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Jasper passed a rider on the way to his aunt’s cottage. Looking over from the seat of the old dray, he recognized the man

at once and tipped his hat. The dark-haired rider did the same as they went on their own way.

But he wondered why Willie Raintree was this far west. There was nothing for miles except pastureland and a handful of houses,

owned by Redcliffe. And the possibility that Raintree would ever ally himself with Redcliffe was highly improbable.

Raintree harbored an intense loathing toward the aristocracy. He was the eldest son of Baron Fauconberg, but because he was

born on the wrong side of the blanket, he would never inherit. The unfairness of it left him embittered and fueled a thirst

for rebellion and revenge.

He was considered an outlaw with a band of ne’er-do-wells who followed him. And he was also an opportunist.

So when Jasper approached him with an arrangement that would keep hooligans and thugs from Barrett’s tavern in return for

a cut from the highwayman’s ill-gotten gains, Raintree readily agreed.

But even though they had formed something of an alliance, Raintree had no business being on this particular country lane.

A dark suspicion niggled at the back of Jasper’s mind as he drove the horse cart around to the back of the cottage. Spotting Tempest and Iris in the garden, he waved a hand in greeting before hefting up the crate. Then he went inside to his aunt.

That was when he saw the bunch of posies on the kitchen table.

“Good morning, Mrs. Bidwell,” he said to the cook as he set down the crate of various meats, cheeses and whatnots. “Is my

aunt in her sitting room?”

Turning away from the sink, she smiled at him and tucked a hank of grizzled hair back beneath a frilled mobcap. “She is, my

lord. I was just bringing her a tea tray to take the chill off.”

“I’ll do that, if you don’t mind.”

“You’re too good to us. Why, I still have a bit of ham left from your last visit. I’ll make a nice hearty bean stew with what’s

left.” As he took up the tray, she began unpacking the crate, then gasped. “Oh! Those jelly comfits I like so well. My lord,

you shouldn’t have.”

“I’ve no idea how those found their way into the crate,” he said. Then, just before he turned to fit his shoulders through

the doorway, he added, “Happy birthday, Mrs. Bidwell.”

There was a grin tucked into the corner of his mouth as she prattled on and on about what he should or shouldn’t have done.

In his opinion, it was the least he could do for all her years of service and her work consisting of far more than cooking.

He found his aunt in a chair by a window that overlooked the garden. She was looking paler and frailer than she had the week

before. When she saw him, she hastily lowered a handkerchief to her lap, but her eyes were still glistening with tears.

Alarmed, he set down the tray and went to her, kneeling to take her hand. “What is it? Are you unwell? Shall I send for a

doctor?”

She patted his hand in reassurance. “I am as well as to be expected with these lungs of mine. Besides, there is no doctor, remember?”

Redcliffe , he thought, biting down a curse. But the fury must have shown in his eyes because she shook her head.

“Anger solves nothing, as you well know, and neither will allowing him to corrupt the goodness in you. He has already taken

so much. Don’t let him take that, too.”

“For your sake alone,” he agreed with a nod, swallowing down the burning rage where it would join the mountain of embers already

inside him. Yet, he feared that, at some point, there would be no possible way to hold back the inferno that begged for release.

Redcliffe needed to pay. But that was a thought for another time.

As for today, he had other matters to deal with, like who might be paying a call on his cousins.

He pressed a kiss to his aunt’s hand, her fingers chilled beneath his lips. “You’re cold. I’ll add another log to the fire.”

Rising, he went to the hearth and noticed the wood box was nearly empty. He made a mental note to chop more before he left.

“I happened to pass a certain Mr. Raintree on the way here,” he said casually as he stacked the logs on the grate. “He hasn’t

been stopping by, has he?”

His aunt was silent as she looked down at her lap, twisting the handkerchief around a finger.

“Aunt Clara?”

She expelled a breath. “Tempest asked me not to tell you. She said you wouldn’t understand. And he has behaved most honorably

toward her.”

“ Honorably? ”

“I wouldn’t say it if it wasn’t true. I’ve witnessed it for myself.

” She straightened in her chair, her dander up.

“My daughter is one and twenty and she’s never been in society.

Has never been courted by a young man who fancied her.

She lost her father before her life could begin and, ever since, she has been here playing nursemaid to me, mother to Iris, and maid of all work.

