St Clair shrugged. “I’m advised by the doctor that she should make a good recovery, only….” The earl let out a breath. “My father died from an illness that began very much like this, and—”
De Beauvoir nodded. “There’s no need to explain, and I accept your apology. I only came to assure myself that she was well. I could see she wasn’t herself last night, and I told her it was a damn fool thing to have done. Confound her, she could have very well waited until the morning, but… well, she’s a stubborn woman.”
The earl smiled and nodded. “That she is.”
“Jasper!”
Everyone looked up to see Lady St Clair leaning over the balcony. “Oh, good day, Mr de Beauvoir,” she said, before crooking a finger at her son. “Jasper, there’s someone who wishes to see you.”
The earl let out a breath and didn’t even stop to make his excuses. He bounded up the stairs, two at a time, and never looked back. This left Minerva and Mr de Beauvoir alone together, the servants having made a discreet exit once they were certain their master would not do murder before their eyes.
Minerva dithered for a moment before summoning a footman. “I need warm water, tincture of arnica, and some clean cloths brought to the library at once, if you would, please. Oh, and bring some tea and sandwiches too. Mr de Beauvoir has had a trying morning, I fear.”
“If you’d like to come through, Mr de Beauvoir,” she said, smiling at him as her heart thudded with delight at the unexpected prospect of playing nursemaid to his wounds.
“There’s really no need, Miss Butler,” he said, hesitating.
His dark brows were drawn together, and he was looking at her as though he suspected her of having ulterior motives. He really was clever.
“If you could see yourself you would think otherwise,” Minerva said, taking his arm and guiding him to the library. Though she was rather surprised by her own boldness, being alone with him was far from the rigorous notions of propriety she’d always followed, after all, but she would not let the fellow get away that easily. “I’ll ask Temple if a clean cravat can be found. Yours is covered in blood. And we must get something on that eye; it’s swelling at quite a rate.”
De Beauvoir grunted, but seemed to recognise a lost battle when he saw one, and allowed Minerva to bear him off to the library.
She settled him in a chair by the fire with a plate of sandwiches and a cup of tea and then drew up a footstool, arranging the bowl of water and other items on a small table beside her while he ate. Minerva shot him a sideways glance as he inhaled the sandwiches and she wondered when he had last eaten. His large frame was far too gaunt.
Once her supplies were in order, and he’d finished eating, she set to work.
“I can manage perfectly well,” he insisted, trying once more to avert the ministrations of his angel of mercy, but Minerva just rolled her eyes at him.
“You can’t see the damage. I can,” she remonstrated. “So do stop being such a baby.”
“I am not….” he began indignantly before recognising the teasing look in her eyes and giving a huff of resignation. “Why is it women feel the need to tend a fellow’s wounds? I’m perfectly capable, I assure you.”
“We feel the need because we know quite well that you’ll just wipe off the blood with your handkerchief and leave whatever injury is left to fester. Just like you’ve left that button on your coat hanging loose. It’s about to fall off, you know,” Minerva added, shaking her head at him.
“My buttons are my own affair,” he muttered, looking so adorably sulky that Minerva had to bite her lip to stop from laughing.
“Don’t you have a housekeeper, at least?” Minerva enquired, beyond curious to know more about him.
He frowned—which seemed to be his natural expression—and looked vaguely uncomfortable. “She gave notice and left six weeks ago. I’ve not had the time to engage another,” he added, crossing his arms tightly as Minerva wrung out a clean cloth and began dabbing at the blood on his face.
“Ow!” he said, jerking away from her.
Minerva tutted and took hold of his chin with her free hand, holding him in place. “Why did she leave?” she asked, having to expend considerable effort to keep her voice even and not all breathless and bothered as it ought to be, because she was.
She could feel the prickly rasp of whiskers along the uncompromising line of his jaw, and it was doing odd things to her heart.
“There was an… explosion,” he admitted.
Minerva looked at him. “An explosion,” she repeated, amused at the flash of guilt in his eyes, as if he’d just admitted to kicking a ball through a window.
“It was supposed to explode,” he said, clearly irritable, which for some bizarre reason only made Minerva want to hug him. What was wrong with her? “I just forgot to warn Mrs Thompson that there might be a… a bang, and she pitched a fit. The ridiculous woman accused me of trying to blow her up and said….” He stopped and then huffed as Minerva waited for him to finish. He rolled his eyes. “She accused me of being some manner of warlock.”
Minerva sniggered.
“Oh, dear,” she said, failing to keep her voice entirely even. “What a trying time you’ve been having of late, and now you’ve lost your only hope to the call of her one true love.”
That was clearly too much, and he batted her hand away. “Please,” he said, revolted. “They are two attractive, healthy adults. It’s nothing more than lust, a chemical reaction; a primitive desire to procreate. No more, no less.”
