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“Let’s set something straight, the two of us. You seem to be plotting a campaign of kindness. No doubt with the aim of soothing my tortured soul. It would be a waste of time. My temperament was not created by injury; it will not be magically healed by sweetness or pet names. Am I making myself clear? Do not harbor any illusions that my scars transformed me into a jaded, ill-tempered wretch. I was always—and shall remain—a jaded, ill-tempered wretch.” “Were you always this long-winded, too?”
The pebble smacked into a stable door on the opposite side of the alleyway. A horse whinnied. From the loft above, a sleepy groom called out in anger, “Oi! Who’s there?” Trevor looked at Ash. Ash looked at Trevor. They each mouthed the same word at the same time. Run. Once safely down the lane and around the corner, Trevor put his hands on his knees and panted. “I’m”—huff—“still working on my aim.”
“She could walk in on the duke while he’s dressing,” Mary suggested. All the servants perked up at that one. “Oooh.” Khan apparently agreed. “Now that has possibilities.”
“Monster of Mayfair Assaults Local Lad.” “Monster of Mayfair Terrorizes Three in St. James Street.” “Monster of Mayfair Abducts Lambs from Butcher. Dark Rituals Suspected.”

