Page 52 of To Wager with Love

“It is not love, Miss Butler,” he insisted, the words harsh. “At best, it is nothing but a brief infatuation. It will pass, and I implore you not to do anything foolish—”

“Too late,” Minerva said, and leaned in and kissed him.

For a moment his lips were warm beneath hers, and impossibly soft. How odd. She’d not expected that, and then he jerked away from her and stumbled to his feet, staring at her as though she were some manner of venomous snake.

“I’ll not play the fool for you, Miss Butler, if that was your aim,” he said with icy disdain, practically vibrating with fury. “Did you think I would fall at your pretty feet? Try your wiles on another man, one more receptive to such lures, for you’ll not reel me in. Good day to you.”

With that he stalked from the room, slamming the door behind him.

Minerva jolted as the sound reverberated around the room and then touched her fingers to her lips. Well, at least he thinks my feet are pretty, she thought with a sigh.

Chapter 16

Mr de Beauvoir,

I am so sorry that you met with such a violent reception when you came to visit me. I know Lord St Clair regrets his actions but please understand it was out of worry for me. I hope you can forgive us both. I am making a good recovery and will resolve not to stand in the rain again any time soon.

― Excerpt of a letter from Miss Harriet Stanhope to Mr Inigo de Beauvoir.

2nd September 1814. Holbrooke House, Sussex.

Harriet smiled as Jasper hurried into the room and sank to his knees beside the bed.

“Harry,” he said, taking her hand and holding it to his lips. “God, Harry, you gave me such a scare, love.”

“I’m sorry,” she said, meaning it.

She knew how his father had died and remembered the days it had taken him to pass, with each breath more difficult and excruciating to endure, and the violent cough that had made him cry out with pain. The late earl had been a larger-than-life figure, a charming rogue, yet devoted to his wife and children. His death had devastated all of them and had hit Jasper especially hard. Despite the front he put on for his mother’s sake, she’d suspected he’d felt himself ill-equipped to take on the earldom at such a young age.

“Don’t frighten me like that again, please,” he said, closing his eyes and letting out a breath. “I… I’m afraid I might have gone a little bit mad.”

Harriet frowned at him, wondering what he meant. Her head ached, her eyes were sore, and she felt as if she’d swallowed broken glass.

“What?” she asked, which was as much effort as she could manage.

“They carried in you from the carriage last night,” he said. “Soaked to the bone, again,” he added, glaring at her. Harriet might have blushed with remorse if she hadn’t already been feverish. “Then I discover you’d been to see de Beauvoir.”

Harriet’s heart skipped. Oh, good Lord, what had he done? Visions of pistols at dawn and heaven alone what else filled her fever dazed brain. “N-No, Jasper, you don’t understand….” she rasped, forcing the words past her sore throat.

“Hush,” he said, smiling at her. “I do understand. De Beauvoir told me why you’d gone to see him. Sadly, he didn’t manage to say it before I knocked him on his arse.”

Harriet groaned.

“It’s all right. I apologised,” Jasper said, grinning at her. “I don’t think I’m his favourite person, but he won’t call me out.”

She let out a huff of laughter, which quickly turned to a hacking cough, and Jasper fussed over her, plumping her pillows and helping her sit up before he fetched her a glass of water.

“Better?” he asked anxiously, when the coughing fit had subsided.

Harriet nodded, sighed, and lay back against the pillows.

“What did he tell you, Jasper?” she asked.

Jasper took her hand again and laid it against his cheek, before turning his head into it and pressing his lips to her palm. Harriet shivered.

“I think you know,” he said softly.

He looked up at her and her breath caught. He was so beautiful it hurt to look at him, and it was so hard to believe she could hold on to such a man. Yet here she was, feverish and ill—heaven alone knew what state her hair was in, she must look an utter fright—and he was still looking at her with adoration. His brain must be addled, she decided, and tried to remember if Lady St Clair had ever mentioned that he’d been dropped on his head as a child.