Her voice quavered and Jasper bent and kissed her, stealing whatever words she may have found with a kiss that softened her bones and stole her ability to think, let alone speak.
He let her go at last and smiled down at her in satisfaction. “Your glasses are crooked,” he said, the smug devil.
“I’m surprised they haven’t melted,” Harriet replied, straightening them with a dignified little sniff. “There ought to be a law against you, Jasper Cadogan. You’re a dangerous man. I can’t think when you kiss me like that.”
“Well fair’s fair. A fellow has to have some advantages, love,” he said, taking her hand again. “Now, weren’t you taking me somewhere to have your wicked way with me?”
“Is that what I was doing?” Harriet replied, trying to sound tart, which was difficult when her mouth refused to do anything but grin stupidly at him.
“I believe so.”
Harriet gave up and laughed, tugging at his hand. “Come along, then.”
She pulled him on farther until he realised where they were going. “The summerhouse?”
“Of course, the summerhouse,” she said, blushing a little all the same. “Our first kiss was here and so I thought….” Harriet felt her blush increase but he looked so pleased she carried on regardless. “I thought it would be the perfect place for our first night.”
“It’s hardly that.” Jasper smirked, no doubt remembering just as she was that they’d hardly been parted during the endless wait for their wedding day.
Harriet huffed at him, knowing he was teasing. “Our first night as a married couple,” she clarified.
“Well, that sounds very romantic, love,” he admitted, though he sounded a little dubious. “But I think my bedroom might be more comfortable.”
“Ah, that’s what you think,” Harriet said, pleased with herself as she led him to the door.
Jasper gave her a curious look before setting his hand on the knob and pushing the door open. She heard his gasp of surprise and clutched her arms about herself, bursting with delight as he saw everything she’d done. It looked rather magnificent. Swathes of red silk hung from the centre of the ceiling and down the walls, and the floor was thick with rugs and huge cushions in dozens of jewel bright colours. There were gilt platters, heaped with grapes, strawberries, exotic fruits, and tiny pastries, every item a perfect little mouthful. A fire blazed in the hearth and lamps glowed, making the space intimate, warm, and desperately romantic.
“A Thousand and One Arabian Nights,” Jasper said, his voice little more than a whisper.
“It was always your favourite,” Harriet said, closing the door behind her and taking his hand.
Jasper turned to look at her, his eyes sparkling. “You must have read it to me a dozen times, and you never complained when I asked for it again.”
Harriet shrugged. “I loved reading it to you, it was the only time I had your undivided attention, even if it was the book that captured you, and not me.”
“It’s been you for a very long time, Harry,” he said softly. “And it will only ever be you.”
Harriet’s heart did a mad little dance in her chest, happiness bubbling up inside her and she flung her arms about his neck, pulling his head down for a kiss.
“I love you,” she said breathlessly when she finally let him go. “And I have a present for you.”
She laughed, thrilled by the pleasure in his eyes as she went to retrieve the carefully wrapped parcel.
“Actually,” she said, feeling a little mischievous. “If I’m honest, it’s a present for me, not you.”
Jasper returned a curious look and reached for the parcel, tugging at the ribbon holding it closed. He let the paper fall to the ground and shook out the garment folded inside. The fabric was a stunning gold, intricately embroidered and fit for a king.
He looked up at Harriet in surprise. “A banyan?”
Harriet nodded, blushing a little now. “When… When I read the stories to you, I….” Her mouth grew dry, and she felt a little foolish admitting to her fantasies, but she owed Jasper a great deal and she wanted him to know this, to know everything she had dreamed. “I used to imagine that you were Prince Shahryar and I—”
“You were Scheherazade,” he finished for her. “Spinning her tales and leaving each one on a cliff hanger, hoping to live another night.”
Harriet nodded, her shyness evaporating as she saw the way his eyes had darkened.
“I imagined you as the prince,” she said, breathless now. “Dressed in silks and laying back against colourful cushions as I told you my stories.”
