Jasper stared at him as though he was speaking a foreign language, though his desire to break de Beauvoir’s nose was coming across eloquently enough.
“Love is a nonsensical idea…?” he repeated faintly, too shocked for words. He shook his head and turned back to Harriet, his voice urgent. “Harry, love, I’m sorry for how this has come about, but I’m not sorry it happened. I wanted you last night and I want you now. I want to marry you.”
Harriet swallowed hard and shook her head. “I don’t believe you, Jasper. You’ve humiliated me today, and all because you can’t have what you believe to be yours, but I’m not yours.” Not anymore, she added silently, though her heart was shattering all over again. “I made a mistake, and I’m sorry, but I see no reason to punish us both further when there is no need.”
“Harry, no….”
Harriet’s heart clenched at the desperation in his voice. If only she could believe in that, believe that it was real, and not just for now, not just for a few weeks or months, but always. “You want me, I know you do. Don’t deny it just because it scares you. Just… Just give me a chance. A few weeks… Please.”
“Stop it,” Harriet begged, shaking her head and blinking back tears. She could hear his mother sobbing now too, and guilt and her own wanting was making her giddy and faint. “Please, stop it.”
“No,” Jasper said, shaking his head, clinging to her hands. “I can’t, I won’t!”
“Miss Stanhope.” Everyone turned as Inigo spoke again, his calm, commanding voice cutting through the increasingly overwrought atmosphere.
Harriet turned back to him, grateful for his logical mind and detachment. She wanted to run away from all the upheaval and bury herself in books and research, and anything that didn’t allow her to feel anymore. It was exactly why she had leapt at his offer in the first place.
“Miss Stanhope, upon reflection, I think Lord St Clair has a point. I have no wish to marry you only to discover you have regrets. In the circumstances, I think you need to get whatever this is between you and the earl out of your system. If—once you have purged whatever physical need you feel for the man—you still wish to marry me, I will be happy to continue with our plans.”
Harriet gaped at him. Was he… was he actually suggesting…?
“Oh, there’s no need to look so scandalised,” Mr de Beauvoir said, clearly amused. “We have discussed such things in the past and you know my views on freedom of mind and body. I have no requirement for my wife to be a virgin. I don’t, however, want any emotional scenes and outpourings of regret interfering with my work. I’d rather you get these physical urges out of the way now, rather than change your mind once we’re wed. It’s purely common sense.” He glanced back at Jasper and looked him up and down with obvious contempt. “I feel sure a woman with such a brilliant mind will make the right decision.”
“You cold bastard,” Jasper said, his voice like ice.
For once, Harriet was tempted to agree with him.
There was a spectacular silence in the wake of this pronouncement, and Mr de Beauvoir chuckled as he looked from one shocked face to another.
“Shall we say a week?” he suggested before bowing over her hand. “I’m staying at the inn in the village should you have further need of me. Goodbye, Miss Stanhope. Lady St Clair, Madam, Lord St Clair, good day to you.”
Chapter 5
Alice! Harriet’s in the most dreadful fix! We must do everything we can to lessen the gossip. I won’t be the least bit surprised if you’ve already heard, such news travels at lightning speeds as I know to my cost, but I’m afraid it’s likely all true….
―Excerpt of a letter from Miss Matilda Hunt to Mrs Alice Hunt.
31st August 1814. Holbrooke House, Sussex.
“Leave us.” Jasper’s voice was hard and implacable, and he hardly recognised it, but his mother and Harriet’s aunt had wit enough to leave quickly and without comment.
His heart and mind were being battered on all sides by so many conflicting emotions. It was all he could do to stay still and say nothing while they left. The urge to tear the room apart piece by piece was so tantalising he could taste it. He’d never in his life felt so out of control, so terrified, so bloody angry.
How dare he? How dare that man speak of Harriet in such a way? A man who thought himself worthy to be her husband, yet would hand her into another’s bed until they’d wearied of each other…. Jasper felt sick. He also felt panic rising in his chest.
