“Nonsense,” Annabel said hotly, then leaned down to place her hand on the creature’s back.
To her surprise, it felt as smooth as kid leather. As she stroked, Geordie looked at her in surprise. Feeling rather pleased with herself, she smirked at him.
Then the creature turned his head, and with a squeal, both she and Geordie jumped back.
“He must like you, miss,” the old soldier said, chuckling. “He don’t usually pay anybody much mind when they pet him.”
Several in the crowd clamored to pet it, too, so they continued through the market.
As Geordie darted ahead in search of more excitement, Jarret lowered his voice. “Do you always do that?”
“What?”
His hand covered hers, warm and firm. “Rise to any challenge a man offers you.”
“I couldn’t have Geordie calling me a coward, could I?”
“No, indeed,” he mocked her. “To be shown up by a twelve-year-old boy—however would you hold your head up?”
She sniffed. “Shows what you know. If you don’t rise to his challenges from time to time, he gets too full of himself and becomes bossy and insufferable. Rather like you, actually.”
“When have I ever been bossy and insufferable?”
“In the brewery office. And at the tavern, before I accepted the wager. Admit it: if I hadn’t, you would have packed me off back to the inn and told me to be a good girl and trot on home to Burton.”
He frowned. “That’s what I should have done.”
“Then I wouldn’t have gained anything I wanted.”
“But you wouldn’t have risked your reputation.”
“Sometimes a woman has to take risks to get what she wants.” She glanced to where Geordie seemed preoccupied with a saddle salesman’s wares, then lowered her voice. “Speaking of risks, what did Geordie say to you after he found us?”
“It was nothing of consequence.” His too-casual tone said otherwise.
“I can’t believe he said nothing—”
“Ah, look, there’s a woman selling ale by the barrel. George, come with us,” he called out, bringing Geordie running back to his side. “We’re going to see if that alewife makes her own ale.”
Curse the rascal. Now she knew they’d talked about something. “Why should I care about some other brewster’s ale?” Annabel grumbled.
“Because it’s research. If ale is this lady’s business, she’ll know what sells hereabouts. Could be good information for the future.”
Acknowledging the logic in that, she let Jarret lead her to the ale booth.
It turned out that the alewife not only sold her wares at Daventry’s market, but traveled to the other markets in Staffordshire. As Jarret quizzed her at length about ale-buying habits in the country, Annabel could only listen in surprise. For a man who had only “dipped his toe” in the business, he knew a great deal about the marketing part, which wasn’t her strong suit. It made her uneasy. What if he took stock of Lake Ale and decided that her and Hugh’s plan wasn’t viable?
What if he was right?
Geordie asked her for some coins and she handed them to him, distracted by the discussion with the alewife. After a few moments, however, she realized that Geordie had wandered away. She turned around just in time to see him hand the coins to a man at a table with three thimbles atop it. The man put a pea under one of the thimbles and started moving them around.
“What on earth is that boy doing?” she mused.
Jarret followed her gaze, then scowled. Before she could even react, he was striding over to the table where a small crowd had gathered. To her shock, he seemed to stumble and knock over the table.
As she hurried up, she heard him say, “Beg pardon, sir. Didn’t mean to be so clumsy.”
The man growled something about watching his step, as Geordie bent to help right the table.
“I was about to win, Lord Jarret!” Geordie complained.
The mention of Jarret’s title made the vendor look suddenly uneasy.
“Ah well, what a shame,” Jarret said. “I suppose I ruined it for you.” His gaze turned to ice as he stared down at the vendor. “Give him back his money, will you, old chap? You can hardly honor his bet now.”
The man who owned the table paled, then handed Geordie his coins without a word.
Geordie told the vendor, “If you’ll set it up again, I can place another—”
“I don’t think so, lad.” Jarret grabbed his arm. “Your aunt is ready to leave. Aren’t you, Miss Lake?”