“Well, then,” he said, stroking a finger over the heavy silk of the dressing gown. “I would not want to disappoint you.” Harriet’s mouth grew dry as he shrugged out of his coat, throwing it in a careless heap on the floor. He paused then, his lips quirking as he noted the rapt look on her face and made a circling motion with his fingers. “Turn away, please. I would like to give you the full effect.”
Harriet huffed, not wanting to miss out on the tantalising sight of her gorgeous husband disrobing, but did as she was told. The rustle of fabric was a torment that made her long to turn around and steal a glimpse, but she did not, and finally she heard him speak.
“Well, Scheherazade, do I meet with your approval?”
Harriet turned, and the air left her lungs in a rush as she took in the scene before her. Jasper lay back on a tumble of cushions, and every part of him glinted gold in the firelight. He looked every inch the image of the Persian prince she’d imagined, or perhaps an indulged pasha awaiting one of his wives to peel him a grape, or even a pagan god lounging in expectation of his supplicant’s devotions. The banyan fell carelessly from his shoulders, gaping to show an expanse of smooth skin and a line of golden hair that disappeared in a provocative trail beneath the loose tie about his hips.
“Oh, yes,” Harriet murmured, wondering how Scheherazade had kept her wits about her for so long if her prince had looked anything like Jasper. The threat of losing your head must focus the mind rather, she supposed.
Harriet moved closer and knelt before him. She could do nothing but stare, too enraptured by the beauty of him, clothed in silk and firelight and surrounded by the decadent sprawl of brightly coloured rugs and cushions.
“What, no clever story to spin for me, love?” Jasper teased her, his beautiful eyes dark with anticipation.
Harriet shook her head. “No,” she breathed. “Not a one. I must try to please you another way, I suppose.”
Jasper’s lips quirked, and he put one hand behind his head, making an expansive gesture that encompassed the rest of him with the other. “I am at your disposal, wife.”
She leaned in, sliding her hand beneath the warm silk and laying it flat against his chest. His body burned beneath her palm and her breath caught.
“You are always so much hotter than me,” she said, curious as ever, though too impatient to consider why that might be.
She slid her hand down, over his taut belly, until the robe’s belt impeded her path. Harriet gave it an impatient tug and pushed the lush fabric aside, exposing him to her view.
His eyes were upon her, she knew it, but she didn’t care if he saw the adoration in her gaze, the depth of her desire. She could do nothing but drink him in, admiring the sheer masculine beauty before her.
“Mine,” she whispered, daring to meet his eyes.
He stared back at her, his expression serious. “All yours.”
Harriet let out a little sigh of pleasure and then took off her spectacles and set them carefully aside.
“Hmmm, Scheherazade has removed her glasses. Should I be worried?”
“Certainly,” Harriet said, feeling quite indecent and very pleased with herself as she leant down and pressed her mouth to his cock. It leapt at her touch and Jasper groaned as she kissed him again, and again and then gave him a cautious lick. This earned her a gasp and his hips canted towards her, demanding more, so she did it again. She knew he liked this, and lo
ved the urgent sounds he made, but she knew too that she was dreadfully inexperienced and wanted to know more, wanted to be good at this for him.
“Teach me,” she said, staring up at him as her own skin burned with desire. The dark look in his eyes made her feel hot, achy, and impatient, but she wanted to learn this, wanted to give him as much pleasure as he’d given her.
“I think you’re doing admirably,” he said, the words breathless as he curled his fingers into her hair.
Harriet shook her head. “Teach me, I want to learn.”
She saw his throat working, held her breath as he found the words to instruct her. “Take it in your mouth,” he said.
She did as he asked, closing her eyes and sliding her mouth down over him and back. The sound he made sent the blood fizzing through her veins with a surge of triumph and she did it again, her confidence soaring as he gasped and moaned, his hips bucking beneath her as she increased the speed. Feeling extremely pleased with herself, it was a shock then when he pulled away from her and moments later she found herself flat on her back.
