Page 32 of To Wager with Love

Anyway, Harriet had never written to him. Not once, and the hurt of that been worse than he’d imagined possible. He’d thought the kiss they’d shared had been special, perfect. It had been for him. He’d not been slow in taking up a young man’s interest in amorous adventures, and by that time he’d learned enough to know that kiss had been out of the ordinary, that Harriet was out of the ordinary. She’d been there, right in front of him all that time, but it was only that summer that he’d truly seen her for what she was, and had fallen for her, hook, line, and sinker.

Jasper smoothed his hand over the worn leather of the binding and tilted it slightly, so it fell open at the only page that mattered. A neat little pencil drawing of Harriet met his eyes, the picture so familiar he knew every line, every shaded contour. She was younger in the image, naturally, but she’d changed very little, her expression as serious as ever. He drew in a deep breath and wished he knew how things had gone so wrong. For a while he’d believed it was because he’d never written, and he’d tried to speak to her—prepared to humiliate himself by explaining, if that was why she was so hurt—but either she lied very convincingly or there was some other, deeper reason for the way she’d cut him out of her life.

He would know, he promised himself. He’d get to the truth, and then he’d do whatever it took to make it right, no matter what he had to say, what he had to do. The idea of his life, of his home, without Harriet in it, was too bleak an image to contemplate.

There was a quiet knock at the door and Jasper almost dropped the book, he was so surprised. All at once his heart was thundering in his ears and he put the book back in the drawer and hurried to the door, pulling it open.

“Jaz, can I borrow that green waistcoat of yours…?”

Jasper glared at his brother, torn between breaking his nose again and howling with despair.

“Fine, yes, whatever. I’ll have Merrick bring it to you in the morning.”

“Jolly good, thanks, old man, oh, erm… Jasper…?”

“Yes, what?” he practically snarled, wanting his brother gone at once.

“Oh, well,” Jerome hesitated and then reached out an awkward hand and patted Jasper’s shoulder in the most uncomfortable show of familial affection it had been Jasper’s misfortune to witness. “I just… well, I hope. You’re all right, aren’t you, Jasper?”

Despite Jasper’s irritation, his brother’s concern was touching. “I’ll do, Jerome. There’s no need to fret, I’ve no intention of throwing myself off a cliff and landing you with the earldom, if that’s what’s bothering you.”

“Oh, thank God,” Jerome said with obvious relief. “I mean, that’s not why I was worried,” he added in a rush. “Not the earldom bit, I mean.”

Jasper snorted, knowing that was entirely true, but also that his brother would rather die than become earl. Far too much responsibility. “I know, Jerry. Don’t fret. Thanks for troubling yourself, though.”

“Oh, well, you’re my brother, Jaz. Don’t like to see you so Friday faced.”

Jasper nodded and made a shooing motion. “Away with you, nodcock. I’m devilish tired and will be in no better frame of mind if you don’t let me sleep.”

Jerome grinned, nodded, and bade him goodnight, obviously quite as anxious as Jasper was to let the conversation lie. With a heavy sigh, Jasper shut the door and leaned back against it. Bloody fool. Of course it wasn’t Harriet. It would never be Harriet. She had more bloody sense than that. Good heavens, the woman had a brain the size of England… what on earth would she want with him?

The knock that sounded was so faint he might have missed it if he hadn’t been leaning against the door. As it was, he jolted in shock and yanked the door open so fast that Harriet leapt back with a squeal.

“Were you waiting by the door?” she demanded, pressing a hand to her heart.

“No!” Jasper retorted, a little too quickly and with too much force, before realising she ought not be seen outside his room and opening the door wide for her to enter. “I… I was just passing the door when… when you knocked,” he said, wincing inwardly as he sounded like a complete idiot. Nothing new there, then.

Harriet entered his room and Jasper closed the door, staring at her in wonder. She’d come. He couldn’t believe it. She’d actually come to him. His throat went dry as he looked at her. She wore a simple white cotton nightgown and wrap. No frills or lace, nothing the least bit provocative about it. How very Harriet, and how very unlike every other woman he’d ever bedded, who’d been all silk and seductive techniques. Yet Jasper had never felt longing the like of which rose inside of him at the sight of her.

She clutched her arms about herself, obviously nervous, and Jasper’s heart ached.

“I didn’t think you’d come,” he admitted.

She shrugged as though it was nothing of import, but it was a stiff movement. “I said I would.”

“I know, but….” He hesitated, wanting to be honest with her, and wanting her honesty in return. “I was afraid you wouldn’t, all the same. I’m so glad you did.”

“Let’s just get this over with, shall we?” she said, tugging at the ties on her wrap with unsteady hands.

Jasper felt the words like a knife but just took a deep breath and stepped closer, stilling her hands with his own. “Harry,” he said softly. “Look at me.”

She shook her head, and he put his hands on her shoulders to find she was trembling.

“Don’t be frightened, love. Not of me. I’d do nothing you didn’t want, surely you know that? I’d not hurt you for the world.”

She snorted at that, and he swallowed.

“I know I have hurt you. I know that, but you have to believe me when I tell you I don’t—”