“Sissy!” Annabel cut in, with a glance at Geordie.
Sissy colored. “Oh, right.”
“What does ‘salacious’ mean?” Geordie asked predictably.
“Never you mind, Geordie,” Sissy said. “Sit down, Annabel. I’m sure Mrs. Cranley will not be rude.”
With a sigh, Annabel took the seat beside Jarret. Sissy had a tendency to think the best of people who didn’t deserve it.
“If ‘salacious’ comes from Latin,” Geordie mused aloud, “then it has to do with leaping. What is there to wager over in that?”
“It doesn’t concern you,” Annabel said. “You can look it up when we get home.”
“But I want to know now!” he protested. “It could have something to do with leapfrog—”
“It means ‘lustful,’” Jarret put in. When Annabel shot him a reproving glance, he added, “The lad is old enough to be told when a member of his family has been insulted.”
Geordie sat up straight. “Yes, I am. Old enough to call the man out for it, too.”
“Don’t be silly, Geordie,” Sissy said. “That traveler is long gone by now.”
“And he’d be unlikely to agree to a duel with a twelve-year-old, anyway,” Annabel said dryly. She raised her eyebrows at Jarret. “You see what you started?”
“If George is providing you ladies with protection,” Jarret countered, “he should start thinking like a man. He can’t do that when you treat him like a child.”
Though Annabel bristled, Sissy flashed Jarret a strained smile. “How kind of you to take such an interest in our Geordie, my lord. Isn’t it, Annabel?”
Annabel’s eyes narrowed on him. “Yes. So very kind of him.”
“Hardly,” he remarked. “I merely remember what it was like to be twelve.”
That gave her pause. What had Jarret been like at twelve? As feckless as he was now? Or more sober? He’d said his grandmother had raised him from the age of thirteen. Had his character changed then? No one could survive the violent deaths of their parents and be untouched by it.
Or perhaps her attraction to him was making her look for depths of character where none existed. Careful now, missy. There’s always some truth to even the vilest gossip.
Just then, a servant approached with their food. There was no sign of Mrs. Cranley, thank goodness. Apparently the woman had contented herself with merely cautioning Annabelle and Sissy about Jarret’s character.
The servant set the ale down first. Annabelle sniffed it. Leave it to Mrs. Cranley to purchase an inferior brew. She sipped some and wrinkled her nose, too engrossed in assessing its quality to notice when Sissy told the servant to take one of the plates back to the kitchen.
“The mistress insisted that I give it to his lordship,” the servant countered and tried to scoot past her to put it before Jarret.
Sissy whisked it from the maid before the girl could react. “He can have the other.” When the servant protested again, Sissy began to eat from it. With a shrug, the servant served Geordie.
“It’s all the same food, Mother,” Geordie said. “I told Lord Jarret you were fond of a good loin of pork.”
“I am indeed,” she said as she took another big bite. Then she made a face.
At that, Jarret’s eyes narrowed. Reaching over, he snatched the plate from her and stared hard at it. “You can’t eat this.”
That’s when Annabelle looked closer. The meat’s off color and rancid smell made her gag. She glanced at the other dinners, but theirs looked fine.
“That gossipy witch Mrs. Cranley gave you bad meat, Sissy!” Annabel exclaimed. “How dare she? I shall give her a piece of my mind!”
Annabel started to stand, but Jarret pulled her down. “She didn’t intend it for Mrs. Lake. She meant it for me.”
“I-I’m sure it was just a mistake,” Sissy said weakly.
“The only mistake was in my letting us remain here.” Jarret rose to dump the plate’s contents in a nearby slop bucket. Then he walked up to Sissy and held out his arm. “Come, we’re leaving. We’ll stop to eat at an inn in the next town.”
Thankfully, she let him lead her from the table without protest.
“How much did you eat?” Annabel asked Sissy as they headed for the door.
“Not much,” Sissy said.