Jasper flung the golden banyan aside and tugged at the skirts of Harriet’s wedding dress, bunching them up and moving between them with frantic, almost desperate movements.
“Oh, God, Harry,” he said, settling between her thighs and sliding his arousal against her. Harriet leapt at the contact, his silky skin so hot and perfect that pleasure spiked through her. “Let me in,” he begged, and Harriet could say nothing in reply, too focused on wanting the same thing, on the need to feel him inside her.
“Yes, yes,” she said helplessly, tilting her hips as he sought and found and slid inside her in one, hot surge. A startled cry was wrung from her lips and she clung to him, clutching at his shoulders as he rose up over her. Harriet arched as he pulled back and sank into her again and she laughed with the sheer joy of it.
“Do you like that, Harry?” he asked, staring down at her, his eyes lit with pleasure.
“I like all of it, all of you,” she said, gasping again as he tilted her hips just so and stole her breath.
“Tell me,” he said urgently. “Tell me how much you like it.”
“I love it,” she said, fighting to get the words out as her mind fogged with desire and her body melted beneath his touch, at his pleasure. “And I love you.”
“Say it again,” he demanded, wrapping his arms about her and holding her tight.
“I love you,” she said, and then he claimed her mouth but the words were still between them, in the caress of her hands over his skin, in the touch of her lips against his, and she vowed it would be obvious to him from now on, in everything she said and did.
“Harry,” he said, her name torn from his lips as his body convulsed and his climax surged through him, taking her with him as the two of them clung together, bound together at last, with no foolish misunderstandings to ever keep them apart again.
***
“The Chronicles of the Sasanians, the ancient kings of Persia who extended their empire to the Indies, over all the dependant islands, to a considerable distance beyond the Ganges, and as far as China, acquaint us that there was formerly a king of that potent family, the most excellent prince of his time….”
Jasper lay back against a tumble of silken cushions, the golden material of the banyan swathed over them both as Harriet sat in the cradle of his arms and read to him from the stories of The Arabian Nights. He’d teased her for having brought it to their wedding night, making her blush by demanding if she’d thought she’d be bored, but in truth he was beyond touched that she’d remembered, that she’d thought of it. Memories of other nights, a lifetime ago now, flooded back to him… memories of being enraptured by Harriet’s quiet telling of Scheherazade’s stories, and the way he would look up and catch her eye and she would stumble over the sentence she was reading and blush, before finding her place and carrying on again. He’d spent his entire youth knowing that she loved him, that she adored him and thought him without fault. She’d put up with being dragged through mud and half-drowned and kidnapped and rescued and never had that worshipful gaze faltered.
When he’d returned from Russia to find his world so changed, he’d been bereft and confused, and he’d realised how badly he’d taken her love for granted. It wasn’t until he’d lost her than he’d realised what he’d had. Now he knew. Now they both knew. They both knew how close they’d come to losing what mattered most and they’d not risk such folly again.
Harriet’s voice wrapped around him as she spun the first of Scheherazade’s tales and he tightened his arms around her, holding her to him. She paused and turned her head, looking up at him with a smile.
“I’ll not be able to breathe, let alone read, if you hold me any tighter,” she murmured, though it was clear enough that she was not complaining.
Jasper gazed down at her, utterly charmed by the picture she made, her hair tumbled about her in disarray, her body naked and barely covered by the golden fabric of his gift, her spectacles perched on the end of her sweet little nose and, as ever, a book in her hand. He bent his head and stole a kiss.
“Are you happy?”
Harriet laughed, her expression rather incredulous. “You know I am. If I were any happier, I’d burst.”
“Good,” he said, settling back against the pillows. “I wish everyone we care for could find the same happiness too.”
“What a romantic you are,” she said, turning in his arms to regard him.
He shrugged but did not deny it. “I wish Jerome would fall in love with someone suitable,” he added with a sigh. “I despair of him.”
“Oh, there’s time yet, surely?”
Jasper frowned, troubled. “I don’t know. I fear he’s getting himself into a tangle.”