Inigo de Beauvoir was a name he was familiar with. Not out of interest, but because he’d heard him spoken of often enough. He was a member of The Royal Society, a Fellow of The Geological Society and often held lectures at The Royal Institution, which were so well attended people stood in the aisles to get the chance to hear him speak. Well, the bastard might have a brilliant mind, but he had a lump of bloody ice where his heart should be.
Yet, he was right. Harriet was frighteningly intelligent. She had a mind that Jasper could only admire with quiet awe and could not begin to compete with. Christ… he’d not even gone to university. If bloody Napoleon hadn’t been causing chaos all over Europe, he’d have gone on a Grand Tour rather than continue the daily humiliation of being shown over and over that he was an idiot. As it was, his father had sent him to visit some maternal relatives in Russia, which Jasper had actually enjoyed, though he’d missed Harriet terribly.
Not that she believed that.
Why in God’s name would she choose him over such a brilliant man? Yet… was such a loveless existence really what she wanted, what she needed? He didn’t know if he could make her happy and keep her attention, but damn if he wouldn’t die trying. It wasn’t as if he resented her cleverness or would keep her from learning and spending time with likeminded people. Jasper couldn’t discuss the things she was interested in perhaps, and likely he wouldn’t even understand half of it, but he could give her every opportunity, and he could love her… he did love her.
Clever de Beauvoir might be, but he had miscalculated this time, for once Jasper had Harriet in his bed, he’d make damn sure she never wanted to leave it again. Maybe he was no intellectual giant, but he knew his way around a woman’s body. Perhaps he was nothing but a pretty face, but that face would work in his favour now. He didn’t care what he had to do, how dirty he had to play… Harriet would want him. She’d already admitted as much. She’d want him, flesh and blood and fighting for her. He’d make her need the heat, the passion, and the joy he could give her. Last night had been nothing, a sweet taste of what could be between them, a tantalising glimpse of what it would be like when he made her his. God help him but he would make her so crazy with wanting him she wouldn’t remember her own name, let alone Inigo bloody de Beauvoir.
Once he had some semblance of control over himself, he turned to look at her. She was standing by the window, staring out over the gardens. Her shoulders were hunched, her arms wrapped about herself, the picture of misery.
“Do your parents know?” he asked. “About the engagement?”
She shook her head. “I’m of age,” she said curtly. “They’ve taken little interest in my life to date. I see no reason why it should bother them now.”
Jasper winced. For as long as he could remember, Harriet had longed for her father’s attention. Another brilliant man with cogs and wheels instead of a heart. No matter how hard she’d tried—and she had tried—she could not impress him, for he did not believe the female brain capable of brilliance. Henry was a disappointment to his father in other ways. Oh, he was not stupid—he’d done far better than Jasper had, at any rate—but he couldn’t hold a candle to Harriet. Not that her father ever deigned to notice.
“Do you mean to go through with it?”
“With the engagement?” she asked, her voice dull. “Why not?”
Jasper let out a breath, fighting for calm. “Because you don’t love him, and don’t give me some supercilious nonsense about social mores. You need to be loved, Harry. Everyone does. You deserve
it.”
“Perhaps I need to be understood more.”
“A hit, Harry,” he acknowledged, feeling the barbed edge of that comment sink into the exposed flesh of his heart. He seemed always to wear it on the outside of his ribs these days, open to attack. “Is that why you despise me, because you think me a fool?”
She turned at that, her surprise evident. “I don’t despise you, and I’ve never thought you a fool. Quite the reverse. I’m just tired of being the subject of your derision, and I can’t respect a man who despises learning as you do, who mocks me for everything I hold dear.”
“But I don’t, Harry,” he ground out. “I’ve always admired you. Surely you know that?”