Bewildered by the strange incident, Annabel stammered, “Y-Yes, of course. We should go.”
Dragging a protesting Geordie from the group, Jarret walked down the lane so fast that Annabel had to run to keep up with him.
“Let go of me!” Geordie cried. “I can win!”
“Not at thimblerig, lad. It’s a swindle meant to separate you from your money.”
As Geordie stopped squirming, Annabel halted. “That’s awful! We should go warn the others!”
“I wouldn’t advise it,” Jarret said.
“Why not?”
“Anyone running that particular cheat keeps accomplices nearby to prevent anyone from mucking with their scheme. They’ll stick a knife in one’s back if it serves their purpose. We’re better off reporting them to those who run the market.”
“Are you sure it was a cheat?” Geordie asked plaintively.
“Absolutely. They run it in the streets of London all the time. No matter how much you watch the thimble, the pea that’s supposedly under it ends up wherever the man wants it to be. He palms it so he can place it where he likes.”
George stared at him wide-eyed. “Like you were doing with the cards last night?”
Jarret muttered a curse under his breath. “Exactly. Let’s go find a milliner’s booth, shall we? I want to purchase something for Mrs. Lake.”
“Wait a minute,” Annabel said, “what’s this about palming cards?”
“His lordship showed me how to palm cards and deal from the bottom and—”
“You taught him how to cheat at cards?” Annabel cried.
“Only so he could recognize a cardsharp when he played with one.”
“And where is he supposed to play with one, pray tell? In a gambling hell?”
Jarret shrugged. “Card cheats are everywhere. You never know when the lad will come across one. Like with the thimblerig operator. It can’t hurt George to be prepared.”
The thought that Jarret was the one trying to prepare Geordie inflamed her. She knew her anger was irrational, but she couldn’t help it. She’d spent twelve years trying to see that Geordie had every advantage of a genteel upbringing, yet who was Geordie turning to for advice?
“I suppose you taught him a few gambling tricks as well,” she retorted as they neared the edge of the market. “So he can spend his nights in the same empty pursuits that you spend yours in.”
“And what if he did?” Geordie cried, leaping to his hero’s defense. “Nobody else teaches me such things. You and Mother treat me like a baby who can’t do anything. Perhaps I want to know about gambling. Perhaps I’d like it if I tried it.”
“Oh, God,” Jarret muttered.
“See what you started?” she accused Jarret. “You made it so very attractive—”
“It appears I arrived in the nick of time,” cried a voice from behind them.
They turned to see Sissy, looking markedly improved, hurrying after them.
“What are you doing here, Sissy?” Annabel asked.
Sissy shrugged. “I got tired of being cooped up in that inn room, so I thought I’d join you. I’m feeling much better now.” She glanced from Annabel to Jarret. “Though it looks like I’m the only one. I could hear you arguing from three booths away.”
“Aunt Annabel is being mean to Lord Jarret,” Geordie complained.
Sissy smothered a smile. “Well then, we shall have to make her sit in the corner.”
Annabel rolled her eyes
. “His lordship seems to think that the techniques of card cheating are suitable subjects for a twelve-year-old boy.”
“I’m sure he was just trying to help,” Sissy said, her eyes suspiciously bright.
“Yes, trying to help Geordie follow in his dubious footsteps,” Annabel snapped.
“Stop it!” Geordie cried. “If you keep being mean to him, he’ll change his mind about marrying you!”
Chapter Eleven
Jarret barely stifled an oath. But truth was, it was a miracle the lad had kept his mouth shut this long. Twelve-year-old boys weren’t known for their discretion.
Mrs. Lake now regarded Jarret with that expression all matrons got when they thought they had a live one on the hook.
Annabel just looked dumbfounded.
So of course George had to make it worse. “I’m sorry, sir. I-I didn’t mean to let the cat out of the bag.”
Annabel’s eyes narrowed on Jarret.
Damn the boy to hell.