Harriet sat up, anxiety in her eyes. “You mean Bonnie,” she said, and he heard the edge to her voice. “Jasper, I won’t hear anything against her. She’s a lovely girl, and she’s my friend, and if your brother has taken advantage of her—”
Jasper reached out and pressed a finger to her lips. “Then he shall take the consequences,” he said firmly. “But I cannot pretend I think it is a good match.”
“Why not?”
There was a defiant note to the question that made Jasper smile. He knew that Harriet had always had difficulty making friends. She was too shy, too unsure of herself in company to be at ease, but she had found friends within the odd collection of women that comprised The Peculiar Ladies. He was glad of it, and unsurprised by her loyalty. So, he spoke carefully.
“Bonnie seems like a lovely young woman, and I can see Jerome is fond of her, but I fear he views her as he views his friends, not as… not as a lady he wishes to wed. Jerome has always felt the need to rescue fair maidens. He wants someone to protect and cosset, someone who needs him, and Bonnie—”
“Bonnie is utterly fearless and would face the world head on and spit in its eye.”
Jasper laughed a little and nodded at her description. “Precisely that.”
“You really think it’s doomed, Jasper?” Harriet asked, and his heart sank as he realised his fears had been well founded.
“Why?” he asked, though he knew the answer before she said it.
“Because I’m very much afraid she’s fallen hopelessly in love with him, and I can’t bear to see her hurt.”
Jasper sighed, wishing he’d not seen this coming, wishing he’d been more successful in steering his idiot brother out of trouble. “She’s promised to Morven’s heir,” he said, shrugging. “Even if Jerome announced his undying love for her, which I really can’t see happening, she’s all but engaged.”
Harriet shook her head. “You’d best not let Bonnie hear you say so. I suppose your mother wouldn’t be best pleased, either?”
“She would not,” he admitted. “Though hopefully today has gone a long way to softening any disappointment Jerome may bring her.”
Harriet smiled as he kissed her forehead. “She had hopes of Lady Helena, I think?”
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Jasper nodded. “Yes, I think so, but Jerome didn’t even notice her. Not that she seemed to care a whit either, mind.”
“Well, we shall do what we can,” Harriet said thoughtfully.
“Harry?” Jasper said, feeling anxious himself now. “Whatever do you mean?”
“Oh, nothing really. Only… it’s like you said. All our friends should be as happy as we are, and our brothers too, and if there’s anything we can do to help….”
“Oh, no.” Jasper shook his head. “No matchmaking. I forbid it.”
“You what it?” Harriet repeated, eyes wide behind her spectacles.
Jasper hesitated and tried again. “I believe I meant to say…. We’ll see what we can do.”
Harriet snickered and Jasper poked her in the ribs until she squealed.
“Bully,” he murmured against her ear, before giving it a little nip.
“Who, me?” Harriet replied, all innocence. “I’m Scheherazade. You’re the one threatening to cut off my head.”
Jasper chuckled and settled her more comfortably in his arms. “Well then, wife, you’d best carry on with your story, and make sure it has a happy ending.”
Harriet looked up and planted a kiss on his cheek. “Always, Jasper. I’ll make sure of it.”
Girls who dare– Inside every wallflower is the beating heart of a lioness, a passionate individual willing to risk all for their dream, if only they can find the courage to begin. When these overlooked girls make a pact to change their lives, anything can happen.
Ten girls – Ten dares in a hat. Who will dare to risk it all?
Next in the series
To Dance with a Devil
Girls Who Dare, Book 6
A young woman desperate to escape her fate.
Bonnie Campbell’s time is almost up. In the light of no better offers, her guardian, the Earl of Morven, is forcing her to marry her cousin, Gordon Anderson. Vivacious Bonnie will have no option but to comply, condemning her to spend the rest of her life in the wilds of the Scottish Highlands, far from her friends and any possible chance of fun. During her final weeks of freedom however, she will live as though these were her last days on earth and find the courage to show the man she truly loves, just how she feels.
To Wager with Love (Girls Who Dare Book 5) Page 21
