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At nightfall, Jasper relieved the man he had watching over Lady Broadbent’s townhouse and took over. After Redcliffe’s unsettling

visit, he wasn’t about to take any chances.

To make matters worse, the ton was all abuzz with the similarities of Althea’s highwayman tale to that of Abernathy’s. It took no great leap to imagine

that some might speculate over those details and call her reputation into question.

Was that why she hadn’t attended any parties that evening? Or why he still saw a light burning in her window, long after midnight?

From the constant shift of the shadows from the room within, he knew she wasn’t seated at her desk. Was she pacing the floor

with worry?

He knew that finding a place of acceptance in society was like trying to walk a tightrope during a squall with the wind buffeting

from either side, forever keeping you off balance. And that was if society approved of you. But for those on the outside,

it seemed impossible to reach the tightrope at all. He didn’t want her to suffer such a fate, especially because of him.

Which was an excellent reason for him to stay in the shadows.

An excellent reason not to throw a pebble at her window just to have a glimpse of her face and to tell her that he would do whatever he could to protect her.

Even if that meant he would need to create a scandal to put the ton ’s focus back on him.

He would do anything—risk everything—for her.

In the end, it was the last thought that made the decision for him.

Bending down, he retrieved a small white pebble from the garden path and tossed it toward her window. As it struck the glass

with a ping before pattering to the sill, he told himself that all he needed was to see her face. That would be enough. He

just had to make certain she was safe and well.

Then the light extinguished from the room without even the faintest movement of the curtains. He frowned, not only disappointed

but with worry gnawing at the center of his gut. So, he sent another pebble sailing. Like before, there was no face at the

window.

For a moment, he debated over stealing in through the back door. But it was too much of a risk. Hadn’t he already taken too

many with her?

Resigned, he decided to send her a missive in the morning, along with the flower he’d brought with him. That way she would

know he was thinking about her. And she would know he was watching over her, as well.

With one last glance at the darkened window, he turned away...

Just as a shadow sprinted across the garden.

Instantly on guard, he prepared to launch himself at this intruder and give him the pummeling of his life.

Then, much to his surprise, the intruder launched herself at him.

The hood of Althea’s dark cloak flew from her hair as he caught her, and she pressed her head against his chest, wrapping

her arms around him. “I’m so glad you’re here.”

He held her, searching her features and finding worry notched in the lines between her brows. “What has happened?”

“So much, I wouldn’t even know where to begin.”

He made a swift decision and took her by the hand. “You’re coming with me.”

***

The instant Jasper led her inside his flat, he regretted his decision.

With a glance around the space, all he could see were the imperfections—the frayed threads, patches of exposed webbing on

the rug, mismatched furniture with more than a few nicks and gouges. He hadn’t cared a whit about what his home looked like

when his uncle had been here. But with her it was different.

She was too fine a creation to be in such squalor. Even standing there in a black woolen cloak, dark hair escaping her plait

to frame her face in a disorder of curls, she was all grace and perfection.

When she absently picked up a broken bookend, it made him all the more aware that they were from two different worlds.

“I’ve never been in a gentleman’s flat before,” Althea said, her eyes wide as she took in the ramshackle surroundings of his

hovel.

“I should hope not.” He came up behind her and slid the cloak from her shoulders. He did have manners, after all. But when

he saw her, he quickly put the garment back on her body. “Do you ever wear anything other than your nightclothes?”

Was she trying to test his self-restraint?

“Perhaps if someone hadn’t ruined three of my gowns...”

“And all for naught, it seems. I should have tried harder to keep Lord Abernathy quiet instead.” Taking long strides to the

other side of the room, he busied himself with pouring her a glass of whisky.

Then he stopped. Whisky?

What the devil was he thinking? He didn’t want her drunk, tipsy or even sleepy. Because then the seldom-inhibited Althea would

only want to curl her soft, warm and enticing body against his.

No. No. Definitely not a good plan.

So he downed the whisky himself and poured water for her.

“Not to mention, if you had ever let me finish my tale, I could have relayed that the man in the story, which I supposedly

only heard”—she cleared her throat—“had cried like an infant and soiled himself. I’m certain Abernathy would not have wanted

that version linked with him.”

“Now I’m regretting that I stopped you.”

He turned, water glass in hand to find her perusing the room, her fingertips reaching through the part in her cloak to trail

lightly over the fluted edge of a creamware dish that he’d never paid much attention to before. Ansonby had likely acquired

it at some point. By way of an excuse for wasting good coin on bric-a-brac at market, his manservant was forever citing that

even a viscount without means needn’t reside in such squalid surroundings without an occasional reprieve for the eye.

But the dish wasn’t what captured his attention. It was her. Always her. She made everything beautiful and elegant just by being near it. Which was further proof that he never should have brought

her here.

She cast a dubious glance over her shoulder on her way toward the mantel as she continued her exploration of the room. “As

it stands, my days of telling tales of highwaymen are over. I’ve decided to retire the play. Not that it would have ever made

it to the stage, as Sir Archer so kindly reminded me this afternoon.”

Jasper tensed, trying to rein in a surge of anger at the reminder of what she’d told him in the carriage about her unwelcome visitor. It bothered him that the man had showed up on her doorstep without warning. In his opinion, unannounced visitors usually had an agenda. So what was Archer’s?

“What I cannot fathom is why he felt compelled to pay a call on me?” she asked, mirroring Jasper’s thoughts as she distractedly

opened the glass face of the rosewood clock. “One would think a cat would tire of toying with a mouse he’d left for dead a

year ago. What did he hope to gain? A final twitch? A death rattle?” She shook her head and snapped closed the oculus door.

