A Hellion in Her Bed
Page 18
But it’s no more than Gran was willing to sacrifice. Annabel has a family to save, too.
When that thought roused unwanted sympathy, he scowled. She wouldn’t give up her innocence to a scapegrace like him without being sure of getting something for it. This had to be some new scheme …
“An excellent plan, my dear. Either way, you get what you want. If you win, you gain my help with the brewery. And if I win, you go running to your brother about how I’ve ruined you, and next thing I know I’m wearing a leg shackle, and I’ll have you and your brother’s brewery on my hands for good.”
She gaped at him. “What a horrible thing to say! I would never—”
“No? And why should I believe that, pray tell?”
Her gaze dropped to his cravat, the color of her cheeks deepening. “Because it’s impossible to ruin what is already ruined.”
She’d said it so softly he wasn’t sure he’d heard her right. “What?”
“Don’t make me repeat it,” she told him, sotto voce. “I had a fiancé, remember? We were young and impetuous and in love. You can guess the rest.” She brought her gaze up to his. “Why do you think I’ve never married? Because no man wants an unchaste bride.”
He searched her face, but the very fact that she was telling him this lent it truth. And she’d been far too comfortable with their intimacies, too knowledgeable about things no virgin should know.
“So,” he said, trying to take it in, “more lies are unmasked.”
Her eyes flashed fire. “I never lied to you about that. You never asked. You merely assumed that I was … what you thought.”
The words made him grit his teeth, but she was right. She’d never once claimed to be an innocent. And even if she had, he could hardly blame her. That wasn’t something a woman revealed about herself to just anyone.
“Does your brother know?” he asked.
“Yes.”
“How could he—”
“I’ve said all I’m going to say on that subject.” Her blush had spread to the tops of her breasts—her quite exposed breasts, which he suddenly realized he could plunder to his heart’s content if he accepted her proposal. And won the card game.
Damn, how could he be considering this? Making foolish wagers with her had already landed him in trouble once.
And yet …
This was his chance to extract payment for her lying to him, for scheming to bring him here in the first place. And it wasn’t really a risk this time, because he would make sure the odds were stacked in his favor.
“So are you willing?” she whispered.
“I have some conditions.”
Her eyes widened.
“This time we play piquet.”
“Why?”
“That should be obvious. It relies far more on skill than chance.” And piquet was his game. His eyes narrowed on her. “Do you know how to play?”
“I do,” she said, but her voice quavered.
Good. It was about bloody time he got some advantage.
He tightened his grip on her waist. There was no way in hell he would lose this game. There’d be no distractions, no Masters and Gabe making remarks that tore his attention from the cards.
“And we play one game only,” he went on. “Winner takes all. I’ve already wasted enough time on this scheme of yours as it is.”
She lifted her chin. “All right.”
There it was again—the understated “all right” that never failed to turn his blood to fire. “You agree to both conditions?”
She nodded.
They took another turn about the floor as he weighed his choices. He could throw her proposal in her face, walk out of here tonight, and not look back. But when he won, he’d finally have some compensation for her deception. And he wanted that compensation. Christ, how he wanted it.
What’s more, he deserved it, for all the times she’d kissed him and let him caress her without its meaning anything to her. She’d made it quite clear he wasn’t acceptable as a husband, yet she’d refused to let them continue as lovers. And with no reason, given she was unchaste. So she’d probably been trying to reel him in, to get him so besotted with her that he wouldn’t care what lies she’d told him. And that possibility infuriated him.
“I do have one request before you give me your answer.”
“You don’t get a request,” he clipped out.
“The only time that Rupert and I … Well, he took … precautions against certain eventualities. If you win the wager, I would ask that you do the same.”
“I can do that,” he said.
She swallowed. “Does that mean you accept the wager?”
He paused, but it was a sure thing. And he’d never been one to pass up a sure thing.
“Yes.” The waltz was coming to an end, and they probably would not get another chance to speak privately. “Where and when will this game take place?”
“One a.m. at the office in the brewery. We had to let our evening staff go, so Lake Ale will be closed, but I have a key.” The music stopped and they stepped back, her to curtsy, him to bow. “I’ll wait for you inside.”
As he took her arm to lead her from the floor, she murmured, “And I would appreciate it if you could try not to be seen on your way there.”
“Don’t worry. No one will ever learn of this from me.”
“Thank you. I’m still considered respectable by my neighbors here.”
Her tone pricked his conscience, but he frowned it away. As far as he was concerned, she’d made her bed. And now that she’d done so, he damned well was going to lie in it.
ANNABEL STARED OUT the window as the Lake family coach lurched homeward. She’d averted disaster, but for how long? She’d always been good at piquet, but good enough to beat Jarret? And if she lost …
The leap in her pulse made her scowl. He shouldn’t still have this effect on her, not after his sharp words and angry looks. But beneath his anger, desire had simmered, that ever-present desire that tugged an answering need to the surface of her very skin.
She groaned. Admit it. You want him in your bed.
All right, she did. Which made absolutely no sense. One of these days, she simply must learn not to crave things that were bad for her. Like certain hellions who knew exactly how to turn a woman to pudding with a dark glance.