“Too much,” Jarret countered. “I’m sorry, Mrs. Lake. I didn’t at first realize what you were up to.” He stared grimly ahead. “Or how desperate your friend was to drag you from my wicked clutches.”
“I’m certain she didn’t mean—”
“Don’t you dare apologize for her again,” Annabel said hotly. “We don’t blame you, Sissy. It’s your supposed friend who ought to be shot.”
When they reached the entrance to find Mrs. Cranley standing there directing a malevolent look at Jarret, he stiffened. Releasing Sissy’s arm, he told Annabel in a low voice, “You three go on to the coach. I’ll be there shortly.”
“How was your meal, my lord?” the woman had the audacity to ask as Annabel pulled Sissy and Geordie toward the door.
“Next time you attempt to poison someone, madam,” Annabel heard him say behind her, “make sure your servant is clear on her instructions. Before I could stop her, Mrs. Lake took several bites of the pork you intended for me.”
Annabel glanced back in time to see the woman blanch.
Jarret’s expression of righteous anger warmed her heart. “So I hope you enjoy the results of your foolish plan to ‘save’ your friend from my wicked influence. Because if she dies, I’ll have you prosecuted for attempted murder. Do I make myself clear?”
“My lord, I didn’t … that is …”
Annabel urged Sissy to the carriage. Though Sissy seemed fine now, Annabel still worried. It was so like Sissy to try to cover up her friend’s behavior by taking the error upon herself. It simply wasn’t right.
Annabel hadn’t liked Mrs. Cranley before, and now she positively hated her. Who did such a foolish thing? And all because of some gossip! The woman was daft, if Sissy could only see it.
Jarret had seen it, though he’d taken it in stride, as if he really were used to being gossiped about. He probably was. If Annabel had heard the stories even in Burton, then everyone had heard them.
But this particular tale had happened because of her. The thought plagued her even after he joined them and they went on to the next town. Though Sissy ate a hearty meal when they stopped, Annabel couldn’t stop feeling guilty. None of this would have happened if Annabel hadn’t accepted that cursed wager.
Then again, without the wager she wouldn’t have convinced Jarret to come to Burton. She just wished she’d considered what could occur if people realized what the wager was about.
When they stopped near nightfall at an inn just outside Daventry that Jarret had said was recommended to him, she watched as he arranged two rooms—one for him and another for Sissy, Geordie, and her. It felt strange having a man look after her and her family. Hugh had practically abdicated his responsibility, and Rupert had never had the chance to take it.
Lately she’d always been the one to take charge, to arrange things. How wonderful to let the responsibility fall on someone else’s shoulders again. And considering that she’d forced him into doing this, that he didn’t even want to be here …
A lump caught in her throat as the four of them reached their floor, and Jarret headed for his room. “Sissy, why don’t you and Geordie go on? I need to speak to his lordship a moment.”
Though Sissy shot her a quizzical glance, she took Geordie down the hall.
Annabel headed the opposite direction. “Jarret!” she called out as he unlocked the door to his own room.
He paused in the doorway. “What is it?”
“I want to apologize.”
He looked bemused. “For what?”
“First of all, for making you the subject of gossip yet again. Honestly, I didn’t think anyone outside of London would ever learn of our card game. I certainly never thought people w
ould guess that you and I … that you …”
She trailed off as two people passed them in the hall, shooting them curious glances. As soon as the couple had disappeared, she tugged Jarret into his room and pulled the door partly closed so they could have some privacy.
“I should never have agreed to your terms for the wager,” she said bluntly.
His smile exposed his dimples. “I should never have offered them. What’s done is done. No sense regretting it now.”
“But it’s my fault that Mrs. Cranley—”
“Don’t be absurd. You’re no more responsible than your sister-in-law. Mrs. Cranley had an ax to grind, and she used the gossip as an excuse to grind it on me. I only wish she hadn’t involved your family in it. And I pray to God, Mrs. Lake suffers no adverse effects from the woman’s ill-considered actions.”