Her bitter bark of laughter startled him. “Oh, yes. You’ve always made a point of admiring my intellect. My, my, the things you know, Miss Stanhope,” she mimicked, capturing his arrogant drawl with quite uncanny accuracy. “How many times have you humiliated me in public, Jasper? Would you like to count the occasions?”
Jasper flushed, knowing he’d deserved that. He had mocked her terribly for her intelligence, often and unkindly, and yes, in public, but only because he was so damned tired of being ignored. Better she hate him and lash out at him, than he cease to exist in her world.
“I didn’t mean it,” he said, knowing that was an inadequate reply, but he’d never been eloquent around her, and he didn’t expect to manage it now. “I just…. Damn it, Harry, you make me so bloody wild when you ignore me!”
She laughed then, and it was such a tired and weary sound his heart ached. “I know,” she said, the words almost soothing. “Poor Jasper. You’ve never been denied anything, have you? God, you were so spoiled. You and Jerome both. The apple of your mama’s eye. It’s a wonder you can dress yourself, oh, but… you have a valet, don’t you?” she added, smiling.
“That’s it then? You think me a pampered puppy with fluff between my ears?”
She shook her head and there was no malice in her words, no heat, but they burned all the same. “I think you’ve never had to work for anything you wanted. You’ve got a decent brain in your head, but you don’t use it because you’ve never needed to, and you’re too lazy to try to be more than you are.”
That was so far from the truth he wanted to wail at the unfairness of it, except she didn’t know that. No one did. She didn’t know it had all been an act to disguise the truth, that he didn’t have a decent brain in his head. It was so much better to be thought a rake and a libertine who didn’t give a damn about his books and his schooling, than let anyone know he was an ignorant fool.
What would she say if she knew he could barely write, any attempt filled with spelling mistakes and odd sentence structure, and that reading was such a chore it made his head explode? Whenever he tried, the letters seemed to rearrange themselves and make no sense at all until he wanted to scream with frustration. He’d gotten by at school by getting the younger boys to read things for him and to write out his homework, learning as much as he could by heart. How could he tell her that? Bright, brilliant Harriet, whom he’d worshipped for so long, so in awe of her abilities… how could he tell her he was all but illiterate? Surely she’d despise him. He was the Earl of bloody St Clair and it took him hours to write the simplest of notes, which would still be barely legible. It was beyond humiliating.
Jasper forced down the knot in his throat. He couldn’t confess the truth, but he could keep trying to make amends for taunting her.
“I’m sorry,” he said, meaning it with such force the words sounded odd to his ears, his voice hoarse. “I’m sorry for all the times I mocked you and made you angry. I never meant it, Harry. I admire you so much, love. I swear I do. Please, don’t refuse my offer without even thinking about it. We… We were close once, you liked me once. You even—”
“No, Jasper.” She swung about and faced him, her eyes glittering and overly bright, but her voice even. “I’ll marry Mr de Beauvoir. It’s for the best. You’ll see that once I’m gone. The minute I’m out of your sight, you’ll forget all about me.”
Jasper’s breath caught at her words. This was what she thought of him, that he was a shallow fool, callous and heartless? Hurt rose in his chest, hot and angry.
“And what about last night, Harry?” he demanded, his voice low as he stepped closer to her. “What about the fact you begged me to make love to you?”
Harriet’s cheeks blazed scarlet, and she tried to turn away from him, but Jasper caught hold of her and pulled her into his arms. She gasped in shock and made a sound of protest until he kissed her, smothering it before she could tell him no. There was a moment of resistance and then she melted, opening her mouth to his and kissing him back. Jasper held her to him so tightly he must have crushed the air from her lungs, but she made no objection, her hands fisting in his hair and pulling, pain that sent desire surging through him, knowing they were both angry, but that she wanted him badly, even though she hated that she did.
“Deny that,” he taunted breathlessly as he stared down at her.
She stared back at him, her dark eyes wider than ever behind her spectacles. They were all askew and she ought to have looked comical, but his heart clenched with longing. God, he was a fool. Of all the women to fall for. It wasn’t arrogance to believe he could have almost any woman he chose with little more than a crook of his finger, it was the simple truth, and he’d fallen for the only one he could never hope to impress.
