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Thea scratched and clawed at the hand covering her mouth, thrashing to be free of the brawny arm around her waist.

But her assailant was immovable, unfazed by her attempts. He simply picked her up and stole through some unseen part in the

hedgerow, disappearing into the shadows.

Icy dread filled her, her pulse rushing in her ears.

Still, she kicked and pounded her fists on every part she could reach. And when that did nothing, she drew in a breath through

her nostrils and began to scream, hoping that the sound would carry beyond the muzzle of his palm.

“Shhh...” a voice whispered in her ear. “Althea, it’s Jasper. I won’t hurt you.”

Even before he spoke the last sentence, relief flooded her, easing the constriction around her lungs.

She wanted to turn in his embrace and wrap herself around him. But he altered his grip, tucking her under one arm like a valise.

Then he began to move too swiftly for her to do more than hold on for dear life.

She squinted against the rapid shifting of light to shadow, light to shadow, as they slipped out of the maze and into a break

of pine trees that bordered the property. Even then, St. James did not slow.

He picked up the pace, his hard breaths punctuated by every footfall as he raced toward a destination that was concealed in

the darkness below the evergreen canopy.

Then suddenly, they were inside a carriage, the horses spurring into motion before the door was even closed.

Jasper’s arms were still around her, but this time he was pulling her onto his lap, his hand cradling the back of her head.

The gust of his ragged breath drifted across the shell of her ear. “You’re safe. I found you in time. You’re safe. You’re

safe. I’ll never let him near you again.”

The words tunneled through her, quieting the last traces of panic. A thousand questions whirled around her mind but the only

thing that mattered—truly mattered—was that she hadn’t been wrong about him.

Her heart told her the truth all along. She was safe with Jasper. She could trust him.

Burying her face in his neck, she breathed in his scent the way people do over the vapor that rises from a copper pot of steamed

pudding or mulled wine on a cold day. If he was pudding, she would devour him. If he was wine, she would get drunk off him.

He was sustenance to her. Necessary in a way that she’d never known.

She wrapped her arms around him. “Don’t ever let me go.”

“I cannot. I’ve tried, but I—” Jasper shook his head and their lips brushed.

He didn’t finish speaking. A raw sound of desperation left him as he claimed her mouth.

The kiss was hard and hungry. Nothing else would do.

Slanting her mouth beneath his, she opened for him, welcoming the invasion of his tongue. He tasted of spice and need and

when he growled deep in his throat, she wanted to taste that, too.

His grip tightened, pulling her flush and flattening her breasts against the harried pounding of his heart.

The heat of his long-fingered hands along her back was soothing yet urgent.

She sensed that he needed the contact as much as she did.

So she shifted on his lap, lifting her skirts out of the way to straddle him.

Then her hands were in his hair, the locks thick and damp with perspiration as the kiss ignited a coiling heat inside her.

Thea didn’t understand this strange new need burning inside her, consuming her. All she could think of when his tongue withdrew

was more , and she followed his retreat, stealing inside his mouth, tasting his heat and spice and feeling a bit drunk.

She’d been shy with Kellum’s advances, ever aware of the line of propriety and impropriety. But with Jasper... only with

Jasper, she wondered why the line ever existed. It seemed unfair to keep two people apart when this felt so vital. It was

like asking someone to breathe for only half the day. No, you cannot have more air . You’ve reached your allotment and now you must suffocate.

But Jasper was air. He was food. Water. Shelter. Everything she needed.

“Hold me tighter,” she whispered against his lips, unable to move closer because her knees were pressed against the back of

the bench.

He slid to the edge, tucking her hips down onto his. The new position pulled a needy whimper from her throat, a growl from

his. At the sound, heat pooled low and liquid in her body and she hitched reflexively against him.

A shared shudder went through them. His breath caught, his hips arching, pressing her against a thick shape, hard and hot.

A vague notion of what that part of him was began to filter into her thoughts, a memory of the sock puppet play about Lord

Turgid and Lady Content. And an unexpected giggle burst from her lips.

“The puppets... never warned me... about this,” she said between kisses, squirming to find the perfect spot to alleviate

the thrumming ache between her thighs.

When she found it, she pressed down again, the pleasure so excruciating, she had to close her eyes. Her neck arched on a foreign mewling sound as his mouth coasted down her throat, licking the salt from her skin, sampling the flutter of her pulse.

