Yet, once again desperation had motivated him to act rashly, and no doubt the outcome would be just as awful. She’d look him in the eyes and tell him she didn’t give a damn for him, and he’d be honour bound to let her go. His heart clenched.
“Please,” he said, staring up at the cloudless sky above him. “Please, let me win her back.”
***
Harriet seethed all the way back to the ballroom. How dare he? How dare he dare her? And such a ridiculous dare it was. Well, she’d show him….
Suddenly, she was looking out over the whirling crowd of dancers again and her stomach twisted into a knot, because no one ever asked Harry to dance. She was a bespectacled wallflower who hid in dark corners and would rather die than be noticed.
How the devil was she to prove otherwise?
A wave of cold travelled over her, followed by intense heat, as she realised what forfeit she’d agreed to. Oh, good heavens.
Lurching a little, she staggered sideways to lean against the wall. Everything seemed to be spinning before her, and not just the dancers.
Harriet, you imbecile!
She would lose this bet and then… and then… Jasper would take her to the summerhouse and….
The hot and cold sensation intensified as a strange ache coiled low in her belly. Oh, no. She did not want that, she assured herself. Yet as she imagined being in Jasper’s arms—imagined his hands on her, his lips—something inside her burned with longing. Her breath caught and panic rose in her chest. If he touched her that way she’d be lost. She’d be sixteen and madly in love all over again, and she’d hand him the power to destroy her utterly.
That would not do.
“Jerome!” Harriet almost shrieked his name as she hurried across the ballroom to him.
As ever, Bonnie was glued to his side.
Harriet wondered if Jerome was the only one who didn’t realise Bonnie was in love with him. Poor Bonnie… another case of love causing misery. Oh, not yet, because Bonnie didn’t appear to have grasped the truth. Jerome would never love her back, and he certainly wouldn’t marry her. Harry knew Jerome as well as she knew her own brother, and Bonnie simply wasn’t his type. She was too bold, too outspoken, too much trouble. The wicked devil would only make the most of her company, have fun with her while he could, and then he’d leave, and Bonnie would be devastated. Oh, not that Jerome would take advantage. He wouldn’t act the cad; he simply wouldn’t notice the damage he’d done. Men so often didn’t.
“Harry!” Jerome exclaimed, grinning at her. It was an echo of Jasper’s smile, though Jerome’s broken nose gave him a slightly more rakish air than Jasper’s Greek god perfection would allow for. “Are you having fun?”
“Are you foxed?” Harry asked, frowning a little.
“Me?” Jerome replied, looking affronted. “As if I would be, at a family affair. I’ve drunk nothing but fruit punch all evening, just as I promised Mother.”
Beside him, Bonnie sniggered, and they exchanged a glance before dissolving into laughter. Harriet shook her head at them.
“Well, never mind that. You must dance with me,” she said curtly.
Jerome straightened up, his expression instantly sober. “You want to dance?” he repeated, looking as if she’d just told him she wanted to perform the dance of the seven veils, not the quadrille or whatever it was everyone was gathering for now.
“Yes.”
“With me?”
He looked so astonished that Harriet’s temper rose.
“Yes,” she repeated, striving for patience.
“You want to dance… with me?” Jerome parroted the entire demand again, clearly needing to be certain.
“Yes, please, Jerome, if it wouldn’t kill you,” Harriet pleaded, wondering if she’d have to beg him. Was it really such a terrible request?
“But you never dance, Harry.”
“Well, I do tonight!”
Having had quite enough of this nonsense, she snatched up Jerome’s hand and dragged him onto the dance floor.
Once in position, Harriet caught sight of Jasper watching her and remembered she was supposed to be enjoying herself. She forced her face into something resembling anticipation and smiled at Jerome.
“Are you quite well, Harry?” Jerome asked, concern in his eyes. “Have… Have you been drinking the punch?”
“Quite well, thank you,” Harriet replied, smiling so broadly her face hurt. “I say, Jerry, can you get some of your friends to dance with me too?”
Jerome blinked, stunned into silence, which was just as well as the dance spun him away from her and it was several seconds before they were reunited. She wouldn’t put it past him to bellow a reply over the entire ballroom. Subtlety was not his strong suit.
“S’pose I could,” he replied, narrowing his eyes. “Why? What’s going on?”
“Nothing,” Harriet said, trying to keep her smile fixed in place. She could feel Jasper watching her; his gaze felt as if it was burning a hole in the back of her neck. “Just decided it’s time to stop sitting in the corner, that’s all.”
“Well!” Jerome clapped his hands together, satisfaction glinting in his expression. “And about bloody time, too. Certainly I can find you some dance partners. Cholly owes me a favour, for starters.”
Harriet sighed. It would have been nice to think he’d not have to blackmail his friends into dancing with her, but it was hardly surprising. Harriet knew she was not popular. She never had been, outside of Jasper and Jerome, and that was only because they’d grown up together. With people she didn’t know, Harriet didn’t have the slightest idea of what to say, and so she said nothing. Naturally, she appeared awkward and diffident, if not outright unfriendly, and when she did finally speak, she usually said something of the sort that stamped the word bluestocking on her forehead. Besides which, she was not exactly beautiful. Not ugly, either, but simply… unremarkable.
