Page 12 of To Wager with Love

Harriet huffed, dismissing the sardonic tone to his voice. “We’ve only just set foot through the door. I imagine the most practised rake needs a few minutes to work his magic, even if he does look like a fallen angel.”

She flushed then, recognising the gleam of interest in his eyes at her unintended compliment. Still, she’d already admitted she desired him, and he knew he was gorgeous. The way women threw themselves at his head wherever he went would give the humblest of men a clue. To her knowledge, Jasper had never been humble. Nonetheless she turned around, not wanting to see his smug look when he commented on her admission.

“I’m not a rake, Harry.”

That surprised her. Not only that he’d not taken the opportunity to tease her for likening him to a fallen angel, but that he’d deny it. Everyone knew of his affairs, the stories were legion.

She snorted. Not the most ladylike sound and she regretted it immediately, but really… why deny the obvious.

“I’m not,” he insisted. “Half of those stories that go around aren’t true, and the rest are grossly exaggerated.”

Harriet rolled her eyes and turned to face him. “So, you’ve not been having an affair with Mrs Tate?”

He had the grace to look somewhat sheepish but held her gaze. “I never said I was a virgin, either.” There was a slight twitch to his lips. “But I finished with her some time ago.”

“Oh?” Harriet replied, striving for nonchalance. What did she care if it was over between them? It was none of her business, yet, she couldn’t deny that she was glad. “That’s why I have the pleasure of your attention, is it? At a loose end?”

“Damn it, no!”

There was real anger in the explosion of his words, and she jumped, startled, and yet was too slow to react when he closed the distance between them and took her in his arms. His mouth was on hers, hot and fierce and urgent and in that moment Harriet’s resistance—what little of it remained—held up a white flag and surrendered.

Memories assailed her of another kiss, given in this same place. It had been a tentative, sweeter kiss, full of hope and expectation, and she could not help but compare it to this. They had nothing in common. She’d be so young and naïve and idealistic, and Jasper had just been playing, practising his technique, no doubt.

This was different.

A man who knew what he was doing gave this kiss and wanted what she’d so blatantly offered him. It was ferocious and intense, and his arms locked about her, pulling her closer, so close she could hardly breathe. She felt possessed and desired and it was wonderful, dramatic, and not a little overwhelming.

Harriet melted into his embrace, sinking her hands into his hair and finding it warm and silky. Jasper deepened the kiss, plundering her mouth as if he’d die if he couldn’t kiss her, as if she was air and he’d been drowning until their lips met.

Yes, was the only coherent thought in her mind, and, don’t stop, and how strange and pleasant it was not to think. Harriet thought about everything, considering things from all angles, weighing her decisions with mathematical precision, but thought was beyond her now. There was nothing but the heat of Jasper’s body burning through his clothes, the strength of his arms about her, and as he grasped her bottom and hauled her against his arousal she burned too.

Harriet gasped and pressed closer as heat thrummed beneath her skin, the ache that had settled over her flesh earlier that night descending to pulse between her thighs in a steady and insistent throb that seemed to repeat his name.

Jasper, Jasper, oh, yes, please, Jasper.

The next she knew his hands were at the fastenings of her gown and she laughed at the speed with which she was divested of both it and her petticoats.

“Still denying you are a rake?” she said, chuckling and shaking her head with bemusement as she watched her stays tumble to the floor and feeling oddly detached, as though this was happening to a different Harriet, a braver Harriet, one who’d forgotten she was afraid of Jasper, and that she needed to stay far, far away from him.

“Yes,” he said, pulling her back to him and nipping at her earlobe as one hand slid beneath her chemise, smoothing up her thigh. “I was lonely, Harriet. Lonely for you, that’s all. You only needed to crook your finger, and I’d have come running.”

Harriet smiled, dazed but not entirely beyond sense. The things men would say to get a woman naked. Strange too, when she’d already agreed to this.

“There’s no need to try so hard,” she whispered, startled to hear the words slur and then gasping as his fingers grazed her sex. She shivered and clung to him. “Oh, yes,” she murmured.

Jasper stilled and drew back staring down at her.

“Don’t stop,” she pleaded, her body alive with anticipation.

“Are you quite certain you’ve not been drinking?” he asked.

“Oh, Jasper, really?” she exclaimed, impatient now. She tugged at his hair, drawing him down for another kiss and he groaned against her mouth as his fingers trailed gently back and forth through the soft curls between her thighs.

“Harry, oh, God, Harry, I want you so much.”

“Yes,” she agreed, beyond saying anything more than that. “Yes, yes, yes.”

“We need a bed,” he said, the words desperate as he looked about the room. He let her go, so suddenly that Harriet stumbled and had to catch hold of the chair back to steady herself. Thankfully, Jasper didn’t seem to notice, too intent on gathering blankets and arranging them on the floor, before tossing a mismatched assortment of cushions onto the pile. Satisfied, he pulled off his boots and cast them down with an astonishing lack of care, knowing what store he placed on the impeccable shine they bore.