Page 8 of To Wager with Love

Harriet, you imbecile!

She would lose this bet and then… and then… Jasper would take her to the summerhouse and….

The hot and cold sensation intensified as a strange ache coiled low in her belly. Oh, no. She did not want that, she assured herself. Yet as she imagined being in Jasper’s arms—imagined his hands on her, his lips—something inside her burned with longing. Her breath caught and panic rose in her chest. If he touched her that way she’d be lost. She’d be sixteen and madly in love all over again, and she’d hand him the power to destroy her utterly.

That would not do.

“Jerome!” Harriet almost shrieked his name as she hurried across the ballroom to him.

As ever, Bonnie was glued to his side.

Harriet wondered if Jerome was the only one who didn’t realise Bonnie was in love with him. Poor Bonnie… another case of love causing misery. Oh, not yet, because Bonnie didn’t appear to have grasped the truth. Jerome would never love her back, and he certainly wouldn’t marry her. Harry knew Jerome as well as she knew her own brother, and Bonnie simply wasn’t his type. She was too bold, too outspoken, too much trouble. The wicked devil would only make the most of her company, have fun with her while he could, and then he’d leave, and Bonnie would be devastated. Oh, not that Jerome would take advantage. He wouldn’t act the cad; he simply wouldn’t notice the damage he’d done. Men so often didn’t.

“Harry!” Jerome exclaimed, grinning at her. It was an echo of Jasper’s smile, though Jerome’s broken nose gave him a slightly more rakish air than Jasper’s Greek god perfection would allow for. “Are you having fun?”

“Are you foxed?” Harry asked, frowning a little.

“Me?” Jerome replied, looking affronted. “As if I would be, at a family affair. I’ve drunk nothing but fruit punch all evening, just as I promised Mother.”

Beside him, Bonnie sniggered, and they exchanged a glance before dissolving into laughter. Harriet shook her head at them.

“Well, never mind that. You must dance with me,” she said curtly.

Jerome straightened up, his expression instantly sober. “You want to dance?” he repeated, looking as if she’d just told him she wanted to perform the dance of the seven veils, not the quadrille or whatever it was everyone was gathering for now.

“Yes.”

“With me?”

He looked so astonished that Harriet’s temper rose.

“Yes,” she repeated, striving for patience.

“You want to dance… with me?” Jerome parroted the entire demand again, clearly needing to be certain.

“Yes, please, Jerome, if it wouldn’t kill you,” Harriet pleaded, wondering if she’d have to beg him. Was it really such a terrible request?

“But you never dance, Harry.”

“Well, I do tonight!”

Having had quite enough of this nonsense, she snatched up Jerome’s hand and dragged him onto the dance floor.

Once in position, Harriet caught sight of Jasper watching her and remembered she was supposed to be enjoying herself. She forced her face into something resembling anticipation and smiled at Jerome.

“Are you quite well, Harry?” Jerome asked, concern in his eyes. “Have… Have you been drinking the punch?”

“Quite well, thank you,” Harriet replied, smiling so broadly her face hurt. “I say, Jerry, can you get some of your friends to dance with me too?”

Jerome blinked, stunned into silence, which was just as well as the dance spun him away from her and it was several seconds before they were reunited. She wouldn’t put it past him to bellow a reply over the entire ballroom. Subtlety was not his strong suit.

“S’pose I could,” he replied, narrowing his eyes. “Why? What’s going on?”

“Nothing,” Harriet said, trying to keep her smile fixed in place. She could feel Jasper watching her; his gaze felt as if it was burning a hole in the back of her neck. “Just decided it’s time to stop sitting in the corner, that’s all.”

“Well!” Jerome clapped his hands together, satisfaction glinting in his expression. “And about bloody time, too. Certainly I can find you some dance partners. Cholly owes me a favour, for starters.”

Harriet sighed. It would have been nice to think he’d not have to blackmail his friends into dancing with her, but it was hardly surprising. Harriet knew she was not popular. She never had been, outside of Jasper and Jerome, and that was only because they’d grown up together. With people she didn’t know, Harriet didn’t have the slightest idea of what to say, and so she said nothing. Naturally, she appeared awkward and diffident, if not outright unfriendly, and when she did finally speak, she usually said something of the sort that stamped the word bluestocking on her forehead. Besides which, she was not exactly beautiful. Not ugly, either, but simply… unremarkable.