“I was just about to look for a tea booth, Geordie,” Mrs. Lake said smoothly, clamping her hand on the boy’s shoulder. “Why don’t you help me?”
“B-But I need to explain—”
“I think you’ve done quite enough. Now come along.” Turning a meaningful glance on Annabel, Mrs. Lake added, “Don’t stray too far, my dear. It looks like a storm is brewing.”
More than one kind, unfortunately. As Mrs. Lake hurried the boy off, Annabel planted her hands on her hips. “What was Geordie talking about?”
Faced with no good choice, Jarret decided to do what his late father had always done whenever Mother was on the rampage. Run.
“I don’t know what you mean.” He headed for the nearest escape route, striding off blindly down a lane.
Hitching up her skirts, she hurried to keep up with his long strides. “Answer me! How did Geordie get the idea that you wish to marry me?”
“Why don’t you ask him?” he snapped, oddly reluctant to lie to her.
“I’m asking you! You said something to him, didn’t you? After he found us together?”
Damn, damn, and damn. Worse yet, the sky was darkening overhead.
Time for another of Father’s tactics—the counterattack. He halted to fix her with a cold glance. “I’ll answer your question if you answer mine. Is your brother dying?”
That did the trick. She blanched, then hurried off down the lane ahead of him. So she thought to escape now, did she? Not bloody likely.
He caught up to her in a couple of easy strides. “Well?” he pressed.
“What gave you the idea that Hugh is dying?” she asked in a strained tone.
“George seemed inordinately upset about his mother’s illness. And when I mentioned that his father might wish to be fetched, he said that you wouldn’t do so. He said your brother wouldn’t come even if you did.”
She looked appalled. “I can’t believe he would say that! Of course Hugh would come.”
“I got the impression,” he persisted, “that his father might be too ill to come. And it occurred to me that if Mr. Lake is dying—”
“He’s not dying, all right? His problem is merely temporary, as I told you. He’ll be up and around in no time.”
Though her words held the resonance of truth, he needed more. “Then why did George seem to think otherwise?”
“I have no idea. He knows better.” She frowned. “But like most boys his age, he tends to exaggerate for dramatic effect.”
Well, that was certainly true. Jarret remembered those days well. “He wouldn’t exaggerate so much if you and his mother would stop coddling him. It’s not good for a lad that age to be coddled. They start to think they’re at the center of the universe, and anything related to them becomes a matter of grand importance.”
“That’s ridiculous. We don’t coddle him in the least.”
“Really?” They’d left the market and were walking along a deserted country lane lined with pretty little cottages and barns of aging gray timbers. “He’s already old enough to attend Eton, yet he doesn’t even know when he’s being swindled.”
“I didn’t even know he was being swindled. I’ve never heard of thimblerig.” Her tone grew acid. “We don’t have sharpers and cheats on every corner in Burton, as you apparently do in London.”
“He should be in school by now, learning how the world works.”
“I agree. Unfortunately, I … we can’t afford to send him away to school. Not with the brewery struggling.”
“Then tell your brother to hire him a tutor, for God’s sake. And give him some room to breathe and be a boy. Stop smothering him.”
She sniffed. “That’s great advice, coming from a man who grew up wild because he had no one looking after him. A man who still behaves like a schoolboy because he’s afraid to grow up.”
He halted in the middle of the lane. She saw him as a schoolboy?
“I’m sorry,” she went on hastily. “I shouldn’t have said that.”
He glared at her. “I didn’t ask to play nursemaid to your damned nephew. That was your idea. So if you don’t like how I do it, God knows I have better things to do.”
Stark dismay showed on her face. “Fine. I shan’t foist him on you anymore.”
Trying not to dwell on how upsetting he found her reaction, he began walking again.
She followed. “Do you have any idea where you’re going?”
“No,” he bit out. “Nor do I care.”
As if Nature were conspiring to make him care, the first fat drops of rain fell on his coat. Wonderful.
“Perhaps we should return to town,” she ventured.
