His broad brow creased in a frown. “I could simply not have demanded that you honor our agreement.” His voice held a trace of irritation now.
“I considered that. But that would have left me under an obligation to you, and you might have thought I’d find that intolerable. Letting me win would have been the gentlemanly thing to do.”
“I did not let you win,” he bit out.
“It’s just that … well, there was absolutely no reason for you to lose. I watched how you played. You had to have known I had the ten of—”
“You’re going to make me admit this, aren’t you?” He advanced, forcing her to back up until she collided with the wall. Planting his hands on either side of her shoulders, he leaned in to growl, “You won fair and square. You beat me because of your superior playing. Happy now?”
“No! I simply cannot believe that a man of your skill with cards—”
His mouth covered hers, taking her by surprise. It was warm, fragrant with the tang of hops from the ale he’d drunk, and oh so soft. Only his lips touched her, but that was enough to bring long-suppressed urges to the fore.
It was like gulping ale on an empty stomach—the sudden rush of heat, the roiling in one’s belly, the tingling that spread from her head down to the tips of her fingers and toes. The smell of wool and soap and man intoxicated her—she hadn’t been this close to a man in years. She’d forgotten how good they could smell.
And how good they could feel, for his lips were molding hers, teasing hers. Barely conscious of what she did, she opened her mouth. He tensed against her, as if in surprise, but then his tongue sank inside and he pressed into her, his body hardening. She felt every inch of him, from the muscled chest meeting her breasts to the bulge rising between his legs.
Undaunted by that evidence of his arousal, she slid her arms about his neck and lifted up on her toes to better accept his kiss. His hands slid down to clasp her waist, pulling her between his thighs as he drank of her mouth over and over.
Time stopped. There was only this man she barely knew, taking charge of her mouth as if it were his right. His fingers dug into her waist, the thumbs caressing her ribs as his tongue tangled with hers, exploring, wreaking havoc on her senses. Wild feelings careened through her chest and belly, making her hot and achy, making her want. Lord, it had been so long since she’d felt the heady pulse of desire.
Suddenly a sound, like something falling in a nearby room, made him tear his mouth from hers and back away, instantly alert. For a moment they merely stood there, both panting, their gazes locked upon each other.
What had she been thinking? She’d let him kiss her, and worse, she’d kissed him back!
Though she and Rupert had made love only once, they’d come close several times before, being stupid and young and infatuated. She’d never forgotten the pleasures he’d introduced her to. Now Jarret had chipped away at thirteen years of respectable living, and she’d simply stood still and let him.
Didn’t she know better by now? Encouraging such behavior never led to anything but trouble for a woman like her, especially when the man was known for his wild living. Sons of marquesses didn’t marry poor spinsters from Burton. They bedded them. He’d made that quite clear.
He leaned close. “As I said, Annabel, I’m not that much of a gentleman.” His rough rasp of her Christian name set her pulse to pounding. “I didn’t let you win. I played the nine of hearts because I got distracted and failed to notice that the ten hadn’t been played. I certainly wasn’t trying to let you off the hook for our wager.”
His eyes, glinting dangerously in the dim light, trailed down to her mouth. “If this odd conversation stems from some belief that I’m a tenderhearted fellow you can twist to your will with a pretty smile, I hope I’ve put that idea to rest. But in case I haven’t, think twice before wagering your body in a card game with me again to save your brother’s precious brewery. Because next time I’ll make sure I win. And when I do, I will claim my prize.”
Heat rose in her cheeks, though she wasn’t sure if it was from shame or arousal. “Don’t worry, my lord.” Show no weakness, or he’ll run roughshod over you. “There’s no need for me to wager with you now that I’ve got you where I want you.”
His gaze sharpened on her, a mirthless smile touching his lips. “Be careful, my dear lady. Plenty of people have thought they had me where they wanted me, only to be proved wrong when I got them where I wanted them. You’re playing with the big boys now. We don’t roll over and play dead as easily as your brother.”
