Page 49 of To Wager with Love

“My lord,” she called after him, noting the fact he was wearing the same clothes he’d been in last night, and that he’d not yet shaved.

He looked tired and dispirited and, on seeing her, he stiffened, his expression wary.

“I can assure you there is no impropriety,” he said, the words brittle. “Her maid is with her and my mother has been coming and going since daybreak.”

“Oh, Lord St Clair, as if I give a hoot about such things,” she said, shaking her head at him. “Me, of all people? I only wanted to enquire how she was. Is there anything I can do, anything at all?”

He sighed, rubbed a weary hand over his face, and shook his head. “Forgive me, Miss Hunt. I’m tired and… and scared to death, if you want the truth. She’s burning up and….” He swallowed. “My father died of pneumonia.”

“Oh, my lord,” Matilda said, her heart clenching at the fear glittering in his eyes. “But surely Harriet is not at risk of…?” She stopped, unable to put it into words.

She watched St Clair swallow. “No,” he said, his tone decisive. As though it would be because he decreed it, and that was that. “No, she is not. She is dreadfully unwell, but it is not yet pneumonia, and she has the best care, and… and I won’t let her, damn it. Not now.”

Matilda reached out and put her hand on his arm. “I thought Harriet looked happy yesterday, on the way back home. The way she smiled at you, I hoped—”

“So did I,” he replied, the words edged with desperation. “But last night, instead of getting herself warm and dry, she went out again, into that bloody deluge. She went to visit Mr de Beauvoir, Miss Hunt. Now tell me, why would she do that?”

“I….” Matilda began, halted by the look of devastation in St Clair’s eyes. “I’m perfectly sure there is a very good explanation,” she said firmly. She stared at him, willing him to believe her, for she knew Harriet would not play either him or Mr de Beauvoir false. She was too inherently honest, to her own detriment sometimes. “Harriet is the most decent and loyal person I have ever known, and she would never treat you so shabbily. Surely you know that?”

St Clair swallowed hard and then gave a taut nod. “Yes. I do. I keep telling myself that and most of the time I believe it. Only…” He sighed and raked a hand through his hair. “I’m afraid I can’t think very clearly at the moment. If you’d excuse me, Miss Hunt. My mother has refused to let me back in the room until I’ve bathed and changed.”

“Of course,” Matilda said, her heart full of sympathy for the poor man as he strode away from her.

***

Jasper looked up as he heard the bedroom door open, and sighed as he saw the maid tiptoe out for a moment. Not that he’d be left alone with Harriet for more than a few minutes; her bloody maid guarded her like a dog with a bone. The poor girl would probably die of outrage if she knew what they’d done in the park yesterday, in the rain….

God damn him for a bloody fool.

Guilt ripped through him. Harriet had been chilled to the bone then, and he’d known it, but he’d been too bloody consumed with his own needs to consider anything else. What the hell had he been thinking? Taking her up against a tree like a common strumpet, and in the pouring rain, too. He was a bloody filthy satyr, and if anything happened to her….

Anguish closed his throat, and he shied away from the idea, unable to finish the thought.

He would not watch Harriet slip from his grasp as his father had. It was just a fever, nothing more. It wasn’t pneumonia, the doctor had said so. Yet, her hand was hot and dry when he reached for it and he lowered his head, pressing a kiss to her fingers.

He looked up as the door opened and his mother appeared. Jasper blinked hard and looked away. He heard the rustle of expensive fabric as Lady St Clair moved to stand beside him.

She laid her hands on his shoulder and pressed a kiss to the top of his head. “Stop fretting so, dearest. She’s a strong young woman, and she has a great deal to do. Not to mention, she’s one of the stubbornest creatures that was ever born. She’s not going anywhere, I promise you, and Dr Haysom agreed there was no undue cause for alarm, did he not?”

Jasper looked up into his mother’s beautiful face, filled with the childish desire to believe her without question. Her expression was serene; she clearly believed it, and the doctor had said as much…. Something in his chest unwound just a little, and he took her hand and held it to his cheek. “Thank you.”

“Of course, my darling boy. Now, I am going to sit with my soon-to-be daughter-in-law, and you will have something to eat. Merrick tattled on you, I’m afraid, so don’t tell me you had a hearty breakfast, for I know you did not. There’s not a bit of use trying to convince me that half a slice of toast is sufficient for a man of your size, so… run along now.”

She made a shooing motion and Jasper knew better than to argue. With a long-suffering sigh, he cast one last look at Harriet and got to his feet.

“You’ll call me, if….”

Lady St Clair gave him a look that told him he was an idiot.

“Yes, of course you will. Thank you, Mother.”

She inclined her head graciously and seated herself in the chair he’d just vacated, so Jasper had no choice but to leave her to it. Once outside, he realised he really was famished, and he was halfway down the stairs when Temple showed a visitor into the grand entrance hall.

“You!” Jasper growled.

Whether it was a sleepless night sitting by Harriet’s bedside whilst she sweated out a fever, or simply the fact he’d been longing to knock the fellow’s block off since the first moment he’d seen him, Jasper wasn’t entirely sure. He certainly didn’t care. All he knew was that he was simmering with too much pent-up emotion and the safety valve had failed. He exploded across the hallway, grasped Mr de Beauvoir by his none too tidy cravat, and hit him.

***