Even as she spoke, the rain began to batter them. “Too late for that,” he muttered. Spotting a nearby barn, he tugged her into it. The smell of horses and fresh hay assailed him as they entered the dimly lit structure. “No one seems to be about. Everyone has probably gone to the market.”
“Good,” she said tartly. “Now you can answer the question you’ve been avoiding. What did you tell Geordie to make him think you and I are headed for marriage?”
He cursed under his breath. He should have realized his distractions wouldn’t work for long. “George isn’t the child you take him for. He understands a great deal.”
“Oh, I’m well aware of that. So what exactly did he understand?”
“Enough to guess that you and I had been kissing.”
She paled. “Oh, Lord.”
“He asked me if my intentions toward you were honorable,” Jarret ground out. “I had to tell him something.”
“You could have tried telling him the truth,” she said in that lofty tone she took whenever she felt she had the moral high ground.
It sent his temper rising. “The truth?” He rounded on her. “That my only intention toward his aunt is carnal: is that what you wanted me to say?”
She blinked. “I … well … no, I don’t suppose that would have been a good idea.”
He stalked toward her. “I could have said that if I’d had my way, you would already have spent a night in my bed.”
A blush was spreading over her pretty cheeks. “No, I certainly wouldn’t have wanted you to—”
“I could have told him I can’t keep my hands off you.” He caught her at the waist, her heightened color inflaming his senses, his need. “I could have said that all I think about is swiving you senseless. That I lie awake at night imagining how you would feel beneath me. Would that have satisfied your sense of truth and honor?”
“That would definitely not have been—”
The sound of voices outside the barn halted her stammering.
“Damnation,” he muttered. “Just what we need—someone finding strangers here and thinking we’re trying to steal their horses.” He spotted the ladder leading to the loft. “Come on,” he growled and dragged her toward it, then pushed her up.
Thankfully, she was a fast climber. They’d barely cleared the top before he heard the barn door open. Dragging her down into the straw, h
e held a finger to her lips.
The men were discussing a horse for sale, but Jarret paid the conversation no heed. He was too conscious of the fact that Annabel lay half beneath him, her face flushed in the dim light and her hair a dark swirl against the golden straw. The cold rain had turned her thin gown nearly translucent and he could see the hard tips of her nipples straining against the cloth.
Suddenly he didn’t care about George or the brewery, or what she was hiding about her brother, or anything else. He cared only that she was staring at him with that warm, aware look that beckoned him to madness.
Unable to stop himself, he traced her soft mouth with his finger, his blood roaring in his veins. She was the country girl in her element, ripe for a tumble in the hay, perfectly at home in a barn. The temptation was too potent to resist. As the earthy smell of horses blended with her honey-sweet scent, he replaced his finger with his lips, exulting as she opened to him, then lifted her arms to encircle his neck.
Then he was lost to anything but her. Below them the murmur of voices continued, but he was too busy devouring her mouth to care.
God, she was wonderful to kiss. There was no hesitation, no maidenly shyness. She offered a man everything—throwing herself into it body and soul, open and giving. Nothing like he would expect from a virgin. Her blatant need mirrored his own, stoking his desire even more. He struggled to think, to breathe, to find his way through the fog of enchantment that she wrapped about him with every movement of her delectable body.
Taking advantage of the need for silence, he trailed kisses down the tender column of her neck to where a froth of lace only half hid the upper mounds of her breasts. He lifted his head to lock gazes with her and pulled loose the lace, then pushed down her damp gown and corset cups to bare her shift.
Her breathing grew ragged, yet she didn’t resist—not even when he lowered his mouth to capture one breast through her shift. As he tongued her nipple, she let out a soft gasp.
But her hands clutched him close, and that was all the invitation he needed. While pleasuring one breast with his mouth, he fondled the other with his hand. Her body strained against him, her hands anchoring him to her. She wanted more. He needed more, wanted to give her far more.
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