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“Aye. I know what kind of monster he is, so I do my best to keep him from as many debutantes as I can. But I failed this time.”

Her hand covered the tortured beating of his heart. “No, you didn’t. I’m here. I’m safe. Though, I cannot say the same for

poor Lady Abernathy. Even so, it isn’t your fault.”

“You don’t understand,” he said. “I made a mistake at the Leighton Ball, dancing with you. It wasn’t until I read the scandal

sheets that I realized my actions might lead him to you. So, I made sure to stay away. But, clearly, it was too late.”

“The only thing you’re right about is that I don’t understand,” she said. “Why should you dancing with me matter to him?”

“Because I know the truth about him. I know that he sent his first wife to an asylum because he’d wanted to marry another.

I know that it wasn’t a tumble down the stairs that had left my mother bloodied and broken. I know about the other debutantes

who’ve toured that maze and what happened while I was away at school, foolishly believing his only crimes were malicious cruelty

and abhorrence for weakness.”

“Good heavens!” she gasped, appalled.

“I think you mean hell. That is what spawned him.”

“Why is such a man not in gaol?”

Why, indeed. “Because he has honed his practice of deception like an artist wields a brush. Believe me, I’ve tried. For years.

But because of the lisp I had when I was a child and the awkwardness that accompanied my youth, it was an easy matter for

him to label me as a simpleton. The bruises I bore from his attacks were explained as my clumsiness. At least, until I grew

taller, then he never dared raise his fists to me again. And after he’d woven his lies to tutors and schoolmasters, ensuring

that they had his permission to use a firm hand in my education, no one believed me.”

“You were just a child! Was there no one to protect you?”

After seeing what he’d done to his mother, Jasper had had no doubt that he would have hurt anyone who dared to stand up for him.

In fact, he’d often wondered if his uncle Jacob’s financial troubles had occurred because he’d guessed the truth and Redcliffe had used his many connections to ruin him.

Because of that, Jasper had known, even as a young boy, that it was better to stay silent.

When he didn’t answer, Althea apparently saw the truth for herself. Her delicate hand balled into a fist over his heart, her

voice shaking with vehemence. “I hate that you suffered, especially at the hands of your own uncle. I want to skin him alive

for his crimes against you.”

Angry tears shone in her eyes. Something about the sight of this fierce little goddess wanting to commit heinous acts for

his sake tugged at his heart and at the corners of his mouth.

He rubbed the pad of his thumb along her lower lashes, wiping away the wetness. “I don’t think you’d have the stomach for

that particular task.”

“And I don’t think you know me very well. Give me a knife and I’ll prove it.”

She was a marvel to him, some rare, precious thing sent down from the heavens that he couldn’t seem to stay away from, no

matter how hard he tried. Though, to be honest, he hadn’t tried all that hard. He was drawn to her like a plant to the sun.

“No need, my little warrior. I believe you.” He pressed his lips to hers.

Her bloodthirsty nature momentarily placated, she settled against the crook of his shoulder once more. “I still don’t understand

the reason for your disguise, or why you haven’t just proven everyone wrong. You are a grown man, intelligent, strong and

capable. Anyone who knows you can see it.”

“The situation is more difficult than that,” he said.

“He has too much power and wealth not to use it. When I was young and accused him of murdering my mother, he beat me with his walking stick, then claimed that I’d fallen from a tree.

When I tried to tell the surgeon the truth, the man gave an alarmed glance over his shoulder to my uncle in the doorway.

Then he straightened, his features a pitying mask I’d seen all too often.

His diagnosis was delusional . ‘A likely candidate for the asylum, should his head not heal properly,’ he’d said. And my uncle paid him handsomely.”

At the memory, Jasper let his head fall back against the squabs and expelled a long breath. “I knew then what I had to do.

If I wanted a chance at any life at all, I would have to convince my uncle that I didn’t remember. That the purported fall

from the tree left me without my wits. Though, oddly enough, I never pretended to be dimwitted. I only started lisping again,

and listened more than I spoke. Redcliffe’s tales of my ineptitude had done the rest. At least, until one of my schoolmasters

saw the truth in my marks and spoke to my uncle. I was summarily moved to a new school where money had greater influence.”

“I’m surprised Redcliffe didn’t try to kill you.” She huffed.

“Oh, he did. When I was old enough, he purchased a commission for me, likely hoping that I would be killed in action,” he

said wryly. “But even he is intelligent enough to know that another death, of his heir no less, would draw suspicion. Besides,

there is a twisted part of him that enjoys having the sympathy he gains from having a half-wit nephew.”

“But when you reached your majority, surely someone from the courts...” Her words trailed off when he turned his head to

look at her. “It’s the money, isn’t it? His fortune purchases favors.”

Seeing her distress, he hated to confirm her suspicion, but he nodded.

“Redcliffe buys debt to keep people under his control. Then he presents that control in such a way that those people are grateful to him for coming to their aid. They are seldom aware of how he manipulates them with subtle reminders of the way he’d kept them from debtors’ prison, telling them over and over again that they cannot manage their lives without his assistance. And, before long, they believe him.”

“He sounds like someone else I know,” she said on a heavy breath. “Men in a position of authority and skill for persuasion

know precisely how to lure you in with favors and pretty compliments. They study the way you respond to certain comments,

and their praise becomes more specific. You feel seen, understood as no one has ever done before. So you give him your manuscript.

Then it starts, those well-intentioned words of advice. He offers you ways to improve. It would be such a small thing to change,

you tell yourself, and in doing so you’ve regained his esteem. This begins a habitual cycle—his praise, his disappointment,

your desire to improve, to please—and before you know it, you’re not really thinking for yourself. You’ve ignored the warning

voice in the back of your mind for so long that you no longer trust it.”

Jasper growled, pulling her closer. “I want to murder that playwright.”

“He would love the attention of a grisly demise too much. The only way to hurt a narcissist is to take away the one thing

he loves most.”

“Money and prestige,” he said, thinking of his uncle.

“No,” she said. “You said it yourself—a narcissistic man like your uncle loves control. He loves the infallible image he has

created of himself, and his ability to manipulate others gives him that sense of power.”

Jasper blinked. Damn. At her words, something clicked into place. It was like discovering the key to a map and, all at once, he realized he’d been

looking at it upside down.

But now, the world was laid out before him, waiting for his next step.

Redcliffe wasn’t driven by money and prestige, even though he certainly liked to lord it over people often enough. However, if all that wealth were stripped away, he would doubtless be the same monster.

“The problem is,” she continued, “men like that have had so many people completely in their thrall for so long that it would

be impossible to change the collective opinion.”

“Not impossible,” he said, his thoughts turning as a new strategy took shape. “Difficult, but not impossible.”

And for the first time in a very long time, Jasper felt a spark of hope.