“Harry,” he said, staring down at her so intently that she wanted to turn away. “Do… do you mean to say that… that you do care for me?”
Harriet closed her eyes, the only way to avoid that searching gaze as she shook her head. If he looked into her eyes he’d see that lie for the frail thing it was.
He dropped his hand, and the silence stretched out so long she was almost tempted to look at him. Almost.
“Why, then?” he asked, his tone bleak.
“I….” she began, only to falter as a blush scalded her cheeks. Still, he couldn’t possibly see that in the moonlight. “I desire you.” The words were uneven, forced out as they were. “And you’ll feel better when you’ve… you’ve….” Harriet licked her lips, uncertain of how to phrase it but she supposed they were past polite conversation at this point. “When you’ve had me, you’ll stop acting like I mean something to you and leave me in peace.”
There was a huff of laughter, though he didn’t sound especially amused. “Is that how this works?”
“Yes,” she said, relieved that perhaps he’d begun to understand.
“You’ll be ruined,” he said.
Harriet laughed this time. “No, I won’t,” she said in disgust. “My worth has nothing to do with my virginity.”
“In society’s eyes it does.”
“Oh, stuff society. Besides, no one will ever know.” She opened her eyes and dared to look at him. “I’m going to the summerhouse. Are you coming or not?”
“I’d better, I suppose,” he said, an odd look glinting in his eyes. “If you’re certain it will cure me of this godforsaken obsession with you.”
“It will,” she retorted, with a decisive nod. “I’ve reasoned it out, scien… scientifically,” she said, stumbling a little over the word. “And I’m rarely wrong when I do that.”
“Harry… have… have you been drinking?”
Jasper’s voice was cautious, as well it might be. He knew that Harriet never drank. Losing her grip on reason, losing control… that was a terrifying and appalling idea and good heavens, no. Never!
“Of course I’ve not been drinking!” she exclaimed. “The very idea.” She turned to glare at him and stumbled on the uneven ground. Jasper reached out and steadied her. “I’ve drunk nothing but the fruit punch.”
“Hmmm,” Jasper replied, frowning a little.
Soon enough they reached the summerhouse and Harriet leaned against the door, pushing hard to open as it scraped on the stone flags like it always did.
“I should have that fixed,” Jasper said.
Harry laughed. “You say that every time we come here.”
“We’ve not been here in years, Harry,” he replied.
“Nonsense. We came here when you arranged for Kitty and Luke to meet in private.”
“We didn’t come in.”
Harriet threw up her arms. “Fine, we’ve not been here for years,” she agreed, deciding to let him have his own way.
“It’s been eight years. Eight years since I kissed you, and I don’t think a day has gone by when I’ve not thought of it.”
She turned to look at him and smiled, shaking her head in open admiration. “Gosh, you really are very good at this, aren’t you?”
He stiffened, the movement visible even in the darkness of the summerhouse. The small single room was all shadows, with a little glimmer of moonlight catching here and there.
“Good at what?”
Harriet waved her hand, gesturing roughly in his direction. “Seduction,” she said, feeling another wave of giddiness and reaching out to grab hold of a chair back to steady herself. “You know just what to say to get a woman’s clothes off her, don’t you?”
“You appear to be fully dressed.”
Harriet huffed, dismissing the sardonic tone to his voice. “We’ve only just set foot through the door. I imagine the most practised rake needs a few minutes to work his magic, even if he does look like a fallen angel.”
She flushed then, recognising the gleam of interest in his eyes at her unintended compliment. Still, she’d already admitted she desired him, and he knew he was gorgeous. The way women threw themselves at his head wherever he went would give the humblest of men a clue. To her knowledge, Jasper had never been humble. Nonetheless she turned around, not wanting to see his smug look when he commented on her admission.
“I’m not a rake, Harry.”
That surprised her. Not only that he’d not taken the opportunity to tease her for likening him to a fallen angel, but that he’d deny it. Everyone knew of his affairs, the stories were legion.