I just wanted her to have something. Someone. ”

He was about to point out that Raintree was a criminal, practiced in the art of showing his good side to get what he wanted.

But when he saw tears well up in his aunt’s eyes, he didn’t have the heart to reprimand her. She was doing what she thought

was best for her family.

And he, when he saw Raintree again, would do what he had to do.

“Oh, Jasper,” she cried, patting the consoling hand he laid on her shoulder. “They deserve so much better, but here I sit

as they labor in the garden to put food on the table. All I’ve been able to teach them are lessons in decorum, needlework

and my abominable French. On good days, I’ve taught them dancing and painting. However, those days are fewer and farther between.”

Kneeling down again, he dried her eyes, wishing that he could do more. Wishing that his hands weren’t tied with so many different

knots.

Years ago, at the end of school, he’d saved a little money and tried to invest in the railroad, certain that it was going

to change the world. It would certainly have changed his.

But then Redcliffe arrived in the broker’s office, explained that it was all a mistake. When the broker tried to tell him

that every man was entitled to invest money, and even that Jasper’s proposal had merit, Redcliffe had laughed.

“My idiot nephew is a clever mimic. Whatever utterance he offered to convince you that he has a brain, I can assure you that

it was merely a facsimile of a conversation he’d heard elsewhere. And more to the point, I am guardian of his trust. Any and

all financial dealings must go through me.”

Shortly thereafter, the broker had lost his position at the exchange, then his home when no one would hire him, not even as a clerk in a haberdashery.

The guardianship was supposed to have ended when Jasper turned one and twenty. However, because of Redcliffe’s financial ties

to certain members of the court, his guardianship—on grounds of Jasper’s mental incompetence—would remain until the next hearing

when Jasper turned five and twenty.

That was three weeks away. And even though Jasper had never pretended to be dimwitted, Redcliffe’s constant declarations to

that fact had been what most of society bothered to believe.

“You are doing the best you are able. None of this is your fault,” he said, adjusting the shawl around her shoulders. “I will

think of something. In the meantime, is there not one of your society friends you can write to and propose a visit, even for

a short while?”

She began to shake her head, but hesitated. “There is that busybody Lady Deardorff, who pops by once a month with her pair

of ankle-biting dogs. But I was afraid she was trying to play matchmaker for that sniveling son of hers.”

“Tempest would likely eat that lordling alive,” he quipped, trying to ease her worries. But his aunt’s expression remained

fraught and for good reason.

“Normally, I would never consider allowing a man of no consequence like Mr. Raintree to court my daughter, but Redcliffe has

closed all other doors, waiting like a rat in the dark.”

“I will get you out of here and away from Redcliffe’s reach.”

“But who will keep you out of his?” She shook her head. “I hate to think of all that he’s done to keep you from having your

rightful place. My husband never would have agreed to him overseeing the St. James property if he’d known how despicable Redcliffe

truly was.”

Jasper shook his head. “It wasn’t Uncle Jacob’s fault. Redcliffe has always been good at hiding who he really is. That is the one thing I learned from him. But I will get the land back, somehow.”

“And whatever happens to me”—she clutched his hand, searching his gaze—“you’ll take care of my girls?”

“I promise.”

She sank back into the curve of the chair and closed her eyes. “No more of that now. Tell me about your Miss Hartley.”

“She’s not my—”

“Is she beautiful?” she interrupted with a squeeze of her hand.

Letting out a breath, he sat down beside her, his gaze turning toward the fire crackling in the hearth. He supposed it wouldn’t

hurt to indulge his aunt just this once.

“Aye,” he said. “Like a fey creature that isn’t part of this world.”

“Pale hair or dark?”

He pictured her as she’d been last night on the terrace, dressed in a gown of moonlight with stars glinting in her hair. “A

glossy mane as rich and dark as mahogany.”

“Blue eyes or brown?”

“A blue that glitters like jewels caught in a ray of sunlight—” Hearing himself, he stopped, the heat of the fire stinging

his cheeks.

The curve of a soft smile brushed Aunt Clara’s lips when she looked at him. “Thank you. For a moment, I could see her. See

the way she looks through your eyes. The way she sees you like no one else has done before.”

“There’s nothing between us,” he said, attempting a lighthearted laugh.

“I fear you’ll have to make a choice,” she persisted, her gaze searching his as she lifted a hand to his cheek. “Hold fast

to her, my darling boy. We aren’t granted too many chances in this life to find love.”