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“Poor Olympia,” Lady Abernathy said that afternoon. “I do hope she feels better soon.”

“I believe it’s just a cold, my lady. She intends to rest in her rooms for the day.”

“Splendid. There’s nothing better than a good, lengthy lie-about. Besides, she doesn’t always have a sense for these things.”

“These... things?”

The dowager viscountess offered a dismissive wave, a pleased grin wrinkling her cheeks. “As soon as I received your card,

I sent a runner. You see, I happen to know of a gentleman who very much wishes to make your acquaintance. Thus far, his attempts

seem to have been thwarted.” The rapping of the doorknocker pulled her excited gaze to the archway. “Oh, I believe he is here.”

Thea was still wondering about what Lady Broadbent didn’t have a sense for when a tall, distinguished gentleman briefly paused in the doorway, his gaze assessing as he crossed the threshold.

He had a wealth of dark hair, liberally threaded with silver. His features were finely sculpted with high cheekbones and darkly

arched eyebrows. He was lean and fit, and carried himself with an air of confidence that doubtless made him appealing to women

of any age.

Lady Abernathy was no exception. When he bowed in greeting, she began to titter breathlessly. “Redcliffe, how good of you to pay a call on an old woman.”

“You are still in the bloom of youth, Beatrice,” he said with a practiced air.

Then he turned his full attention to Thea. She noticed that his brown eyes flashed in the way that men’s sometimes did when

they looked at her, as if they were seeing a fresh apple tart in a baker’s window. But in an instant that look shuttered closed

and he was all politeness, bowing over her hand as their hostess introduced them.

“I understand why my nephew has made such a cake of himself, Miss Hartley.” He laid a hand over his heart. “It falls to me

to make amends for his behavior. Rest assured, I will replace every gown that he has ruined.”

“Thank you, my lord, but that isn’t necessary. It was only an accident and I harbor no ill will toward your nephew. At all.”

He smiled. “Your compassion does you credit. It isn’t often that one finds such beauty both inside and out.” He paused long

enough for her to acknowledge an obligation to thank him for the compliment, which she did with a nod before he continued.

“And I concede that the topic of replacing garments is rather bold, especially for the first of what I hope will be many encounters.

So I will say this—if you ever have need of my services, consider me your humble servant.”

“Thank you, my lord,” she said again, an uncomfortable feeling settling in her stomach.

She remembered the way Kellum’s nature demanded constant appreciation. He could rip apart everything about her—her writing,

her laugh, her smile, the apparently annoying inflection in her voice, even accuse her of purposely dressing in clothes that

made her look dowdy—and go on one of these endless tirades until she felt like a kicked puppy.

Afterward, he’d issue a mollifying smile and confess that she made him act that way because he wanted her so much. It was her fault. She made him insane.

Then, he’d offer a consolation, like “I enjoyed the first line of your character’s soliloquy. It shows promise.”

By that point, she would be so grateful to hear something nice that tears would clog her throat. Then he would wait, expectantly.

And she knew that if she missed her cue to say thank you , his tirade would start all over again.

In a way, she had been relieved with the end of their courtship.

“Shall I ring for tea, Redcliffe?” their hostess asked.

“One hates to waste such a lovely day,” he said. “Perhaps we might have our tea after a quick jaunt through the park?”

Lady Abernathy looked to her. “I’m sure Olympia can do without you for an afternoon.”

At the seemingly orchestrated convenience of this entire meeting, that sense of unease niggled at the back of Thea’s mind.

But it was nothing, surely.

After all, hadn’t she come here for the explicit purpose of learning more about St. James and helping him? There didn’t seem

to be any harm in spending an afternoon in the company of his uncle.

***

Jasper rolled up his shirtsleeves and stood a thick section of a branch on an old tree stump. Out of the corner of his eye,

he saw Tempest cross from the kitchen garden and head toward the stone potting shed that stood behind him.