She snorted. Not the most ladylike sound and she regretted it immediately, but really… why deny the obvious.
“I’m not,” he insisted. “Half of those stories that go around aren’t true, and the rest are grossly exaggerated.”
Harriet rolled her eyes and turned to face him. “So, you’ve not been having an affair with Mrs Tate?”
He had the grace to look somewhat sheepish but held her gaze. “I never said I was a virgin, either.” There was a slight twitch to his lips. “But I finished with her some time ago.”
“Oh?” Harriet replied, striving for nonchalance. What did she care if it was over between them? It was none of her business, yet, she couldn’t deny that she was glad. “That’s why I have the pleasure of your attention, is it? At a loose end?”
“Damn it, no!”
There was real anger in the explosion of his words, and she jumped, startled, and yet was too slow to react when he closed the distance between them and took her in his arms. His mouth was on hers, hot and fierce and urgent and in that moment Harriet’s resistance—what little of it remained—held up a white flag and surrendered.
Memories assailed her of another kiss, given in this same place. It had been a tentative, sweeter kiss, full of hope and expectation, and she could not help but compare it to this. They had nothing in common. She’d be so young and naïve and idealistic, and Jasper had just been playing, practising his technique, no doubt.
This was different.
A man who knew what he was doing gave this kiss and wanted what she’d so blatantly offered him. It was ferocious and intense, and his arms locked about her, pulling her closer, so close she could hardly breathe. She felt possessed and desired and it was wonderful, dramatic, and not a little overwhelming.
Harriet melted into his embrace, sinking her hands into his hair and finding it warm and silky. Jasper deepened the kiss, plundering her mouth as if he’d die if he couldn’t kiss her, as if she was air and he’d been drowning until their lips met.
Yes, was the only coherent thought in her mind, and, don’t stop, and how strange and pleasant it was not to think. Harriet thought about everything, considering things from all angles, weighing her decisions with mathematical precision, but thought was beyond her now. There was nothing but the heat of Jasper’s body burning through his clothes, the strength of his arms about her, and as he grasped her bottom and hauled her against his arousal she burned too.
Harriet gasped and pressed closer as heat thrummed beneath her skin, the ache that had settled over her flesh earlier that night descending to pulse between her thighs in a steady and insistent throb that seemed to repeat his name.
Jasper, Jasper, oh, yes, please, Jasper.
The next she knew his hands were at the fastenings of her gown and she laughed at the speed with which she was divested of both it and her petticoats.
“Still denying you are a rake?” she said, chuckling and shaking her head with bemusement as she watched her stays tumble to the floor and feeling oddly detached, as though this was happening to a different Harriet, a braver Harriet, one who’d forgotten she was afraid of Jasper, and that she needed to stay far, far away from him.
“Yes,” he said, pulling her back to him and nipping at her earlobe as one hand slid beneath her chemise, smoothing up her thigh. “I was lonely, Harriet. Lonely for you, that’s all. You only needed to crook your finger, an
d I’d have come running.”
Harriet smiled, dazed but not entirely beyond sense. The things men would say to get a woman naked. Strange too, when she’d already agreed to this.
“There’s no need to try so hard,” she whispered, startled to hear the words slur and then gasping as his fingers grazed her sex. She shivered and clung to him. “Oh, yes,” she murmured.
Jasper stilled and drew back staring down at her.
“Don’t stop,” she pleaded, her body alive with anticipation.
“Are you quite certain you’ve not been drinking?” he asked.
“Oh, Jasper, really?” she exclaimed, impatient now. She tugged at his hair, drawing him down for another kiss and he groaned against her mouth as his fingers trailed gently back and forth through the soft curls between her thighs.
“Harry, oh, God, Harry, I want you so much.”
“Yes,” she agreed, beyond saying anything more than that. “Yes, yes, yes.”