Her hair was an unremarkable shade of brown, neither dark nor light, as were her eyes. She was of average height and her figure neat enough, but neither exceptionally slender nor voluptuous. Harriet was the girl that people walked past without noticing, and that was fine, she told herself. If anyone ever noticed her it was either oh, the girl with the spectacles, or a combination of sniggering and bewilderment because she’d said something no one else understood.
Still, she didn’t have to enjoy this, only convince Jasper that she was, and it really didn’t matter why they danced with her, only that they did. So she pasted an expression of delight onto her face and beamed at Jerome, who returned a cautious smile, and around they went again.
***
Jasper watched as Jerome said something to Harriet and she tipped her head back and laughed. Jerome looked a little startled, as did those dancing on either side of them, but it seemed Harriet’s laughter was infectious. Everyone grinned at her and she laughed again as Jerome chuckled and shook his head.
Damn it, you bloody fool, Jasper cursed himself. He’d played this all wrong. He was going to lose her.
As the night wore on, Harriet’s dance partners came and went, all of them shaking their heads and laughing when they left her. Indeed, some didn’t leave. They remained to talk to her and fetch her glasses of punch between dances. When they finally parted, they looked bemused at having been so entertained, which only made Jasper gnash his teeth harder. They were only now seeing what he’d always known. Harriet was a remarkable young woman when she was relaxed and happy. Once upon a time it had only been him who’d seen it, but he had seen it, he’d seen it before anyone else had and surely that meant something. It bloody well ought to. Some of her dance partners looked regretful as they walked away, and it seemed quite a few secured a second dance with her.
Jasper felt his jaw clench tighter. She’d better have saved the midnight waltz for him.
By now, he didn’t know if he was longing for midnight or willing it away. For all that jealousy was burning him from the inside out to see her having such fun with every other el
igible man but him, he was terrified that she would simply look him in the eyes and tell him he meant nothing to her. Perhaps she’d say that she hated him, or perhaps she merely disliked him. Somehow, he preferred hatred to anything less… at least it was a strong reaction. To be merely disliked seemed a pitiful fate. He could not even believe that she would look into his eyes and tell him she loved him, that she’d always loved him and always would. Yet surely she cared, just a little? His heart felt squeezed in his chest.
She had once. She had for years and years. He knew she had, and he’d taken it all for granted, fool that he was, but perhaps she could again? Might she give him the chance?
No matter what, he would jump on the slightest sign that she cared for him and take her down to the bloody summerhouse. Oh, not that he would force himself on her, he wasn’t a blackguard, but he needed to be alone with her, needed a chance to win her back, and he didn’t know how else to try when she wouldn’t speak with him. He knew that women desired him, knew every other woman here believed him exceptionally handsome; it was only Harry who seemed immune to his charms. The trouble was he didn’t care what anyone else thought, and he never had. Harry judged people on their minds. She had no interest in a handsome face or a strong physique, and that was where everything fell apart. She thought him a fool, and he couldn’t pretend she was wrong.
He wished he was clever enough to impress her, and it wasn’t as if he’d not tried. He’d tried bloody hard at school, studying until all hours until he’d realised it was hopeless, and it was less humiliating to pretend he didn’t care than to keep failing.
Naturally she despised him for not caring, for acting as though he had no interest in learning, in anything beyond the superficial, yet he was too mortified to explain the truth.
If she knew she’d pity him, and that would crucify him.
Finally, midnight arrived and Jasper crossed the floor towards her. Please, he prayed as he walked towards her, please, give me a chance.
Harriet was waiting for him, and all the laughter had gone by the time he reached her. She was wide-eyed as she looked up at him; he thought perhaps she was trembling. He hoped so, because if it wasn’t her it was him. Not that this wouldn’t be humiliating enough when she told him she wanted him to leave her alone. He wasn’t entirely a fool, he knew that was the only reason she’d accepted his dare, in order to never be bothered by him again.
Jasper swallowed and took her in his arms, drawing her closer than he ought but unable to stop himself. If this was the last time he’d hold her, he was damned well going to make the most of it.
Chapter 3
Dear Matilda,
How kind you are to worry so about me. I assure you there is nothing dastardly or Gothic in my disappearance. Far from it, I’m afraid for I should be vastly entertained by a villain at this point. Sadly, there is no riveting mystery to entertain you with. My aunt has been a little under the weather these past weeks and she frets when I’m away from her. She’s been such a dear to me that the least I can do is give her my company.
So there, you see. A dull explanation, but nothing to upset your tender heart.
I hope I have put your mind at rest.
―Excerpt of a letter from Miss Jemima Fernside to Miss Matilda Hunt.
Still the night of the St Clairs’ summer ball. 30th August 1814, Holbrooke House, Sussex.