He paused, as if to make certain she got the message. Then he straightened, the heat in his features cooling. “I have to speak to Gran in the morning, but I should be done before midday. We’ll leave for Burton then.” He tipped his hat. “Until tomorrow … Annabel.”
Utterly incapable of a coherent response, she watched as he turned and sauntered off.
Once he disappeared into the stairwell, she collapsed against the wall, her knees shaking and her hands clammy.
Arrogant beast. The big boys, indeed. He was so sure of himself, so smug! It roused her temper as no man had, in all her years struggling to be accepted among the brewers.
And his other threat—to claim his prize … She wasn’t the fool he took her for. He had been the one to make that outrageous wager in the first place, not her. She’d only accepted it because it was her last chance at saving Lake Ale. Did he really think otherwise? Did he really think she would step into that trap again?
Of course he did. He probably thought he could turn any woman into one of his doxies with his seductions.
Did he have doxies? Or was there a mistress stashed away somewhere whom he visited whenever he needed an outlet for his urges? The idea rankled, but only because she hated the idea of being one of many women he’d taken advantage of for … for that.
Clearly Lord Jarret was interested in women only as physical creatures with whom he could sate his lust. And she could see why women were eager to throw themselves on his pyre. The man definitely knew how to kiss. She could only imagine how skilled he must be at all the rest.
Long-forgotten images swam into her mind, of bodies intertwined, hands exploring, of driving each other to greater heights of—
A pox on him! She’d spent years tucking away all those urges and hopes and needs, and with one foolish kiss, he’d dragged them out again to plague her. She wouldn’t let him do this to her!
Shaking off the unwanted heat in her belly, she fumbled in her cloak pocket for the room key and unlocked the door.
When she entered, she found the result of her youthful passion lying on a pallet near the fire, his face turned toward the hearth. Geordie had kicked off the blanket, which now lay on the floor, and his nightshirt was twisted about his skinny legs.
Annabel’s heart tightened in her chest. Moving carefully to avoid waking Sissy, who was dozing in a chair, Annabel crept over to cover Geordie up. He mumbled something in his sleep and caught the blanket up to his chin.
Tears stung her eyes. Did he ever wonder why his “aunt” insisted upon coming with his mother to his room each evening to bid him good night? Or why his “aunt” was so interested in his future? Did he even care what she thought of him? Or was it only his “mother” who captured his deepest affection?
That pained her too much to dwell on. Sometimes, looking at him was like staring at a fairy-tale castle far away on a mountaintop. He was hers and yet not. Would he ever be hers? Or would telling him the truth drive him even farther away?
One of his dark brown locks lay across his cheek, and she had to fight the impulse to smooth it back. She didn’t want to wake him. He looked so sweet asleep.
“You’re back,” said a soft voice.
She looked up to find Sissy stirring. “Yes.”
“Did you get to talk to Mrs. Plumtree?”
“Not exactly. But I did convince Lord Jarret to help the brewery.”
Sissy smiled. “You did! That’s wonderful!” When Geordie’s
even breathing broke and he turned over, she dropped her voice to a whisper. “I knew you could do it.”
“But there’s a catch.” Swiftly she explained that Lord Jarret would be traveling with them to Burton and why.
“Oh dear,” Sissy said. “What if he sees Hugh in one of his … well …”
“We’ll just have to make sure he doesn’t. I’m counting on you to help with that.”
“Of course!”
“And we must keep Geordie from saying anything. Although I don’t know what he’d say—I’m not sure he even understands the problem with Hugh. We just have to make sure he supports our contention that Hugh is ill.”
“I’ll speak to him in the morning. Don’t worry—I won’t let Hugh or Geordie ruin this. It’s our only chance.” Sissy settled back in her chair. “Now, tell me everything that happened. How did you change Lord Jarret’s mind?”
She sighed. Sissy always had to hear the gossip, and generally Annabel was happy to recite every detail. But a more oblique version of the truth was in order tonight.
She had shamed her family once with her behavior. She wasn’t about to let Sissy think she might do so again.