“We need a bed,” he said, the words desperate as he looked about the room. He let her go, so suddenly that Harriet stumbled and had to catch hold of the chair back to steady herself. Thankfully, Jasper didn’t seem to notice, too intent on gathering blankets and arranging them on the floor, before tossing a mismatched assortment of cushions onto the pile. Satisfied, he pulled off his boots and cast them down with an astonishing lack of care, knowing what store he placed on the impeccable shine they bore.
His coat and cravat followed, and Harriet watched with rapt fascination as he unbuttoned his waistcoat, flung it to the floor, and tugged his shirt from over his head. Her mouth grew dry as his hands moved to the fall on his trousers and she hardly dared breathe as he pushed them and his small clothes down in one fluid movement before kicking them aside. He was breathing hard now, whereas Harriet thought she might have entirely forgotten how.
Good heavens. A fallen angel indeed.
She stared, unashamedly, studying him like a work of art, for he was that in every sense of the word; so very beautiful. Jasper Cadogan was a masterpiece of male perfection but all heat, flesh, and blood instead of cold, unyielding marble. Her gaze travelled over him, taking in every part of him, from broad shoulders and muscular arms to sculpted abdomen and taut belly, committing it to memory as her eyes moved down to the proud jut of his erection, where she could not help but linger for a long moment before returning to his face.
To her surprise, Jasper hesitated. Was he blushing?
“Still want me, Harry?” he asked, sounding strangely uncertain.
A helpless smile curved at her lips and she nodded. Jasper let out a breath.
“S’not the first time I’ve seen you naked,” she said, and then clapped her hand over her mouth, appalled by the admission. Why on earth had she said that?
Jasper gave a delighted bark of laughter and tugged her back into his arms. Harriet gasped at the feel of his naked body, the fierce heat of him against her through the thin fabric of her shift.
“Oh?” he said, staring down at her with devilry glinting in his eyes. “Have you been spying on me, love?”
He didn’t exactly sound displeased by her revelation, but Harriet still burned with mortification. What was wrong with her?
“Come now, you can’t leave it at that. When was this?”
“Years ago,” she mumbled, wanting to bury her face in his chest but finding his skin hot and silky beneath her touch. She could barely think at all. “You were eighteen.”
Harriet had thought him the most beautiful thing she’d ever seen in her entire life when she’d come across him skinny dipping with her brother in the lake, in that long, glorious summer when she’d been happy. Yet he’d been still a youth then, poised on the brink on manhood. Now he was a man in truth, and he took her breath away, made her heart ache with longing, and the secret place between her thighs pulse with desire.
Unable to stop herself she touched a fingertip to his chest, trailing through the scattering of darker gold hair until she found the flat disc of his nipple and circled it. Harriet watched, intrigued as the skin grew taut beneath her touch, and could not deny the impulse to lean in and lick the tiny nub. Jasper groaned, and the sound thrilled down her spine, a feeling of such power that she couldn’t help but revel in it. She did it again, circling with her tongue now before sucking lightly.
Jasper cursed and suddenly she was being lifted and taken to the floor, laid carefully among the nest of blankets and cushions he’d arranged for them. He kissed her again, undoing the tie that held her shift tied at the neck and tugging it open to expose her breasts.
“Harry,” he breathed reverently as he cupped her soft flesh. “You’re so lovely.”
Harry laughed a little, amused that he was trying so hard but touched all the same. At least he was making an effort.
He stared down at her, a puzzled expression in his eyes. “You are lovely, Harry,” he said again.
“Hmmm,” she said, smiling, not wanting to spoil things by pointing out the obvious.
“I’ll show you just how lovely you are,” he murmured, lowering his mouth to her breast and kissing and licking until she was mindless with pleasure. He moved to her other breast and continued feasting upon her while his hand returned beneath her shift, sliding back to the place that ached for him and seeking out the source of her pleasure.
Harriet gasped and arched under his touch and Jasper murmured sweet things to her that she could not take in, too lost in the pleasure he gave her. He slid one finger into her slick heat and his own moan echoed hers.
“Oh, God, Harry, I want this. I want you. I’ve wanted you for so damned long, I thought I’d go mad. Tell me this means something, love, please.”