“It doesn’t matter. I am wholly unaffected by the entire encounter. I’ve put it completely behind me.”

What a lovely little liar.

Crossing the room, he abandoned her glass on the water-ringed surface of a wobbly table and went to her. He enfolded her in

his embrace, ignoring the warning bell that clanged in the back of his mind as she settled perfectly against him.

“Don’t listen to him. If you want to write that play, then you shouldn’t let anyone stop you.” He pressed a kiss to the top

of her head. “Besides, Archer is a self-important little man, threatened by those who have seen him for what he is, because

he knows that you can shatter the illusion he has created for himself.”

“I appreciate your support, more than you’ll ever know,” she said with her cheek resting against his chest. “However, the

bigger reason I’ve given it up is that I don’t want to endanger you.”

A wry grin tugged at the corner of his mouth. “I can take care of myself.”

Even though he knew her play was about a highwayman, he was more concerned with someone daring to tell her that she wasn’t

good enough to write it than about any trouble it might cause him if it were performed for an audience.

Jasper would be her champion, her protector. No matter what it cost him.

“That may be true, but I’ll protect you, all the same.” She plucked at a loose thread on one of his waistcoat buttons. “That’s

what people do when they love each other.”

His breath caught. The reliable gears that had kept his cynical heart ticking all his life suddenly ground to a halt, quaking

the floor beneath his feet. His pulse raced through his veins, rushing in his ears so loudly that he was sure he hadn’t heard

her correctly.

Then she stepped out of his stunned embrace, blinking up at him, owl-eyed. “That was... unexpected.”

Right, he thought. It had been a mistake. Of course it had. After all, for most of his life the idea of what he should expect,

what he deserved—and, more importantly, what he did not—had been pummeled into him.

“A slip of the tongue. Easily forgotten,” he managed.

She didn’t seem to hear him, but began to pace back and forth from one side of the worn rug to the other. “I’m usually quite

observant. Then, one minute I was just talking and the next... love came out. Is that how it happens? But no, that cannot be true.”

“You don’t need to explain.”

“I have to write this down. Something this monumental is vital for future character development,” she said to herself as she

pivoted on her heel and whisked past him on her way to his cluttered desk.

Without pausing in her one-sided conversation, she uncapped the ink, grabbed the first quill she could find, then began to

write on the backs of his discarded invitations. “I supposed that I’ve been carrying around an empty husk for so long now

that I didn’t realize what was happening. But I think it must have started with your lisp.”

“My... lisp?”

“Mmm-hmm,” she murmured absently, quill scratch ing over the paper.

“There was just something about the way your tongue touched the edge of your teeth that had me enthralled. I couldn’t look away.

The very sight of it made me all flustered and warm.

That warmth transformed into a peculiar fluttery feeling of unknown origin.

Then it happened again when you first paid a call, looking all bashful and adorable.

I’d wanted to throw my arms around you, right then and there.

And, honestly, the very fact that I could so easily forgive you for ruining the gown with the velvet pockets should have told me everything.

It seems so obvious now. I’ve been in love with you for weeks and I didn’t even know it. ..”

Jasper wasn’t sure what was happening to him. All he knew was that he couldn’t draw in a single breath. The more she talked,

the harder it was to breathe.

“The stealthy beginnings of this love have been coming on so gradually that I didn’t really know until I’d just blurted it

out. But what an abominable trick for it to happen at Nell’s soiree, of all places!” She laughed, shaking her head. As she

dipped into the ink, she glanced over her shoulder. “Your lips are starting to turn blue around the edges. Better take a breath,

St. James. If you decide to faint or have a fit of apoplexy, just wait until I’m finished, hmm? Now, where was I... Oh

yes, the paper flowers...”

She turned her attention back to the hasty scrawls while Jasper was slowly asphyxiating. He needed her to stop talking. Just...

stop.

He felt as though he were standing in the center of a storm with the wind sweeping and swirling all around him, blowing with

such force that it left an absence of air where he was. And her words were a cacophony of wind chimes, ringing all at once.

“Those blossoms are the last things I see every night before I close my eyes, and the first when I open them each morning.

Is it any wonder that I fell in love with you?”

“Stop,” he rasped, his throat dry as dust.

He needed air. He needed quiet to think.

She continued to scratch the tip of the quill. “That’s a peculiar thing to say. ‘Stop.’ As if I had a choice in the matter.

Besides, it’s your own fault. That night in Abernathy’s carriage, you claimed that you didn’t take from women. But that was

an unmitigated lie, because you clearly stole my heart.”

She was relentless. Absolutely relentless! Couldn’t she see that he was on the brink of death? And when she laughed, the music

of it was too much to bear.

His steps toward her were heavy, sluggish as if he were ripping away roots that anchored him. “Stop. I mean it, Althea. You

don’t know what you’re saying.”

“What? That I’m in lo —”

He didn’t give her a chance to finish.

Taking her by the shoulders, he lowered his head and crushed his mouth to hers.

It was only meant to stop her. To give him a moment to gather his thoughts, to formulate a concise argument that explained

all the reasons it was impossible that she could love him. Not him. Not the awkward gangly boy he’d once been, and certainly

not the behemoth viscount without two shillings to rub together that he’d become.

And yet, as her arms twined around his neck and her mouth surrendered sweetly beneath his, he started to want the impossible.