Page 62 of To Wager with Love

“Like?” Harriet breathed, staring down at the silk lined box that Jasper had just presented her with. “Oh, Jasper, how beautiful.”

He grinned. “They’re rubies, but I looked for the pinkest stones I could find. I know pink is your favourite colour.”

She looked up at him, her lips curving into a delighted smile. “How did you know that?”

He shrugged. “You wear pink more often than any other colour.”

Harriet shook her head, laughing softly. “I don’t deserve you, Jasper. After all the dreadful things I thought and said.”

Jasper chuckled and bent down, kissing the side of her neck, pleased as he felt the shiver run over her. “I think we’re even on that score, love, but you can make it up to me if you insist.”

“I do insist, and I’ll spend the rest of my days doing just that, I swear it,” she said.

Her tone such that his blood ran hot in his veins and he wished there wasn’t a ball to attend, but there was, and it was in Harriet’s honour and he wanted her to enjoy it.

“Put them on, then,” he said, impatient now.

“I’m frightened to touch anything,” she admitted. “You do it, please.”

Jasper set the box down. Inside was a ruby and diamond parure set that would go beautifully with the deep pink gown she was wearing. He lifted the necklace out first and she turned so he could secure it about her throat. Next, he clasped the bracelet about her slender wrist, and handed her the earrings, one at a time, watching as she looked in the mirror to affix them.

“I’ve never worn anything so beautiful in my life,” Harriet said, sounding rather breathless as she turned this way and that before the looking glass.

“Not as beautiful as you,” Jasper said, still seeing the doubtful look in Harriet’s eyes. “It’s true,” he insisted. “It shines from you, love, and it takes my breath away.”

He pulled her against him, so her back was to his chest, and bent to press a kiss to her shoulder.

“I love you, Jasper,” she said, and he looked up to see her eyes glittering with emotion. “I love you so much.”

Jasper smiled, the truth of her words settling into his heart as he squeezed her a little tighter. “I love you too.” He marvelled at how easy it was to say that now, at how simple it was now there were no misunderstandings and hurt feelings. “Now, then,” he said, his words spoken against her skin as he kissed a path along her neck, watching the colour rise on her cheeks until it rivalled the rubies she wore. “I think we’d best greet our guests, or I will not let you leave this room at all.”

***

“Thank you so much, Tilda. You and Minerva have worked wonders. I’ve had three people compliment me on my dress this evening already.”

Matilda’s eyes scanned the ballroom, searching, and it took a moment to realise that Ruth had been talking to her. “What? Oh! Oh, I beg your pardon, Ruth, I was wool gathering, and you are most welcome.”

Ruth frowned, concern in her dark eyes. “Is something troubling you?” she asked, putting her hand to Matilda’s arm. “You seem all on edge.”

“No!” Matilda said, fixing a bright smile to her mouth and shaking her head, the little trill of laughter she gave sounded false and brittle however and Ruth was clearly unconvinced. “No, nothing is troubling me. I’m just so happy for Harriet and St Clair, and… and I am rather worried about Bonnie,” she added, hoping to deflect attention from herself.

Besides, it was true enough.

Ruth followed her gaze to where Bonnie was dancing with Harriet’s brother Henry. She was laughing, her head thrown back and every part of her bouncing with exuberance as she threw herself into the moment, as always. Henry looked amused and slightly stunned, which seemed to be the case for most of those watching too. Matilda’s gaze travelled to Jerome who was also watching Bonnie dance, laughter glittering in his blue eyes.

“She’s enjoying herself,” Ruth said cautiously.

“Yes,” Matilda replied with a sigh. “That she is.”

“Has she still said nothing about her dare?”

Matilda shook her head. “Not to me.”

“Oh, well.” Ruth shrugged and gave Matilda a sympathetic smile. “We all rely on your good sense and guidance, Matilda, but you are not our mother and not responsible for our actions. We are grown women and our decisions are our own. You ought not spoil your own enjoyment with fretting for us all. Bonnie will do as she pleases, for good or for ill. You’ve warned her to have a care, now it’s for her to heed your words or ignore them.”

“I know.” The words were quiet but heartfelt. Everyone made their own choices for their own reasons. Sometimes those choices seemed unfathomable to anyone looking on from the outside, but no one knew what went on in another’s heart and mind. “Goodness, it’s hot in here,” she said, feeling the urgent desire to change the subject.

Matilda pressed the glass she held to her cheek, but the drink was tepid and offered no relief. Unbidden a memory stirred, of ice in a glass and the shock of cold against her skin, of a shady walkway, and a man she had no business thinking of. Stop behaving like such a ninny, she scolded herself. No wonder Ruth thought her all on edge, for she was, and had been ever since Lady St Clair had warned her that she’d invited Montagu. It was impossible not to, she’d said to Matilda, sympathy in her eyes, not when they knew he was still in the area.