Page 19 of Dare it all for Love

“I am not in love with her.”

“Well, you’re something,” Jasper observed with a smirk.

Henry felt his temper flare.

“Very well,” he said, his voice harsh. “She’s beautiful, and I want her. Every time I see her, I want to drag her into a quiet corner and….”

He broke off, disgusted with himself. “I’m sure Gabe wouldn’t mind,” he added viciously, in case Jasper was in any doubt of his predicament.

“If all you wanted was to indulge your lust, I don’t doubt he’d hunt you down like a dog,” Jasper remarked, studying Henry with interest. “But that’s not all you want, and that’s why you’re in such a lather. Admit it, man, you’re running scared.”

“Oh, I’ll admit I’m running scared. I’m terrified I’ll give into temptation, which is all too possible when the girl so obviously wants me to kiss her. What scares me the most is that the moment my lips touch hers I may as well post the blasted banns and have done with it.”

Jasper gave a little huff of laughter and returned a look which was one part sympathy, two parts pity. “Henry, you’re a jolly good fellow and a great friend, despite abandoning us all for a decade, but you’re also being deliberately obtuse.”

“Am I, indeed?” Henry replied through gritted teeth. “And what is it I’m being so dull-witted about, pray tell?”

Jasper shook his head, looking like he too was holding onto his patience now. “Very well, and I say this as your oldest friend, and someone who wants to see you happy. The fact is, you want to get caught, to have the decision taken away from you so you need not admit it’s really what you want and need above all things. For God’s sake, man, just court the girl, will you? Gabriel won’t kill you if your intentions are honourable. Knowing the trouble she’s just endured with her last suitor, he might even be pleased.”

“What suitor? What trouble?” Henry demanded at once.

Jasper only laughed at him, his amusement too obvious.

“Why don’t you ask her?” he said, still laughing under his breath as he rode away.

Henry scowled at his friend’s back.

“Idiot,” he muttered. It was fine for Jasper, he’d been in love with Harriet since he was a boy. He’d always known his lot in life would be to settle down and take on the earldom with a suitable wife. Whilst Harriet had not given him an easy time of it—to say the least—Jasper had known what he wanted, and what was expected of him, from the start.

Henry had thought he’d known once, too. His father had been a brilliant academic who travelled the world, studying ancient civilisations. As a boy he’d assumed he’d follow suit. His father had certainly wanted that. Except it had soon become clear that Henry was not suited to academia. Sitting still, writing lengthy essays had driven him to distraction when he wanted to be out of doors, exploring and discovering the world. Whilst his love of travelling was certainly a trait required for such a future, learning history in the depth required was simply beyond him. His father had made no secret of the fact Henry’s less than pristine school record caused him great disappointment. Not that he took any pride in Harriet either, who was far cleverer than he’d ever been… simply because she was a girl. Indeed, the late Mr Stanhope had been forthcoming about the fact his children were useless and hopeless until the day Harriet had married Jasper, the Earl of St Clair. He’d looked on her with pride for that, much to Harry’s contempt. Henry did not think she’d ever forgiven her father, and he did not blame her in the least.

Henry had thought that he might have done the right thing when he’d begun courting Miss Lily Johnson, the daughter of a viscount. His father had been thrilled by the connection with another powerful family and had, for once, looked upon Henry with something approaching pride. Then his father had died, and they’d had to delay the wedding whilst Henry was in mourning. Henry had wanted the wedding to go ahead, but Lily said she did not want a dull, gloomy affair and had insisted they delay. At least his father had never seen what had happened next, when Lily had jilted him, and not gently either. Henry had often wondered what would have happened if his father had lived and he’d married Lily. He suspected it would have been the greatest mistake of his life, but perhaps that was because he’d become old and cynical in the years that had followed.

When she’d eloped with the Earl of Nettlebury, just days before their wedding, the scandal had been far greater than Henry could have imagined. He’d been humiliated and he wasn’t certain his pride had ever recovered. It was why he’d stayed away for so long. Longer than he’d wanted to, if he were honest, for he’d been homesick. Coming back to face everyone again had been hard. But here he was, hardly back in the country for a couple of weeks and he had some young woman making doe eyes at him and the man he’d always considered his best friend encouraging him to court her.

Well, there was no way on God’s green earth he was walking down that same path once more. He’d die a lonely old man before he let himself get hurt like that again. He’d guard his heart this time, so there was no way some wretched woman could pluck it from his chest and throw it down in the dirt before grinding it beneath her heel. Never again. No matter how temptation beckoned, or how lovely the woman was. This time, he’d listen to his head, not that idiotically flawed and tattered organ that passed as his heart.

“Are you quite sure about this?” Ash asked Florence quietly. “We can stop it if you’re not.”

They had already dropped far behind the others, dawdling and pretending to chatter and admire the scenery. The rest of their party had now moved out of sight, having passed a thick copse of trees.

“I think so,” Florence said, when in fact she wasn’t the least bit sure. Her dare needed completing, though, and this was the only idea that might give her a chance to be alone with Henry. She was certain he was attracted to her now, after that scene in the castle, not to mention this morning. If only she could induce him to kiss her, she felt certain things would go her way. This was her best chance to make that happen.

“Right then, this looks perfect. Florence, you’d best dismount and arrange yourself as though you’ve taken a tumble,” Vivien said, gesturing imperiously for her to get on with it.

“Do you need help?” Ash asked.

“No, I can do it.” Florence kicked her stirrup free and slithered to the ground, not altogether elegantly.

“Right, well, lay down over there, like you’ve fallen from your horse.”

Florence looked at the patch of grass Vivien indicated and did her best to organise her skirts and limbs in an appropriate pose. “Like this?”

“Hmmm, I think you should put your hand up behind you—yes, like that—and the other over your heart… oh, jolly good. Now close your eyes. Yes! That’s perfect. You look lovely, like a tragic heroine. Ophelia, perhaps.”

“Didn’t she drown?” Ash asked sceptically.

“Don’t split hairs,” Viv retorted, waving this away. “Ophelia, once she’d been hauled out of the river and dried off, if you insist.”