“I passed Willie Raintree on the lane this morning,” Jasper said without preamble as he swung the axe down and split the waiting

wood with a satisfying crack. “Is there something you wish to tell me?”

His fiery-haired cousin stopped, the tines of the spading fork in her grip stabbing into the earth as she raised her brows. “Only to ask why it’s any concern of yours.”

“He’s no gentleman, Tempest. Men like him aren’t after marriage and respectability.”

“Then what are they after, cousin?” She batted her lashes coyly, her green eyes already flashing with temper.

Standing another thick section of branch on the stump, he drew in a breath and started again. It would do no good if they

were both irritated from the outset.

“What I’m trying to say is that men like him have used flattery to get what they want since the dawn of time. I simply don’t

want you to fall for pretty words and shallow promises, only to find yourself in a situation where you expect him to behave

like a gentleman.”

“And I suppose you always act like a gentleman, hmm?”

At her flippant tone, he narrowed his eyes, his grip tightening on the handle of the axe. “Has Raintree tried to kiss you?”

“I would have slapped him if he didn’t. I am one and twenty, after all. And, contrary to your apparent belief, this cottage

hasn’t become an abbey and while this dress may be years out of fashion, it isn’t a nun’s habit.”

“I’ll kill him,” he growled and swung the axe down. Crack.

“Oh? And I suppose you’ve never kissed a gentleman’s daughter? Miss Hartley, for example?”

Lifting one of the halves to the stump, he took care in arranging it, his face warm from his exertions. “We’re not discussing

my behavior or Miss Hartley. We are discussing you and your association with that ruffian. It needs to end.”

“And I disagree,” she said, hiking her stubborn chin. “He and I are the same, after all. We both have aristocratic blood,

but neither of us have ties to society. And if we married, then—”

“No. Absolutely not,” he fired back. “It is my duty to protect you and I’m telling you that Raintree is not an honorable man.”

“ Protect me? Or keep me from living any sort of life at all?”

The axe swung again. Crack. “You know the answer isn’t that simple.”

“Do I? Or are you being just like Redcliffe and trying to keep everyone under your thumb?” Seething, she stormed toward the

shed, oblivious to the blow she’d just struck. Then she stopped, whirling to face him. “Sometimes, I think that you and Mother

use him as an excuse to make certain that nothing ever changes.”

Feeling the sharp slice of her words, he took a moment before responding. It was true that he’d sheltered his cousins as much

as possible in an effort to maintain their innocence. But he never imagined his warning would be called into question.

Taking a breath, he turned and held her angry gaze. “As you said, you are one and twenty. I realize how difficult it must

be to live apart from society. For now, I can see no other way to—”

He didn’t finish. The sound of a rider approaching, hard and fast, had both of them turning to look down the winding lane.

Unexpected company had a way of sending a shiver of foreboding down his spine.

Axe on his shoulder, he walked toward the drive. Shielding his eyes from the sun, he saw Barrett pulling hard on the reins

of his horse. That shiver of foreboding abruptly settled in his gut like a rock.

Swinging his leg over, Barrett dismounted in haste, a cloud of dust beneath his boots when he hit the ground and strode directly

to Jasper. “A missive came from the man you hired to watch Redcliffe’s house. He arrived some time ago with a debutante and

her chaperone.”

“Bloody hell,” Jasper muttered and handed the axe to Tempest. “We’ll finish this discussion later, hmm?”

All the fury drained from her face and she swallowed. “You’ll be careful?”

He nodded and walked away with Barrett, hating that he was such a far distance from Redcliffe’s estate. He needed to leave

immediately to have even a remote chance of saving the debutante from ruination. “And Pitt?”

“He’s just behind me with your carriage,” Barrett said as the jangle of rigging reached them. Then he gripped Jasper’s arm,

his expression unreadable. “Then a letter arrived from the man you have watching Miss Hartley.”

Jasper stopped cold. His heart stopped, too. And in that moment he knew... he just knew...

“Miss Hartley is the debutante with Redcliffe.”