Page 38 of To Wager with Love

What the devil did he mean by that?

Matilda flounced into the chair by the fire, glaring at the note she still clutched. The handwriting was predictably elegant and precise, like the man himself. Even the flourishing M at the end was arrogant. Still seething, Matilda willed herself to consign the aggravating note and any thoughts of the man to the flames. She couldn’t make herself do it, which only incensed her all the more. Instead, she got to her feet, stalked to her bedside table, shoved the note between the pages of the book she was reading and slammed the drawer shut again.

The orchid on her nightstand trembled with the force of the movement, the delicate flowers swaying.

Matilda muttered a curse under her breath and blew out the light.

***

Harriet stared at the rich colours of the canopy over the bed, trying to comprehend the events of the past few hours. Nothing had gone as she had imagined it would.

It had taken every ounce of courage she possessed to walk the dark corridors of the vast house to Jasper’s rooms. Of course, she knew where they were, knew this great behemoth of a house every bit as well as the family did, better even.

She’d remembered the story of the ghost and wondered if she’d see it on the way. She never had done before and was rather ambivalent about the idea of seeing it or not. Whilst it would be unpleasant, it would be interesting to have proof of such a phenomenon. At this point, she’d realised she was trying to distract herself from her current purpose, not terribly successfully either. She was all a-quiver, her heart thudding in her chest so furiously she considered it perfectly loud enough to summon the dead.

Then Jasper had been there, waiting, and… the things he’d said, the way he’d touched her… it had made her hope and dream and….

How could she dare to believe it?

She turned on her side, no easy feat as Jasper had slung an arm and a leg over her. He was sleeping now, not exactly snoring, but breathing heavily. Harriet studied him, pleased with the opportunity to do so at close quarters without scrutiny.

His eyelashes were a darker shade of gold to his hair and ridiculously long. Any woman would kill for lashes like those. He looked boyish and untroubled in sleep, the worry lines she’d noticed around his eyes earlier this evening smoothed away. There was also a very faint scattering of freckles across his nose she’d never noticed before, and which she found perfectly charming. His hands were similarly marked where the sun had browned him, and the knowledge made her smile.

He’d said he loved her. It had sounded as if he’d meant it, too. It had sounded that way all those years ago, though, when he’d asked her not to marry anyone else. Well, she hadn’t, not that anyone had asked. Not until Inigo.

What ought she to do? Being with Jasper, having a life with him, was every dream she’d ever had until he’d broken her heart. Could she really risk it again? Would it not be safer to return to Inigo? They had so much more in common, so many shared interests. Except now there was a new problem.

As she knew he was fully aware, Jasper had not withdrawn at the crucial moment. Which meant there was a chance, slight as it was, that she was carrying the future Earl of St Clair. The idea that he would allow her to marry Inigo now….

Not that it was his choice, but….

She sighed. If she hadn’t been trapped before, she certainly was now. The troubling thing was that she rather thought she might be glad. Perhaps she wasn’t brave enough to trust him again, to allow herself to love him as she had done once, but she could simply let it happen. Now the choice had been taken from her.

What to do about Jasper Cadogan.

Good heavens.

How much of her life had been wasted contemplating that very question? Except it didn’t feel like a waste at this moment.

Jasper sighed. His arm, which was a heavy weight across her middle, tightened, drawing her closer, and he made a sound of contentment.

“Are you asleep?”

“Mmmm,” he mumbled.

“I should go.”

His arm tightened further, and a scowl marred his handsome face though his eyes remained closed. Harriet reached out, smoothing the furrows. “I can’t be found in your rooms, and I’m tired. If I fall asleep, I’ll be here until morning.

His eyes flickered open, and she was dazzled all over again by their remarkable colour, that pale blue-green that was not quite either and yet both at once.

“I rather think that horse has bolted,” he said, a wicked grin flickering at his lips.

“That doesn’t mean I want to start another round of gossip. You know how servants talk.”

Jasper shook his head. “Not Merrick. He hates gossip. He’ll take my secrets to the grave.”

“Hmmm,” Harriet said, not liking the sound of that. “Have many dark secrets do you have exactly?”