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Jasper was used to being noticed for his size, his manner of speaking and his carefully cultivated ineptitude. These characteristics

typically meant that any gaze falling on him would swiftly turn to dismissal. In that regard, he was somewhat invisible and

could attend to his own matters of business without being called upon to exchange pleasantries.

But one invitation from the Duke of Sherborne and his comfortable, inconspicuous life was over.

On his way to a wharf-side tavern to meet with one of the men who kept him abreast of his uncle’s activities, he’d been hailed

by three different gentlemen. Strangely, they’d all wanted to invite him to their gatherings.

Lord Bromley informed him of having a hunting box in Scotland and asked if he liked shooting quail. Caught off guard, he issued

the first excuse he could think of, stating that he’d had a pet quail as a boy and found the very idea of shooting them a

ghastly crime against the noblest of fowl.

It was a ludicrous response, but it managed to end the conversation.

He hadn’t taken a dozen steps before he was hailed again. This time it was Lord Evans, who asked if he enjoyed cards. Jasper’s

reply to that was that he did enjoy cards and that he’d once built a house six stories tall before it collapsed. Lord Evans

furrowed his brow, at a loss for words as Jasper took his leave.

But as he rounded the corner, the knighted Sir Reginald Wilton inquired if he wanted to be introduced to his cousin, who just so happened to also have a lisp. “You’ve so much in common already.”

Jasper blinked owl-eyed behind his spectacles and spoke in a steady susurration, “ Also has a lisp? I assuredly do not speak with a lisp, sir.”

He’d left Wilton to puzzle that out.

Later that afternoon, he returned to his lodgings. But before he could climb the stairs to his flat, he was stopped by his

landlord.

The scowling Mr. Remus unceremoniously deposited a heap of cards and invitations into Jasper’s hands.

“I ain’t your butler,” the fractious man said, then turned on his heel and stalked to the kitchens.

Arriving at the door to his flat, Jasper saw another pile waiting on the floor and expelled a sigh. It was the worst possible

time for Ansonby to be visiting his mother in Cheshire for a few days.

What was he supposed to do with all these?

He’d never had this problem before. When Jasper had asked his former professor for a favor and his subsequent conversation

with Sherborne, he didn’t expect it would lead to this.

But, because of Althea and the new strategy she’d inspired, his whole life was taking a turn.

It was clear that he’d been wasting years trying to defend against Redcliffe’s type of warfare. He’d been on the receiving

end of his attacks for so long that all he’d known was the necessity to shield and protect. In fact, that was still his first

impulse.

This attention made him nervous. In the past, gaining attention—especially from his uncle—never boded well for him. So this

collective interest from the ton was unset tling to say the least. It made him wonder what dark thing lurked on the horizon.

And yet, because of Althea, he was hoping to find a break in the clouds instead.

His dinner with Sherborne at the end of the week would be the deciding factor.

Jasper deposited the letters on the desk by the window, where he’d recently spent many an hour creating paper flowers.

Buried among the invitations, he saw a letter from his aunt. Breaking the seal, he skimmed the contents, grateful to learn

that she had decided to stay with the busybody Lady Deardorff. Apparently, her sniveling son was off to Brighton and she would

enjoy the company. With this news, even Tempest could have no arguments. Then again, knowing his cousin, she would find something

to be querulous about. He felt a grin tug at his mouth.

He was glad that his aunt and cousins would have a house full of servants to watch over them and they could be at their ease

for a time.

A sharp rap on the door reverberated through his flat and he exhaled through his teeth. If a constant siege of callers was

a man’s reward for being the latest on dit , then he wanted to remain a pariah.

As he strode back across the room, he was glad that he didn’t have to hide the boy and Garmr. For the time, he thought it

best to keep them at the tavern with Barrett and Nan.

Even so, he had to wonder why Mr. Remus hadn’t disposed of this messenger. Perhaps, Jasper should have left word with his

landlord that he wasn’t at home.

When he opened the door, the last person he expected to see was Redcliffe. His surprise must have shown on his face because

his uncle sneered with malevolent pleasure.

It was apparent at once that the furtive attack against his uncle’s character was starting to take its toll. Whenever he reached a certain level of frustration, he looked for someone to crush beneath his boot. That someone was usually his addlepated nephew.

Jasper welcomed it. If his uncle was there, then he wasn’t off hurting someone else.

“Have you read the latest scandal rag?” Redcliffe asked by way of greeting.

“No, Uncle.”

“Of course, you wouldn’t have done. There are too many words with more than one syllable. But I will leave my copy here, and

perhaps you will be able to parse out a few of the less taxing words.” He withdrew the folded pages tucked beneath his arm

and dropped them on the writing desk, his gaze skimming the correspondence as well as the room around him. “Where is your

manservant?”

“Out for the moment.”

With the tip of his cane, he examined the threadbare draperies and issued a sniff as he let them fall. “I had the most interesting

visit earlier.”

Since it was clear that his uncle intended to linger until he’d said what he came to say, Jasper offered an “Oh?”

“With Lord Abernathy.” He cut an unreadable glance to his nephew. “Did you know he was back in town?”

“And why would I know that?”

Redcliffe’s brows inched higher with intrigue. “Why, indeed.”

“Will that be all, then, Uncle?”

But Redcliffe was in no rush to respond. He was taking a leisurely tour of the room, his nose wrinkled in distaste.