He nuzzled a spot just behind her ear sending a torrent of delicious quivers to her midriff. His teeth raked gently against

the shell of her ear, drawing a gasp from her. But when his tongue drew the tender lobe into his mouth and he suckled gently,

she was fairly certain she purred.

“You taste so good. I want my mouth on every single inch of you,” he rasped, his hands roaming down her back, to her hips,

gripping, then gliding up her sides, his thumbs pausing just beneath the swell of her breasts. Then his lips parted, a gust

of warm breath stealing into her mouth as a furrow formed between his brows. “Did you say... puppets ?”

She nodded, trailing kisses across the high crests of his cheekbones, the bridge of his nose... “My mother performed a

puppet theatre to inform her daughters about relations between men and women. The shy, drooping Lord Flaccid would turn into

the monstrous Lord Turgid who was never satisfied until he had Lady Content quivering. I had nightmares for months. I was

certain he was torturing Lady Content. But I think I might understand a bit better.”

She pressed down onto him and watched his eyes glaze over, his pupils full-blown, black and hungry.

Lord Turgid was definitely something she never imagined would spark her curiosity. She’d thought he was the villain of the

play. And yet, now that she was so close to his Lord Turgid, she wanted to know more—the temperature, the texture, the precise dimensions.

A new kind of tingle cascaded down her spine, gathering low and tightening. And she wondered what would happen if she could

just... press... a little... closer...

Jasper’s breath stuttered to a halt. His hands descended to her hips to hold her still.

That didn’t stop the steady rocking of the carriage beneath them that kept their bodies undulating, thrumming. She licked her lips, a plea for more of this—whatever this was—on the tip of her tongue.

But then he suddenly set her apart from him. Depositing her unceremoniously on the bench beside him.

***

Jasper lowered his face into his hands, his breathing erratic, his heart hammering, his cock—

No. Better not think about his cock. Not when she was still far too close, the scent of her clinging to him. His body had

been branded by her heat, her curves... every part of her that he needed far away from him.

He needed a bigger carriage, large enough that he would have to travel a good distance to reach her. A mile, perhaps. Instead,

he knew all too well that all he’d have to do was reach out and...

He shook his head and swallowed thickly. “I didn’t save you from that twisted trap to have you for myself.”

She was quiet for a long moment and he glanced over. Her eyes were on him, her lips plump and red from his kiss, her hair

in a tumble of disheveled dark curls, and he wanted nothing more than to finish what they’d started.

Instead, he reached over and pulled the hem of her dress down to cover the few inches of stocking-clad shapely calves he could

see.

“Do you think your uncle had been attempting to catch me alone? That he might have tried to”—she shuddered—“kiss me?”

There was enough trepidation and tension knitting her brow to let him know that she wasn’t that naive. But those troubled

eyes also told him that she hoped she was wrong.

Jasper refused to conceal the harsh truth with honey. It was better that she understood. “Much worse.”

Her head moved in a small nod as she smoothed her hands down her skirts. “I suspected his intentions might have been worse,

but I convinced myself that I was being foolish. That, with Lady Abernathy there, nothing would happen. Then I heard his voice

in the maze and I knew.”

“Always trust yourself.” He pulled her against his side, his hand drifting along her arm to warm her as she drew her knees

up under her and curled into him. He wished he could tuck her inside his pocket and keep her there. “You were right to be

wary. Lady Abernathy wasn’t even there to watch over you.”

“She wasn’t?”

“No. She is in a carriage on her way home.”

Her head lifted from his shoulder, her eyes wide. “Did you send her home or did he?”

“I did. She had taken ill. And now I’m taking you home as well.”

She shook her head. “If she is so ill, then I should go to her and not back to the townhouse. I wasn’t even aware that she

was feeling unwell.”

“I’m certain her ladyship was perfectly hale until Redcliffe slipped a purgative into her tea.”

“Surely not.”

“This wouldn’t be the first time.” Jasper gritted his teeth, hatred for that vile blackguard sluicing through his veins. “In

fact, that is how I knew the most effective method to inconvenience him at the Leighton Ball. I merely gave him a taste of

his own medicine.”

“Is that the reason he didn’t dance with Miss Handscombe?”