Chapter Six
Jarret stalked down High Borough Street in a vain attempt to squelch the anger Annabel Lake had brought roaring to the surface. After her snide remark about having him where she wanted him, he’d been tempted to show her exactly where he wanted her.
But showing her he desired her had been what provoked her to make that comment in the first place. Had he lost his mind? First, he’d wagered for her very honor, then he’d besmirched it in some grimy inn hall. What if someone had come along? What if, God forbid, her sister-in-law had come out?
He’d been thinking with his cock, like some randy buck fresh on the town. The woman had a knack for fracturing his control.
Yes, she was pretty. Then again, so were plenty of women. But none of them would have braved a tavern full of men to save their family’s brewery. None of them would have beaten him at cards or called his scandalous bluff.
When she’d made assumptions about the wager, it had infuriated him. After everything that had happened, he’d hoped to at least knock some sense into her. But instead of recognizing how close she’d come to ruination, she’d accused him of letting her win.
The chit was maddening. Maddening! She had no idea how she could tempt an unscrupulous man, no sense of danger. How could she be that naïve at her age? Nearly thirty? He would never have guessed her to be that—she looked fresh and sweet as a spring bouquet. Long in the tooth, indeed.
And what was wrong with the men in Burton, that one of them hadn’t made her his bride? It made no sense. Unless it was she who balked at marriage.
I haven’t married, sir, because I see no benefit to it.
Well, she had him there. He couldn’t see much benefit to marriage either, so they certainly had that in common.
But he could see plenty of benefit in taking her to bed, covering that body with his, peeling away her serviceable gown to explore the surprisingly lush breasts and the deliciously curvy waist and the—
Damn her to hell! Her obsession with her brother’s brewery clearly made her take risks no innocent should take. She hadn’t yet learned that risking all for some dream of success was foolish and fraught with pain. Look at him—the one time he’d broken his own rules, mixed his business with pleasure, wagering for something he had no right to wager for, it had led straight to disaster.
Of course, that was partly because he’d let himself be distracted by thoughts of Gran and her machinations. If not for her, he wouldn’t be worrying over the brewery or his sibling’s prospects. He’d be drifting from card game to card game, needing no one, having no one need him.
Becoming more bored with every passing day.
He scowled. Where had that come from? He wasn’t bored. His life was fine.
That is not a suitable life for a clever man like yourself.
With a curse, he entered the tavern. Gran knew nothing about it. She’d been the one to say he should be a barrister, and every instinct in him rebelled at the idea.
“Well, well, look who’s back,” Gabe said with a grin.
The crowd had thinned out now that the excitement was over. Pinter sat drinking, Gabe had a tavern maid on one knee, and Masters was shuffling cards.
The minute Masters saw Jarret, he pulled out a chair. “Now that the lady’s gone, you can tell us the truth about what you would have won if the cards had gone your way.”
Jarret struggled to keep his temper. “I already told you. Her mother’s ring.”
“Right. A ring,” Masters scoffed.
“Are you calling me a liar, Masters?”
Masters blinked. “Certainly not. I merely think it odd that you—”
“Think what you wish, but I’d better not hear you thinking it aloud to anyone ever again. Do you understand me?”
“God, Jarret, who put the stick up your arse?” Gabe asked, eliciting a giggle from the tavern maid.
“The same goes for you, Gabe,” he warned. “Not one word, do you hear?”
When he turned his gaze to Pinter, the runner held up his hands. “No need to caution me, sir. I don’t spread gossip about ladies.”
“Pay him no mind, Pinter,” Masters said dryly. “He’s just sore that he lost. And to a woman, too.”
Remembering why he’d lost, Jarret rounded on Masters. “That’s another thing. Why were you asking about Minerva’s prospects for marriage?”
Masters looked instantly wary. “I don’t recall doing so.”
“You did, actually,” Gabe put in. “You asked if our sisters had chosen husbands.”
