Page 4 of To Wager with Love

“Because it’s delicious,” Helena said, beaming at him. “Much better than the usual dull brew that’s offered. I usually spend all evening wishing I could drink champagne, but not tonight.”

She gave him a rather hazy smile.

Matilda watched as the duke’s suspicious expression deepened. He lifted the empty glass to his nose, muttered a curse, and upended the glass to allow the dregs to trickle onto his tongue.

“Damn me!” he exclaimed, outraged. “No wonder you’re enjoying it, that’s the most potent fruit punch I’ve ever tasted.”

“Robert?” his wife asked, looking at him in concern. “What’s in it?”

“What isn’t?” he replied, shaking his head. “But from the way all the young ladies have been consuming it, this should be a lively night.”

***

Harriet sipped at her punch, absently wondering why it tasted so much better than usual, and watching the colourful whirl of colours as the dancers flew about the ballroom.

“Care to dance, Harry?”

She stiffened at once, the familiar voice sending awareness skittering through her like hens scattering before a fox. How the devil had he found her? She’d thought this dark corner the perfect hiding place. Harriet forced herself to turn and look at Jasper.

Something that might have been panic rose in her chest as she noted the hopeful gleam in his eyes. It’s not real, she reminded herself, he looks like that for all the women. You’re nothing special.

“No, thank you, my lord,” she replied. Remembering her promise to be less awful to him, she strove to keep her tone light and pleasant. “B-But thank you for asking.”

There, that was perfectly civil.

“Oh, come on, Harry,” he wheedled. “You’ve not danced all night. Please… won’t you dance with me?”

See? muttered a little voice in her head. This was the problem with Jasper Cadogan. He couldn’t understand that every woman in the room wasn’t willing to fall into his arms at a moment’s notice.

“I don’t like dancing, Lord St Clair. I believe I’ve reminded you of that before now,” she said, before realising her voice had grown tart. She took a breath and forced a stiff smile to her lips before adding, “But thank you again for the kind offer.”

“That’s not true,” he said, his voice far too low, far too intimate. “At least, you always used to love dancing. You used to beg me to dance with you.”

To her intense frustration, a blush seared her skin. It felt as if it began at her toes and rose in a swift wave, until all the visible parts of her were a bright pink, almost the same colour as her gown.

“We were children then,” she said, doing her best to keep her tone calm and even. She would not lose her temper with him. Not tonight. She turned back to concentrate on the dancers again. “Things change.”

“I know that,” he said, and despite herself she looked up at him, taken aback by the sorrow in his voice. “You’ve changed, Harry.”

And whose fault is that? She wanted to rage at him, but she didn’t, couldn’t. She’d never let him know how badly she’d been hurt. She’d been made a fool of too thoroughly already, and she’d not live through it again.

“That’s Miss Stanhope, my lord,” she replied, lifting her glass to take a drink before discovering it empty. Without another word, she set off to fetch another.

“No, it isn’t.”

With irritation, she looked over her shoulder to discover Jasper following her.

“What?” she asked, threading her way through the crowd.

Jasper moved closer, taking her arm to stop her progress and leaning down to speak in her ear.

“It isn’t ‘my lord,’ and it isn’t ‘Miss Stanhope.’ For heaven’s sake, Harry, we’ve known each other since we were babies.”

Harriet tugged her arm free and opened her mouth to give him a set down, before remembering her resolution. Damn, but this was harder than she’d realised.

“Excuse me, my lord. I’m dreadfully thirsty.”

She curtsied and then hurried off again, not terribly surprised to arrive at the refreshments room and discover he was still following her. See, this was why she had to be rude to him, nothing else got through his thick head. There was the usual crush of people at the refreshments table, but Harriet pushed through to the huge punch bowl. The crush of bodies and the humid evening air had given her a raging thirst and—despite it being dreadfully unladylike—she downed one full glass of punch with a sigh of relief before refilling her glass.