Harriet shivered as Jasper drew her into his arms for the waltz. Strangely, she’d enjoyed herself this evening, as Jasper must well know. For once her nerves had deserted her, and she’d danced and laughed and had a rather wonderful time. How odd, when she’d always despised dancing. Yet, if she were being honest, that wasn’t entirely true. Jasper had been quite correct; she hadn’t always despised dancing. She’d just never learned to enjoy it with anyone but Jasper and his brother. Harriet had learned with Jasper and Jerome and her own brother, taking turns with each of them under the dance instructor’s tuition as she was the only girl. She’d loved those lessons, they’d been full of laughter and fun, and she’d loved dancing with Jasper most of all, because she’d loved him most of all too.
Though she’d told herself all night that she was dreading this moment—for she must tell a bare-faced lie to walk away from him once and for all—she found now that dread was far from her thoughts. She smiled as she remembered those lessons, remembered how patient Jasper had been when she’d trodden on his toes, and the way he’d grinned at her when he spun her into a complicated turn, and she didn’t trip up.
“What are you smiling at?” His voice was soft, and she was too lost in the memory's sweetness to find an easy lie.
“I was remembering our dance lessons,” she admitted, knowing it was a dangerous thing to say in the circumstances. She had to tell him he meant nothing to her. She had to get free of him once and for all.
“That was my favourite time of the week,” he said, surprising her.
“You rotten liar,” she retorted, shaking her head in disbelief. “You hated dance lessons and always said it was a waste of a perfectly fine afternoon.”
Jasper stared down at her and she made the mistake of looking into his eyes. Lord, but he was beautiful. His eyes were remarkable, neither green nor blue but a tantalising mixture of the two, a bright aquamarine that stole her breath whenever she saw them.
“That’s true,” he allowed, smiling a little. “But only up until the summer you turned sixteen. Then… then it was what I lived for.”
Harriet’s eyes stung and she looked away. Despite her best intentions, she gave a snort of laughter.
“You could have fooled me,” she muttered, though so quietly he likely hadn’t heard her.
“Harry,” he said her name like a plea, aching with sadness.
She forced herself to look back at him, determined to end this once and for all. If he was really as unhappy as he sounded—which she could not believe for a moment—then he deserved to be rid of her every bit as much as she needed to be rid of him. This was it. She would tell him she didn’t care for him and they could both move on.
The moment her gaze met his, the words died in her throat and her breath caught as she saw the look in his eyes.
“Harry,” he said again. “Don’t you care anymore? Don’t you care just a little?”
She felt giddy all at once, overcome with heat and emotion and the way he was looking at her, as if… as if he wanted to carry her off to the summerhouse and make passionate love to her.
Oh, good Lord.
No man had ever looked at her that way. She doubted anyone ever would again. Fool. The only reason Jasper looked that way was because she’d rebuffed him for so long. He was like a boy denied a treat, wanting it beyond reason simply because he’d been told no. Yet, an uncomfortable truth rose as she stared up at him and recognised that unrestrained desire.
She felt it too.
She wanted him.
She wanted him badly, and she was indeed a fool to think she could just walk away and he’d not plague her any longer. He would always plague her, even if she was on the other side of the world. He was under her skin and he’d always be there.
Then, perhaps this would finally rid her of him. She snatched at the idea even as a faint voice told her it was preposterous. Harriet hushed it, too eager for a reason to believe in this new and alluring possibility. Perhaps if she gave in to her physical desire, her stupid heart would recognise that it had only been lust, not love. Certainly Jasper would be done with her. He’d lose interest once he’d had what he wanted, and she’d come to her senses once and for all. Why not just get it over with and put them both out of their misery?
In that moment it seemed perfectly logical. A perfectly reasoned argument. Harriet could deal with a logical argument, it was emotions she struggled to comprehend. This wasn’t her heart leading her. That would be foolish. No, this was a cold, calculated decision that would set her free.
“Harry, answer me, for the love of God,” he begged.
She didn’t answ
er him. Answering him was far too dangerous. No. Far better to just get it over with now the decision had been made. The dance ended, and she didn’t let go of his hand but tugged at it, pulling him from the dance floor.
“Harry,” he said, his voice urgent. “What are you doing? You promised to answer the question.”
She ignored him and forced her way through the throng, heading outside the open doors and into the darkness beyond.
“Where are we going?” he demanded, an odd note to his voice as she hurried down the steps and into the garden. “Harriet, for heaven’s sake, slow down! Where are we going?”
She still didn’t answer, moving so fast she was breathless.
“Harry!”
“To the summerhouse,” she said over her shoulder, impatient now and not slowing her pace.
There was a stunned silence.
“The summerhouse?”
The hand she held tugged back and with such forced she stumbled into him. Jasper steadied her, his hands at her waist once more. She stared at his cravat, which gleamed a snowy white in the moonlight. Looking into his eyes was a very bad idea, as she’d already concluded, so she forced her gaze to remain riveted on the pristine linen.
“Why are we going to the summerhouse?” he asked, and she thought he sounded breathless too.
All that running had winded them both, she supposed.
“You know why,” she replied, irritated by the question. It had been his dare, hadn’t it?
He tilted her chin up, forcing her to look at him. Damn it, those dreadful eyes… there should be a law against them. They gave him an unfair advantage over lesser mortals.
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