he thought. It was starting to settle in.

Preferring predictable behavior, he eased back into the corner. “My uncle will never permit me to marry, no matter the reason.

He has decreed as much. So the answer is no. If you are seen by anyone other than my trusted allies, then the black mark would

be yours to bear alone.”

She was quiet for a moment, but her whirring thoughts filled the snug silence.

He was almost tempted to ask her what she was thinking or planning, and he was never interested in the inner workings of other

people. They were too easy to decipher on his own. But she had always shown herself to be clever. This trait had tempted him

into lingering in conversation with her against his better judgment, and more than once.

It was a pity it had to be this way.

“It is a double-edged sword,” she said quietly, pulling her shade aside to peer out. “I could not marry you regardless, without

bringing shame on my family. You’ve made sure of that, your uncle’s decree notwithstanding.”

Oh, but his uncle was the rotten core at the center of everything. But she would never know that. This burden was his to bear alone.

“The truly shameful part of all this”—she let the shade fall—“is that I actually liked you, even after you ruined my favorite

dress. When you had come to call with those paper flowers in hand, I thought you were bashful and charming.” She issued a

huff of disdain. “I thought you were going to ask permission to court me.”

He stared at her, incredulous. “Would you have wanted me to court you?”

Women did not say things like this to him, especially not beautiful women. And classifying Althea Hartley as merely beautiful

was understating her entire existence. She was something otherworldly. Men like him didn’t even belong in her realm.

“Well, not now,” she clarified testily and jerked his coat up to her neck.

Not now. Jasper sensed that those words would haunt him for the rest of his life.