Page 54 of To Wager with Love

“No one will say a damn thing,” he assured her. “Not if they know what’s good for them.”

She sighed and pressed a hand to her heart. “I do love it when you’re all masterful and growly.”

Jasper snorted, aware he was being teased. “Wretch.”

Her face softened and there was an odd quivering sensation in his heart.

“I love you, Jasper. I always have. You do know that, don’t you?”

He swallowed hard, still unused to this extraordinary revelation, but he nodded, too overcome to speak.

“I can’t wait to get out of this bed,” she said, closing her eyes for a moment.

“I can’t wait to get you back in mine,” he countered, finding his voice again and enjoying the bloom of colour in her cheeks.

She ignored the comment, though her lips twitched.

“I must warn you that Mother is making plans for a grand ball for our engagement party,” he said, smiling at her appalled expression.

Harriet shrugged, her lips quirking. “Oh, well, I owe her that much, if she’s not getting the big wedding she hoped for,” she said with a sigh. “Tell her I approve everything, whatever she wants. I’m in her hands.”

“That will please her,” Jasper said, nodding with approval.

She sighed and turned to look towards the window and the little patches of blue sky visible outside. “I’m so bored,” she complained, the closest thing to a whine he’d ever heard from her. “I can’t even read because it makes my head hurt.”

“Poor darling,” he said, his voice soothing as he leaned over and pressed a kiss to her nose. “You should rest.”

“I don’t want to rest,” she muttered, “I want to do something. Oh,” she said, brightening and sitting up straighter. “You could read to me. Please, Jasper, or I think I’ll go mad.”

Jasper knew a moment of sheer panic. He grew hot, then cold, and then a clammy combination of the two settled over his skin.

“I-I….” he stammered, terrified that she’d discover his secret at last. He knew he had to tell her one day, must tell her, but he hadn’t been prepared to do it so soon, not before they were married at least. He wasn’t ready.

His panic was such that it sent any possibility of coming up with a reasonable excuse vanishing in an unlikely puff of smoke, like a bad magician. All at once, he was eight years old with his tutor breathing down his neck and telling him not to be so bloody absurd, telling him he was doing it on purpose when he discovered the notes Jasper had struggled over for hours were a splotched mess, and many of the words or letters were back to front.

The man had been furious with him, thinking he’d been messing about, and Jasper had been so sick with humiliation and frustration that he’d snatched up the ink pot from the stand and hurled it to the ground. There had been something satisfying in the crash it made, and the way the black ink had splattered everything, covering his tutor head to foot in black splotches and speckles.

That had been the beginning of a lifetime of bad behaviour, of shunning his schoolwork and pretending he didn’t care, when he cared more than anyone could imagine.

“I can’t….” he said, pushing to his feet. “I… I must do… something. I forgot, sorry, darling… I’ll come back later….”

Feeling like a cad and an utter fool, Jasper rushed from the room. Once outside he leaned against the wall, his stomach tied in such a knot he thought he might be sick. Oh, God. Oh, God. She would find him out. She would realise he was a bloody half-wit and then she’d refuse to marry him. What if their children inherited his brains instead of hers? What if….

Stop it, he told himself, forcing the panic down again as he’d taught himself to do. He’d get around it. He always got around it. Perhaps he could memorise the first chapter of a book by heart. No, there wasn’t enough time. It would take him ages, and the only way to manage it was by getting someone to read him the piece over and over as he pictured the words in his head until he could recite it back. He’d managed many awkward situations in such a way over the years, but Harriet would be long recovered by the time he could do it with confidence.

He ran down the stairs and headed outside, running to the one place no one ever disturbed him.

It was quite a walk to Jasper’s sanctuary, which lay on the farthest edge of the home farm: a large, well-lit space in one of the many outbuildings required to serve an estate as vast and opulent as Holbrooke House. This place was strictly out of bounds to everyone, and Jasper had never even let a maid in to clean or sweep, preferring to do such tasks himself. The windows were high on the walls, giving plenty of light but allowing no one to look in, or Jasper to look out.

He let out a breath as he closed the door behind him and leaned against it with relief. The sweet scent of sawdust and drying wood filled the air, and eased the panic that was clawing at his chest and making his throat tight. Taking a moment to lock the door, Jasper removed his perfectly tailored coat and reached for a lightweight, loose fitting version that reached to his knees and covered his expensive clothing. His boots would get covered with dust, and poor Merrick would sigh reproachfully, but there was no help for it.

Jasper moved into the workshop, his hands trailing over chisels and tools the like of which the Earl of St Clair ought never to touch. He turned his hands palm up, amused to see the calluses there, like any common workman. This was where he came when he needed to get away, when his frustration with his own inadequacies left him feeling like a failure, and when his longing for Harriet’s approval bit too deeply.

With a sigh, he selected the chisel he needed, and went to work.

***

Harriet regarded the door Jasper had just gone through—practically at a run—and frowned.