Minerva felt her colour rise at his words and saw a glimmer of satisfaction in his eyes at having shocked her. Something devilish stirred in her chest as her temper flickered to life. The desire to show him that he may well be a brilliant man, but he was also remarkably stupid was irresistible.
“So, it would be that way between any man and any woman?” she asked, looking at him with wide eyes.
He frowned, apparently giving the question due consideration. “No,” he allowed, shaking his head. “There are preferences, I’ll grant you. For example, I cannot compete with St Clair’s looks and I shouldn’t pretend to, nor his money,” he added. “Physical appearance weighs heavily with most people, naturally. The prettier the female, the more popular she is and vice versa. Though men are a deal less picky than women until they are forced to wed.”
Minerva nodded gravely.
“Yes, I see.” She pursed her lips, considering his words and wondering how best to go about riling him. “So, when a man and a woman kiss, there is a chemical reaction between them that women wrongly identify as love, when it is nothing but lust. Is that correct?”
He shifted in his seat, clearly a little uncomfortable with the turn the conversation had taken, which was entirely his own fault.
“Not just women. I’ve known perfectly rational men become similarly afflicted by overwrought emotions.”
“So afflicted that they hurried down the aisle?” she guessed, her tone innocent as she suppressed a smile.
“Quite.”
“But a man of science, a man such as yourself, you must be far more objective, I imagine. You could never confuse attraction, or lust, for anything other than what it was?”
“No, of course not.”
“But what about me?” she asked, and it was no effort to make her voice low and breathless for her chest was tight with anticipation. “How can I tell the difference between love and lust? For… I believe I may be in danger of making a dreadful mistake.”
His expression darkened and what little remained of her breath was trapped in her lungs as those piercing grey-green eyes focused on her. “Is some blackguard toying with your affections, Miss Butler? If so, you need only tell me his name and I shall send him on his way. I hope… I hope you’ve not been indiscreet?” he asked, and Minerva was gratified that there seemed something like concern in his expression.
“Not yet,” she murmured, staring at him and wondering if she’d entirely lost her mind. “But… But I’m fascinat
ed, and I think… I think I could fall in love very easily indeed.”
“It is not love, Miss Butler,” he insisted, the words harsh. “At best, it is nothing but a brief infatuation. It will pass, and I implore you not to do anything foolish—”
“Too late,” Minerva said, and leaned in and kissed him.
For a moment his lips were warm beneath hers, and impossibly soft. How odd. She’d not expected that, and then he jerked away from her and stumbled to his feet, staring at her as though she were some manner of venomous snake.
“I’ll not play the fool for you, Miss Butler, if that was your aim,” he said with icy disdain, practically vibrating with fury. “Did you think I would fall at your pretty feet? Try your wiles on another man, one more receptive to such lures, for you’ll not reel me in. Good day to you.”
With that he stalked from the room, slamming the door behind him.
Minerva jolted as the sound reverberated around the room and then touched her fingers to her lips. Well, at least he thinks my feet are pretty, she thought with a sigh.
Chapter 16
Mr de Beauvoir,
I am so sorry that you met with such a violent reception when you came to visit me. I know Lord St Clair regrets his actions but please understand it was out of worry for me. I hope you can forgive us both. I am making a good recovery and will resolve not to stand in the rain again any time soon.
― Excerpt of a letter from Miss Harriet Stanhope to Mr Inigo de Beauvoir.
2nd September 1814. Holbrooke House, Sussex.
Harriet smiled as Jasper hurried into the room and sank to his knees beside the bed.
“Harry,” he said, taking her hand and holding it to his lips. “God, Harry, you gave me such a scare, love.”
“I’m sorry,” she said, meaning it.
She knew how his father had died and remembered the days it had taken him to pass, with each breath more difficult and excruciating to endure, and the violent cough that had made him cry out with pain. The late earl had been a larger-than-life figure, a charming rogue, yet devoted to his wife and children. His death had devastated all of them and had hit Jasper especially hard. Despite the front he put on for his mother’s sake, she’d suspected he’d felt himself ill-equipped to take on the earldom at such a young age.
“Don’t frighten me like that again, please,” he said, closing his eyes and letting out a breath. “I… I’m afraid I might have gone a little bit mad.”
Harriet frowned at him, wondering what he meant. Her head ached, her eyes were sore, and she felt as if she’d swallowed broken glass.
“What?” she asked, which was as much effort as she could manage.
“They carried in you from the carriage last night,” he said. “Soaked to the bone, again,” he added, glaring at her. Harriet might have blushed with remorse if she hadn’t already been feverish. “Then I discover you’d been to see de Beauvoir.”
Harriet’s heart skipped. Oh, good Lord, what had he done? Visions of pistols at dawn and heaven alone what else filled her fever dazed brain. “N-No, Jasper, you don’t understand….” she rasped, forcing the words past her sore throat.
