Page 46 of To Wager with Love

“I don’t want anyone but you, Harry,” Jasper said helplessly.

“But don’t you see?” A tear slid down her cheek. “Even if that’s true, I’ll always wonder. I’ll always be frightened that the next time you might be tempted, and I think that might drive me mad, Jasper. It’s certainly not fair on you.”

“No,” Jasper said, shaking his head. He got to his knees before her, unheeding of the dirt or the fact that the rain was falling more heavily by the moment, soaking into his coat and running down the back of his neck. “I’ll never be tempted, Harry, because there’s only ever been you.”

She gave an impatient little huff of laughter. “You mean like the day you left for Russia, when you kissed me and asked me not to marry anyone else, and not twenty minutes later I heard you tell Peter Winslow not to be so bloody ridiculous when he asked if you were interested in me? Is that your idea of devotion, Jasper? For I tell you now, it isn’t mine.”

Jasper stared at her in shock, astonished that he’d understood it at last and that it was so outrageously bloody senseless.

“That’s why…?” he said, his voice hoarse. “That’s why you’ve hated me all these years? Because….” He stared at her, unsure of whether to laugh or cry.

“Partly,” she agreed with a stiff nod.

“Oh, Harry. Oh, love, if only you’d said, dear God.” He put his head in his hands and took a deep breath before he was calm enough to speak again. “Harry,” he said, his voice not entirely steady. “Peter Winslow was a spiteful little prick, and I hated him, and he me. He’s been jealous of me since… since I can’t even remember. If he’d known you were important to me, he’d have ruined it. He’d have whispered malicious gossip in your ear or….” He paused as the shocked expression that had entered her eyes at his words deepened. “Christ,” he said, shaking his head. “The little shit. I’ll bloody kill him. What did he say, Harry?”

Harry blinked hard, her eyes too bright and her voice thick. “He… he said he’d heard from his father who’d written to tell him how popular you were and how… how all the women were fawning over you. He said you were—”

Jasper felt rage surge through him and promised himself the pleasure of putting an end to Peter Winslow’s chances of fathering a child any time soon.

“I can imagine what he said,” he growled, beside himself with frustration and bitterness that so much bloody time had been wasted. His anger mounted, his voice growing strident. “It wasn’t true, Harry. There was no one. Good Lord, that was likely the only period of my life when I returned home and saw how pleased my father was with me because I’d behaved myself and not caused any trouble, and it was all for you, Harry!” he shouted this last, overcome with emotion.

Harriet stared at him. “I… I can’t believe it,” she said, staring at him through rain speckled glasses, her hair dripping as the rain came down and neither of them moved. “Y-You never wrote to me, Jasper, not once. Not once in a whole year—”

“You never wrote either!” Jasper snapped back, too aware of how he could have resolved everything with such ease if he’d only been able to write to her. If he’d written to her, reassuring her of his feelings, she’d never had doubted him, but he’d been too aware of how a letter from him would look, how stupid it would make him appear to someone as clever as Harriet. His stomach churned with guilt and regret. “For God’s sake, Harry. We can’t talk here; you’ll catch your death.”

He pulled her to her feet, tugging her with him, intending to take her back to the carriage. They’d have to endure a bloody carriage ride in company, but the minute they got back he was taking her to his bed and leaving her in no uncertain terms of his feelings.

At that moment the heavens opened, the rain falling in sheets and Jasper guided them under the relative shelter of a huge oak tree.

“Thank goodness there’s no thunder this time,” he said, turning to look at Harriet, and finding such a look in her eyes that his heart did a strange little somersault in his chest. She reached for him, grabbing at his neck, pulling his head towards hers and kissing him as if the world was about to end. There was desperation in the way she clung to him, as if she couldn’t ever get close enough.

“Harry,” he said between kisses, his heart soaring because she wanted him, damn it, but his head was telling him she was wet and cold, and they needed to get warm and dry as soon as they could. He tried to pull back. “Harry, love….” he protested, but Harriet’s mouth was hot and urgent and then her hand reached between them, cupping him through his breeches.

Jasper’s breath caught in his throat, sense going out of the window on a rising tide of desire. He pulled her closer, his hands cupping her behind as she tugged at his buttons, freeing him.

Jasper hissed with a combination of pain and pleasure as her cold little hand curled about his overheated flesh. They were hidden beneath the trees here, at least, and no one was mad enough to be out walking in this weather. Besides, they were marrying now, no question. There was no other possible outcome. He tugged at Harriet’s skirts, aware they were damp and clinging to her, but too far gone to care. Hiking them up, he backed her up against the tree, lifting her until her legs wrapped around his waist. He drove inside her in a swift movement that made them both cry out.

She clung to his neck, feverish with excitement, clutching at his hair as he thrust into her over and again.

“Yes,” she cried, the breathless sounds of her pleasure driving him on as the sheer mad, reckless joy of it overtook him.

After so long of wanting, of believing he’d lost her, she was here and mad for him, and he was losing his bloody mind.

“Jasper,” she said, the sound of his name filled with the same combination of wonder at the sheer lunacy of what they were doing. “Jasper,” she said, again, his name lost against the noise of the wind and the rain as her body began to tighten around him, sending him towards the edge. She jolted in his arms, clinging to him and crying out as Jasper swallowed the sound of her pleasure and followed her into ecstasy.

Chapter 14

Dearest Alice,

It was so lovely to hear from you. I am glad to know you and Nate are so happy, though I’m hardly surprised. I am sorry to hear about the morning sickness, but I’m so excited to be an Auntie I’m afraid I can’t be that sympathetic, I’m too pleased by the idea of a niece or nephew to fuss over. I will be sure to visit you when we are both back in town and look forward to discovering if you’ve grown frightfully fat!

― Excerpt of a letter from Miss Matilda Hunt to Mrs Alice Hunt.

1st September 1814. Holbrooke House, Sussex.

Harriet endured the carriage ride home in a kind of daze. Jasper sat close to her, the warmth of his thigh burning against hers, but she was chilled to the bone. The heat of their lovemaking had long since faded, though her cheeks felt warm enough if she considered what she’d done. Heavens, she must have been mad. In The Grove of all places, in public! What kind of licentious creature was she becoming?

She slanted a glance at Jasper, well aware of why she was suddenly capable of such wanton behaviour. The man was like a drug; the more you had of him the more you needed. No wonder Mrs Tate had been so miffed to lose him. Harriet pushed thoughts of Mrs Tate away with irritation. She believed Jasper had no interest in the woman, but her words had been true, too. There would always be the Mrs Tates of this world, trying to steal her husband away from her.