“Me, too. I shudder to think of what might have happened if you hadn’t noticed the bad meat and stepped in. For that, I must offer you my fervent thanks.”
When she went to the door, he drawled, “Aren’t you forgetting something?”
She turned. “I beg your pardon?”
A wicked smile curved his lips as he approached her. “There are other things you should thank me for.”
“Like what?”
“I did entertain your nephew while the two of you were off gossiping about me.”
Good point. “Thank you for that, too, my lord,” she said primly.
With eyes gleaming, he came to stand far too close. “Then there’s the fact that I’m transporting you to Burton in the comfort of my brother’s carriage.”
Her pulse quickened. “The only one deserving thanks for that is your brother.”
“Ah, but I made it possible for you to use it.” He snagged her about the waist. “And I can think of an excellent way for you to show your gratitude.”
“Writing a sonnet to your generosity?” she said sweetly, her heart racing and her knees definitely wobbly.
With a chuckle, he bent his head to brush her ear with his lips. “Try again,” he said in a husky voice that made her shiver deliciously.
Her breath seemed stuck somewhere in her throat. “Brewing you a very special ale?”
“I had something more … personal in mind.”
Then he covered her mouth with his.
Chapter Nine
Jarret was tired of having her treat him with the cool politeness anyone showed a business partner. All her animation today had been for her brewery plans. All her soft words and smiles had been for her nephew and sister-in-law.
She acted as if last night in the hall had never happened, and it chafed him. He burned to remind her that she’d been anything but businesslike to him last night. That when he’d kissed her, she’d melted.
As she was melting now. He exulted as she arched into him, clutched at his coat, and let him delve into her silky mouth with his tongue. Groaning low in his throat, he dragged her flush against him. The hot, sweet scent of her intoxicated him. It was unlike any other woman’s—no cloying flowers or perfume, just something juicy and delicious. Oranges and honey … something a man could sink his teeth into.
He wanted to sink his teeth into her. Moving his mouth along her jaw, he immersed himself in the heady scent that was Annabel. He sought the tender skin of her neck, then the tempting lobe of her ear. When he bit it lightly, she gave a full-throated gasp, though her hands tightened on his coat lapels.
“Surely I have now given you sufficient thanks for all your … help, my lord,” she whispered.
“Then it’s my turn to thank you for your help.” He kissed his way down her neck.
“I’ve done nothing to deserve such extravagant thanks.”
“You’re kissing me.” And making his blood race and his body go hard.
“Giving kisses … as thanks for kisses …” She breathed heavily against his cheek. “That could be dangerous. Where would it end up, after all?”
He knew where he’d like it to end up. With her in his bed, her pale thighs parting to let him in, her body pressing up against his to find its pleasure. Their mutual pleasure.
He settled for filling one hand with her breast.
She froze. “That is not where it should end up,” she said, grabbing his hand to move it aside.
With a growl he took her mouth again, this time more roughly, sensing that despite her words, it was boldness she craved, not hesitation or tenderness. He must have guessed right, for her hand softened, then molded his to her breast.
By God, she was as eager as he, which sparked his fever higher. She might be cold to him around her family, but here, alone, she was warm and willing, driving him to madness.
He kneaded her breast until her sweet pebble of a nipple rose against his palm, palpable in its arousal even through her layers of clothes. Her low moans made him ache, until he found himself pressing her against the wall next to the half-closed door, covering her body with his, pushing between her legs—
“Aunt Annabel? Lord Jarret? Are you in there?” came a voice from the other side of the door, inches away from them.
He barely had time to release her and move back before George came around the door and saw them.
Annabel turned red, her accusing gaze leaping to Jarret’s.
Damn, damn, damn. As unobtrusively as possible, he removed his hat to hide his rampant erection.
“What’s going on here?” George asked sharply.
With a forced smile, Annabel said, “His lordship and I were discussing … your mother.”