“Hush,” he said, smiling at her. “I do understand. De Beauvoir told me why you’d gone to see him. Sadly, he didn’t manage to say it before I knocked him on his arse.”
Harriet groaned.
“It’s all right. I apologised,” Jasper said, grinning at her. “I don’t think I’m his favourite person, but he won’t call me out.”
She let out a huff of laughter, which quickly turned to a hacking cough, and Jasper fussed over her, plumping her pillows and helping her sit up before he fetched her a glass of water.
“Better?” he asked anxiously, when the coughing fit had subsided.
Harriet nodded, sighed, and lay back against the pillows.
“What did he tell you, Jasper?” she asked.
Jasper took her hand again and laid it against his cheek, before turning his head into it and pressing his lips to her palm. Harriet shivered.
“I think you know,” he said softly.
He looked up at her and her breath caught. He was so beautiful it hurt to look at him, and it was so hard to believe she could hold on to such a man. Yet here she was, feverish and ill—heaven alone knew what state her hair was in, she must look an utter fright—and he was still looking at her with adoration. His brain must be addled, she decided, and tried to remember if Lady St Clair had ever mentioned that he’d been dropped on his head as a child.
“I love you,” she said, because she had to, because he deserved to hear it after all this time.
To her astonishment his eyes grew bright, and he blinked hard before giving a rueful little laugh.
“Thank God,” he said, his voice almost as rough as hers. “Thank you, God, and thank you most of all, my darling girl. I love you too, and I shan’t let you down. I promise.”
Harriet nodded as exhaustion tugged at her eyelids. She was so very pleased to have pleased him and, with a contented sigh, she went back to sleep.
***
7th September 1814. Holbrooke House, Sussex.
Jasper made a nuisance of himself for the next few days, driving Harriet’s poor maid to distraction as he fussed and rearranged everything she’d already arranged perfectly well, but he felt as if he’d go mad with nothing to do.
Harriet slept a great deal at first but, as the days passed, she improved, the fever abating and a healthier tinge returning to her cheeks. This morning, when he entered her room, she was sitting up in bed and looking far brighter.
“Good morning, love. How are you feeling?”
“Bored,” Harriet said with a huff. “I want to get up, but that stupid doctor says I can’t, until tomorrow at the earliest.”
“You’re adorable when you’re grumpy, did you know that?” Jasper said, smiling as he bent to kiss her forehead.
“I’m never adorable,” Harriet replied, wrinkling her nose.
“I beg to differ. Now,” he said, pulling up a chair and sitting down beside her. “We have a wedding to plan.”
Harriet groaned.
“Well, that’s the kind of thing that can hurt a fellow’s feelings, love,” Jasper said, shaking his head at her, well aware it wasn’t the marriage she objected to now, just the fuss.
“I didn’t mean it like that,” she said quickly and then caught the amusement in his eyes. “Oh, Jasper, I can’t bear it. All those people staring at me and wondering how I trapped you into it.”
Jasper felt his temper rise at the idea. “I have already made it very clear to anyone who cares to listen, that I trapped you,” he said, which was perfectly true, but Harriet just snorted.
“Oh, they’ll just think you’re being a gentleman and saving my reputation,” she said irritably.
“Not when they see how devoted a husband I am, trailing around after you like a little lamb.”
Harriet snorted again, though she looked amused this time. “You? A little lamb?”
“Baaaa.”
She snickered and shook her head. “Foolish man,” she said, but with such affection in her tone that Jasper felt his heart swell. She loved him. It seemed utterly impossible, but she’d said so, and Harriet never lied.
Don’t mess it up, St Clair, he warned himself.
“How about a private wedding, in the chapel here? Just you and me, our brothers I suppose,” he added with a long-suffering sigh. “And whatever peculiar women you wish to invite.”
“Peculiar Ladies,” Harriet corrected sternly, before sighing and reaching out to take his hand. “Oh, Jasper, that sounds perfect, but don’t you mind? Won’t your mother be dreadfully disappointed? I imagine she’s been longing to arrange some grand affair.”
“I’ll talk to her,” he said, smoothing his thumb back and forth over her hand, still finding it hard to believe that she had reached for him, that she wanted him.
Anxiety lingered in his heart, the fear that she wanted him against her will, tha
t she knew as well as he did that she’d likely grow bored with him. No, she loves me, he reminded himself, and not just for his handsome face, not just because of how he made her feel in bed, there was more to it than that, wasn’t there?
An unpleasant thread of panic uncoiled in his belly and he swallowed it down.
“I want to marry as soon as we can arrange it,” he said, assuring himself he wasn’t saying it to tie her to him, to ensure she couldn’t ever leave him, wouldn’t have time to come to her senses and change her mind.
“I think we must,” she said with a sigh. “I can only imagine what’s being said about me.”
“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.”
To Wager with Love (Girls Who Dare Book 5) Page 16