Harry couldn’t tell him anything, she was incapable of anything resembling speech, beyond thought or words, dazed with the pleasure he seemed to command from her body so effortlessly. She felt like an instrument that had been left to gather dust suddenly put in the hands of a master. How could he know her body, understand her pleasure, better than she had ever done?
“Jasper,” she said, clutching at him as he raised his head, returning his mouth to hers.
“Tell me I mean something to you, Harry. It isn’t just desire, is it?”
“Oh, Jasper,” she said, wanting to cry, want to tell him not to talk, not to ask her such questions, questions that would leave her vulnerable and exposed far more than having his hands on her in such an intimate fashion. “Stop it, stop it.”
He stilled at once and she wanted to scream with frustration.
“N-No… don’t stop!” she wailed. “Just s-stop talking. I c-can’t think. I don’t want to think. Not now.”
Jasper stared down at her. “Christ, Harry, you are drunk.”
“I’m not!” she exclaimed, furious with him. “I told you, I only drank the punch.”
“Oh, love,” he groaned, resting his forehead upon hers. “That may be, but you’re foxed, and I can’t… damn it, Harry, I can’t make love to you. Not now. I need to know you want this.”
Harriet glared at him, outraged. “Jasper, we’re naked, and your hand is… is there. I think you can safely assume I want this.”
“Do you, Harry,” he said, his voice low as he nuzzled her neck. “Do you really?”
“Jasper Cadogan, if you don’t finish what you’ve started, I will kill you.”
There was a low rumble of laughter and Jasper sighed. “All right, love. Don’t fret, I’ll put you out of your misery.”
Chapter 4
No. I won’t come back, and I certainly won’t marry Gordon bloody Anderson. So there!
―Excerpt of a letter from Miss Bonnie Campbell to The Earl of Morven.
Still the night of the St Clairs’ summer ball. 30th August 1814, Holbrooke House, Sussex.
Jasper could have cried. As it was, he would murder his bloody brother, for he didn’t have the slightest doubt that it was Jerome who had been responsible for lacing the punch. Here he was, with the woman he loved in his arms, only
to discover she was drunk. He’d suspected as much earlier but a) it had been impossible to believe Harriet was drunk, and b) she’d denied it so vigorously he’d believed her, or perhaps he’d wanted to believe her badly enough that he’d ignored the obvious. Either way, he couldn’t pretend he didn’t know now, no matter how much he wanted to.
Yet he couldn’t leave her when he’d worked her to such a pitch. She was so responsive to his touch, far less shy and nervous than he might have expected. He wondered if that was the drink, but thought perhaps it was just Harriet. Before things had changed, she’d been bold enough in speaking her mind around him. It was only in crowds or before strangers she grew tongue-tied and unsure of herself. It always pained him to see it, making him wish he could hold her hand and reassure her.
She didn’t need her hand held now, he thought wryly, as she pulled at his shoulders, tugging him back down to her, clutching at his hair until he kissed her again. He couldn’t make love to her, not now, not when he was uncertain if she really wanted him to, but he could ease the aching he knew she felt.
He kissed her, slow and deep, savouring her, bewitched by the enticing taste of innocence and eagerness as she sighed against his mouth, and his hand returned to caressing her private flesh. It was no hardship to pleasure her, even though his own body ached with the desire to join with her, to make her his in every way, in such a way she could no longer deny she was his, or that they belonged together. As she came apart beneath his touch, arching and crying out, her fingers digging into his back, he stared down at her, his heart bursting with wanting, with loving her, and with the desperate desire to ensure this would be his and his alone, for always.
“Jasper,” she murmured, sleepy now, her limbs pliant and heavy as the pleasure ebbed, leaving her boneless and sated.
“I’m here, love,” he said, gathering her into his arms and pulling her against his chest. “I’ll always be here,” he added as her breathing deepened and she snuggled into his embrace.
***
“Congratulations,” his mother said, her tone dry as she stared down at them.
To Wager with Love (Girls Who Dare Book 5) Page 4