“I can’t deny there is a… a physical attraction,” she said, the words so cold and clinical he wanted to shake her. “Inigo… Mr de Beauvoir was correct.”
“Oh, yes, love, he was correct.” Jasper laughed, a dark, unhappy sound he didn’t much like. “But I tell you now, if you think you can get me out of your system in a week, you’re very much mistaken. Once I have you in my bed, you’ll never want to leave.”
Harriet stiffened in his arms and pushed at his chest, and Jasper released her.
“I have no intention of going to your bed.”
“But you’ve been told to, Harry,” he mocked, feeling sick to his stomach but unable to stop himself. He was desperate now, fighting for his future, and he’d do whatever it took, no matter how badly he had to behave. “Your husband-to-be wants to know you’ve purged me from your body and mind, and going on that little kiss you’re a long, long way from doing that.”
“Nonsense,” she replied, but she sounded breathless and her eyes were still dark with wanting him. “Lust is a short lived emotion that does not endure. Once you’re out of my sight, I’ll not think on you again.”
“But I shan’t be out of your sight, Harry,” he warned her. “So, don’t think you can run away from this.”
“What do you mean?” she demanded.
“I mean that I deserve a chance, damn it,” he said, what remained of his composure cracking. “I have a week to win you, to make you see that it’s me you want, and I’m not giving up without a fight.”
Harriet swallowed and shook her head.
“What is it, love?” he asked, stepping closer to her. “Afraid you’ll change your mind?”
“No!” she retorted, putting up her chin, her eyes sparkling with indignation. “I will not.”
“Prove it.”
“Fine!”
“Tonight.”
“Yes!” Harriet glared at him, clenching her fists, utterly furious.
Jasper lunged for her and pulled her to him again, kissing her as if it was the end of the world, as if it was the last thing he’d ever know, and his heart sang with triumph as Harriet responded in kind, pressing herself against him with abandon, clutching at his shoulders.
Though it was the hardest thing to do, Jasper broke the kiss and stepped back, so quickly that she swayed. She was breathing hard, her lips reddened from his kiss, her expression a fierce combination of desire, indignation, and anger that he well understood.
“You know where my room is,” he said, the words colder than he’d meant them to be. “I’ll expect
you after dinner.”
She gave a taut nod and Jasper turned on his heel and left the room.
Chapter 6
Dear Prue,
I never got the chance to thank you for persuading Mama to let me stay on with Bonnie and Ruth. They’re such fun and though I know I ought not say such a dreadful thing—it’s so wonderful to be free of Mama for a while.
―Excerpt of a letter from Miss Minerva Butler to Her Grace, the Duchess of Bedwin.
31st August 1814. Holbrooke House, Sussex.
Matilda sighed and looked up at the dark clouds gathering overhead. She had better hurry back to Holbrooke House, she supposed, but she wanted to keep away for as long as possible. She’d made some excuse about needing to buy some new gloves and had walked into the village.
All other guests had left this morning as scheduled after last night’s grand ball, but none of them had risen early and had so been in plenty of time to get all the salacious details of the newest and juiciest scandal. As the guests departed for their own homes, the gossip would go with them, it would be a matter of days before the story was common knowledge.
Ruth, Bonnie, and Minerva had left early, before Harriet’s discovery with St Clair, and had gone to visit an aunt of Ruth’s who lived an hour or so away. They’d return in the late afternoon, which left Matilda as the only remaining guest in the house, a fact which had made her feel awkward. This was undoubtedly ridiculous as you could lose an entire army in the cavernous place and not notice, but Harriet and Jasper needed time alone without worrying about guests poking their noses into their affairs, and Matilda didn’t want to bump into them until they were ready to speak to anyone.
To Wager with Love (Girls Who Dare Book 5) Page 6