Page 11 of To Wager with Love

“Harry,” he said, staring down at her so intently that she wanted to turn away. “Do… do you mean to say that… that you do care for me?”

Harriet closed her eyes, the only way to avoid that searching gaze as she shook her head. If he looked into her eyes he’d see that lie for the frail thing it was.

He dropped his hand, and the silence stretched out so long she was almost tempted to look at him. Almost.

“Why, then?” he asked, his tone bleak.

“I….” she began, only to falter as a blush scalded her cheeks. Still, he couldn’t possibly see that in the moonlight. “I desire you.” The words were uneven, forced out as they were. “And you’ll feel better when you’ve… you’ve….” Harriet licked her lips, uncertain of how to phrase it but she supposed they were past polite conversation at this point. “When you’ve had me, you’ll stop acting like I mean something to you and leave me in peace.”

There was a huff of laughter, though he didn’t sound especially amused. “Is that how this works?”

“Yes,” she said, relieved that perhaps he’d begun to understand.

“You’ll be ruined,” he said.

Harriet laughed this time. “No, I won’t,” she said in disgust. “My worth has nothing to do with my virginity.”

“In society’s eyes it does.”

“Oh, stuff society. Besides, no one will ever know.” She opened her eyes and dared to look at him. “I’m going to the summerhouse. Are you coming or not?”

“I’d better, I suppose,” he said, an odd look glinting in his eyes. “If you’re certain it will cure me of this godforsaken obsession with you.”

“It will,” she retorted, with a decisive nod. “I’ve reasoned it out, scien… scientifically,” she said, stumbling a little over the word. “And I’m rarely wrong when I do that.”

“Harry… have… have you been drinking?”

Jasper’s voice was cautious, as well it might be. He knew that Harriet never drank. Losing her grip on reason, losing control… that was a terrifying and appalling idea and good heavens, no. Never!

“Of course I’ve not been drinking!” she exclaimed. “The very idea.” She turned to glare at him and stumbled on the uneven ground. Jasper reached out and steadied her. “I’ve drunk nothing but the fruit punch.”

“Hmmm,” Jasper replied, frowning a little.

Soon enough they reached the summerhouse and Harriet leaned against the door, pushing hard to open as it scraped on the stone flags like it always did.

“I should have that fixed,” Jasper said.

Harry laughed. “You say that every time we come here.”

“We’ve not been here in years, Harry,” he replied.

“Nonsense. We came here when you arranged for Kitty and Luke to meet in private.”

“We didn’t come in.”

Harriet threw up her arms. “Fine, we’ve not been here for years,” she agreed, deciding to let him have his own way.

“It’s been eight years. Eight years since I kissed you, and I don’t think a day has gone by when I’ve not thought of it.”

She turned to look at him and smiled, shaking her head in open admiration. “Gosh, you really are very good at this, aren’t you?”

He stiffened, the movement visible even in the darkness of the summerhouse. The small single room was all shadows, with a little glimmer of moonlight catching here and there.

“Good at what?”

Harriet waved her hand, gesturing roughly in his direction. “Seduction,” she said, feeling another wave of giddiness and reaching out to grab hold of a chair back to steady herself. “You know just what to say to get a woman’s clothes off her, don’t you?”

“You appear to be fully dressed.”