George’s lips thinned into a line. “Mother is sick. You have to come.”
“Of course.” Annabel touched a hand to her hopelessly mussed hair, then pushed past Jarret to go around the door. She paused in the hall to look back at her nephew. “Are you coming, Geordie?”
The lad’s dark-eyed gaze never left Jarret’s. “I’ll be there in a moment.”
Jarret stifled a curse. Was he now to be dressed down by an infant? Not bloody likely. It was none of the lad’s business what he and Annabel did in private.
George closed the door and faced him. “I should like to know, my lord, what your intentions are toward my aunt.”
His intentions? Well, that certainly put the damper on his arousal.
He tossed his hat onto a chair. “I don’t know what you think you saw, lad, but—”
“I can tell when a man has just been kissing a woman,” George said hotly.
If the boy hadn’t looked so serious, Jarret would have laughed outright. “Oh, you can, can you?” He leveled George with a skeptical look. “You’ve had a great deal of experience in the matter, I suppose.”
Though George flushed, he held his ground. “It doesn’t take experience—I’m not blind. And you have a certain reputation with women.”
“So I’ve heard.” He stared the lad down. “But your aunt’s reputation is unblemished. Surely you don’t think she would allow—”
“Allow? No. That doesn’t mean that you couldn’t have … well …”
“Are you accusing me of forcing my attentions on your aunt?”
George stiffened. “I know what I saw.”
“You don’t know a damned thing, boy,” Jarret shot back. “Whatever occurred between me and your aunt is our private business, and you have no say in the matter.”
“You’re the one who said I should start thinking like a man.” The lad squared his shoulders. “So that’s what I’m doing. If Father were here, he’d do the same thing. And if your intentions aren’t honorable—”
“What if they are?” Jarret snapped.
Why the hell had he said that?
George stared at him, a hopeful light in his eyes. “Well then, that would be different.”
When Jarret didn’t reply, George eyed him warily. “So you’re saying your intentions are honorable?”
Jarret scowled, feeling backed into a corner. Why should he have to answer to some unlicked cub, for God’s sake? He’d do what he wanted, damn i
t, just as he always did—and use the annoying pup’s suggestion to his own advantage.
“Your aunt and I have some things to work out, so I’d appreciate it if you’d keep my intentions private, George.”
He couldn’t have the boy running off to tell Annabel that Jarret was going to court her, for God’s sake.
The boy nodded.
“Good.” Jarret gestured to the door. “Now we’d better go see about your mother.”
“Yes, sir.” As they started toward the door, George glanced up at Jarret. “You know, if you marry my aunt, you’ll be my uncle.”
He stifled a groan. “Yes, I suppose I will.”
God help him, there was probably a special hell reserved for a man who willfully lied to a twelve-year-old boy. And lusted after the boy’s virginal aunt. And had no intention of stopping either the lying or the lusting.
As they walked to the Lakes’ room, he heard sounds of violent retching inside. George hastened his steps, his face blanching. When the lad swung open the door, Annabel hurried out to meet them. She closed the door behind her, but not before Jarret glimpsed Mrs. Lake hunched over a chamber pot.
A surge of anger made him grit his teeth. If he ever saw that damned rumormongering bitch Mrs. Cranley again, there’d be hell to pay.
“How is she?” he asked Annabel.
“Not well, I’m afraid.”
“Is there anything we can do?” Jarret asked.
“If you could have the innkeeper fetch a doctor—”
“Done,” Jarret said.
Fear spread over George’s pale cheeks. “I want to see her.”
“Not now, Geordie.” Annabel ruffled the lad’s hair with a tenderness that made Jarret’s throat tighten. “She wants to be alone with me right now. She’ll be fine once the bad meat has passed through her.”
But Jarret could tell from her tone that she wasn’t entirely convinced.
“I tell you what, lad,” he said, “why don’t we go see about getting a physician for your mother, then order some dinner?” He glanced at Annabel. “Do you want anything?”
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