When he meandered back to Jasper, the eyes that had once struck such terror in a little boy homed in sharply on him. “I heard

you made quite a fool of yourself over Miss Hartley at the Leighton Ball.”

Any mention of Althea raised his hackles and he didn’t trust himself to respond.

“Pity I was not well enough to witness it,” his uncle enunciated crisply as if he were chewing on glass.

Jasper held that gaze without flinching. “Indeed.”

“You’ll never have her, you know,” Redcliffe proclaimed, his nostrils flared. Then he walked to the door. But before he left,

he added, “And you should really have that chair repaired.”

As he closed the door, Jasper let out a breath and threw the bolt.

Curious, he looked over his shoulder at the chair. Then he saw it... Garmr’s teeth marks.

The weight of dread dropped to the pit of his stomach, and he wondered just what Lord Abernathy had said.

***

Ruination was not on the minds of Lady Broadbent and Althea’s callers the following afternoon. In fact, those who recalled

Thea’s attempted stories of the highwayman were titillated by the presumption that she had heard the rumor first.

To ensure that no one made the small hop in logic to suppose that she and the countess had been the ones in the carriage with

Lord Abernathy, Thea and her chaperone had devised a plan to proclaim that the tale was, in fact, a play she was writing.

There were a few disappointed by this, but others who merely enjoyed the excitement of gossiping about something much more

interesting than St. James.

This provided no small amount of relief for her.

She’d been worried about him and what an accusation of highway robbery landing at his feet might do.

In fact, she’d been much more concerned about him than her own reputation.

By the time her callers left the parlor, however, it seemed as though all worry was for naught.

“I’d say we performed splendidly, my dear,” Lady Broadbent said as she ambled toward the hall, leaning on her cane a little

heavier after coping with the strain of recent developments. “To celebrate, I think I shall rest and, later, have a tray sent

to my rooms. It has been a rather eventful afternoon.”

The countess presented her cheek and Thea dutifully bussed a kiss onto it. “I’ll just put the parlor back to rights and read

for a bit. Then I might retire early, as well.”

When the maid left with the last of the teacups and saucers, and pillows were properly positioned in their places, Thea turned

to go up to her rooms, thinking of continuing work on her play.

The instant she saw a familiar figure framed in the parlor doorway, all thought fell out of her skull like pennies through

a pocket hole.

Kellum.

Well, perhaps not all thought. Unfortunately, her mind was completely capable of summoning the last things he’d said to her a year ago.

You, a playwright?... You are not even worthy of a footnote.

“Miss Hartley,” he said with a grin as if they were just old friends meeting by chance.

Ever needful of acknowledgment, he let the stunned silence drag on, waiting for her to greet him in return. “Sir Archer.”

“I remember when it used to be Kellum .” He stepped into the room, his direct path to her forcing her back a step. “Do you?”

“What”—she swallowed—“are you doing here?”

He moved between two bronze chairs and casually laid his hat and gloves on the low table. “Surely, it isn’t criminal to pay a call on an old acquaintance. Then again, we were more than that at one time, were we not?”

The smugness curling his lip as he let his gaze roam down her body snapped her out of her fugue state and she stiffened.

“It is late and I have other obligations. So, if you have nothing in particular to say, then I beg you would excuse me. I

will have my butler show you out.” Even as she spoke the words, she was surprised by her own mettle and felt quite proud of

herself for walking to the doorway and sweeping her arm toward the corridor.

He seemed more amused than impressed, but he did pick up his hat.

Without hurry, he ambled toward her. “I had a pleasant little chat with our favorite stationer.”

Instant dread filled her. Mr. Fife! You lovable little gossipmonger, what have you done?

“It seems you’ve managed to write a portion of a play involving, of all things, a highwayman. Really, Thea, do you have to

read the scandal sheets for all your inspiration? That is old news. By the time you finish, if you finish, no audience would even be interested.” His gaze dipped to her throat when she swallowed, then his eyes brightened

in triumph. “Still hanging onto someone else’s coattails, aren’t you? Such a pity.”

He tsked, lingering long enough to sniff in her direction as if testing the air for the aroma of cabbages.

She tried to think of the perfect reply that would take him down a notch or two. Something. Anything. But the words refused

to form.

He smirked at her and left.

Thea looked over her shoulder to see if any of the servants had witnessed that encounter. She felt exposed and vulnerable, as if everyone could see her flaws. The voice of her not-so-distant insecurities resurfaced, making her wonder if he was right, after all.

She wanted to hide. She wanted to go home. But home was no longer a place of refuge.

There was only one place that made her feel as if she belonged—in the arms of the one person who made her feel whole. Who

made her feel safe, accepted and cherished for who she was.

Don’t ever let anyone make you doubt yourself, for they cannot fathom all the greatness that resides inside of you.

Thinking of St. James, her heart filled with so much warmth that it overflowed, rushing through her veins, uplifting her.

And, suddenly, she thought of the perfect thing to say to Kellum.

Holding her head high, she stalked to the foyer, past the butler, and threw open the door.

“Beware of the ivy on your way out, you arse. I’d hate for you to trip,” she called out.

Regrettably, Kellum was nowhere in sight... and she had to apologize profusely to their neighbor, Lord Morely.

Even so, she considered it a victory that the perfect setdown came to her within minutes. Usually, she had to wait until replaying

the episode in the bath before winning an argument.