“Just polite conversation, that’s all,” Masters said with a shrug, but the muscle ticking in his jaw put the lie to that.
Jarret walked up to loom over his friend. “Stay away from my sister.”
Something dark flickered in Masters’s eyes as he rose to meet Jarret’s gaze. “You’re behaving like an ass.” He nodded his head in Gabe’s direction. “Come, Gabe. Let’s go to my club. Time we found more congenial company for the evening.”
Gabe murmured a few words to the tavern maid, who flounced off with a pout. Then he rose, his gaze flitting from Jarret to Masters. “Lead on, old chap.”
As soon as they were gone, Jarret called for tankards of Gran’s best porter for him and Pinter, then dropped into a chair. He’d made a fool of himself, and for no good reason. Even if Masters did have his eye on Minerva, Minerva would have something to say about it. She didn’t suffer fools—or rogues—lightly. If any woman could fend off Masters, it was his sister.
Still, he noticed that Masters hadn’t responded to his admonition. He hadn’t laughed it off or agreed to stay away or said anything to reassure Jarret that there was nothing between him and Minerva. And that worried Jarret.
“So you’re traveling to Burton tomorrow, are you?” Pinter said conversationally.
Jarret forced his attention to the task at hand. “Yes. To take a look at Lake Ale Brewery.”
“The young lady seemed surprised to hear of your plans.”
“Yes, she did.” And not just surprised, but panicked. She’d even tried to talk him out of it. Something was going on there, something she wasn’t telling him.
He took a long pull on his tankard. Whatever it was, he would uncover it. Wager or no, he meant to go into this enterprise with his eyes fully open. Too much was at stake.
But that wasn’t a matter for the runner. “Pinter, I want to hire you.”
“To do what?”
He outlined his concerns about Oliver’s version of their parents’ deaths, which was that his quarrel with Mother had sent her off in a rage to kill Father. Oliver had said that Pinter knew everything about that night except why Oliver and Mother had quarreled, so Jarret kept that part to himself.
“So you see,” Jarret finished, “I need you to track down the grooms who were there that night.”
“None of them are in service at Halstead Hall any longer?”
“No. Gran took us to live with her in London after the … accident.” He refused to call it murder. Mother would never have shot Father purposely, no matter what Oliver claimed. “Gran let most of the staff go when she closed the estate.”
“But I understand that Lord Stoneville hired them back after he reached his majority and moved into your family’s house in Acton.”
“Not the grooms. They’d already found positions. I imagine they’re scattered across England by now.”
Pinter looked pensive. “Perhaps not. Servants tend to stay in the areas they’re accustomed to. I doubt I’ll have to look far.”
“If you go out to the estate tomorrow, you can get a list of their names from Oliver’s steward. He’d have the records.”
Pinter squared his shoulders. “Is the family in residence at present?”
Jarret stifled a smile, knowing full well why Pinter asked. “No. The girls returned to the town house to help care for Gran after she became ill, and Gabe and I have been staying at our bachelor quarters.” Jarret grinned. “So you won’t have to worry about Celia and her sharp tongue.”
The runner’s gray eyes showed nothing. “Lady Celia is entitled to her opinions.”
“Even when they concern you and your ‘rigid adherence to stupid rules’?” Jarret asked, determined to get some reaction out of the impossibly stoic Pinter.
If Jarret hadn’t been watching for it, he wouldn’t have seen the faint tic in the man’s jaw. “Lady Celia is entitled to her opinions, whatever they are,” Pinter said with a deceptive nonchalance. “So, should I send my report to Burton? Will you be there long?”
Jarret took pity on the man, allowing him to change the subject. “I’m not sure. I hope not. But just in case, send a copy to me at Lake Ale Brewery. If I miss it, I can get it from you here.”
“Very well.” Pinter started to rise.
“One more thing.” A suspicion had nagged at him ever since Oliver had made his confession. Perhaps it was time he cleared up that little matter as well, if only to ease his own mind. “I have another job for you, if you can afford the time.”
A Hellion in Her Bed Page 8