It hadn’t helped that he’d been wearing evening attire tonight for the first time since she’d met him. Seeing him so finely dressed had made something flip over inside her chest. Next to the tradesmen, with their ostentatious figured waistcoats and pompaded hair, his exquisitely tailored black tailcoat, simple white satin waistcoat, and snowy linen had fairly screamed his station as a polished man of rank, bred for greater things than socializing with the brash brewers of Burton.
Yet he’d never once showed, by word or deed, that he was aware of the difference. If not for his sophisticated bearing and his elegant clothing, no one would have guessed he wasn’t just another brewer. She’d heard snippets of his conversation, and he’d held his own with the clannish brewers in a way that Hugh had never been able to. Or her.
“Lord Jarret seems a good enough sort,” Hugh said, across from her. “Knew a bit more about the brewing business than I expected. He stared at me rather oddly when I said I was looking forward to our meeting in the morning, though. That is when we’re going to meet, isn’t it?”
“Yes.” But only if I beat him at piquet.
She forced a smile for her brother’s benefit. True to his word, Hugh had only had punch to drink, which technically wasn’t spirits, though she suspected it had contained a dram or two of brandy.
“He seemed awfully interested in you, Annie,” Hugh said. “Asked me about Rupert. Wanted to know what sort of man he was.”
That startled her, until she realized that Jarret had probably just been trying to determine if she was telling the truth about her chastity.
Humiliation rose in her again. How could he think she would lure him into her bed just to
trap him into getting leg-shackled? Beastly fellow. Though he was probably used to women doing such awful things in the city.
What had he said? I’ll have you know that there are hundreds of women who would kill to have that life. She couldn’t blame them. The idea of being his wife …
Ridiculous! She wouldn’t want to raise a family with him, even if he did want to marry her. And he didn’t. He certainly wouldn’t now, after how she’d lied to him.
Remembering the fury in his eyes as they danced, she shivered. He’d been so contemptuous, so cutting. He’d arranged tonight’s encounter with such ruthless determination that she feared how he would treat her if he won. She didn’t know if she could bear having him bed her in anger.
“Quite frankly,” Hugh went on, “I wasn’t sure what to tell him about Rupert, given what happened. I finally just said he was a war hero. That much is true, anyway.”
A war hero. She used to hate that phrase, knowing at what cost Rupert’s heroism had come. Now it merely made her sad to think of how little being a hero meant when one lost one’s chance at a life.
“I think his lordship is interested in Annabel,” Sissy said, with a sly glance at her.
A bitter laugh stuck in her throat. Oh yes, he was interested. He might have lost any soft feelings for her, but he still lusted after her, thank heaven.
“Well, she could do worse, I suppose,” Hugh said in a gruff voice. He tugged nervously at his shirt cuffs, then set his shoulders as if coming to a decision. “Annie, I want you to be at the meeting tomorrow.”
She glanced at him in surprise. Hugh had never allowed her to attend any sort of brewery meeting. It was fine for her to keep the place running, but heaven forbid she should be in on the planning for anything. “Why?”
He shrugged. “You’re the one who got him here. He might be … more comfortable if you’re there.”
Little did he know. If she won tonight, Jarret would hate her in the morning, and if she lost he would not be there in the morning.
“That’s fine.” She’d deal with that tomorrow.
For now, she had to concentrate on slipping out of the house unseen. It had been midnight when they’d left the town hall; she had little time.
Fortunately, Hugh and Sissy didn’t seem inclined to linger, especially when she announced that she was exhausted and meant to retire after she fetched a book from the study. A deeply felt longing pierced her when Hugh murmured something, and Sissy giggled before they strolled up the stairs arm in arm.
She sighed and dismissed the servants, telling them she’d lock up. She waited until she was sure no one was around, then let herself out the garden door with her key.
The brewery was a short walk from the house. Fortunately, no homes lay near it, just a stables and a cooperage that was closed for the night. It was unlikely anyone would notice either her or him entering, but she did wish that Papa hadn’t been so adamant about lighting the street with gas lamps. She felt very exposed.
When a large form stepped out of the shadows near the back entrance to the brewery, her heart jumped into her throat. Until she realized it was Jarret.
Then she saw his eyes, and her pulse pounded even more furiously. Because this wasn’t the Jarret who’d teased her at the market, or the Jarret who’d brought her pleasure with drugging kisses, or even the Jarret who’d been furious at her tonight.
This Jarret bore an expression carved in cold stone. Between the time she’d last seen him and now, he had hardened his heart against her. He was clearly determined to revenge himself on her.
God help her if she didn’t win their game. Because this Jarret was not a man she would want in her bed. Not tonight. Not ever.
Chapter Sixteen
Jarret had spent the past hour preparing for his meeting with Annabel. While changing into attire more suitable for a clandestine meeting with a lying harpy, he’d worked hard to wall off the part of himself that she’d softened over the past few days. He’d fought to obliterate from his memory all the things that had made him admire her—her patience toward Mrs. Lake and Geordie, her obvious loyalty to her family … her seeming vulnerability that day in the barn.
That was the point—she’d seemed vulnerable, but she wasn’t. Ever since dinner, he’d been going over the events of their trip, and he’d realized just how far she’d taken her subterfuge. Not only had she lied to him, but she’d convinced the rest of the family to lie, as well. She’d coaxed him into believing her scheme would work, all the while knowing that it rested on the uncertain state of her drunken brother. She’d even manufactured that little scene with the doctor at their home.
She’d made him believe in her. Worse yet, she’d made him out to be some untrustworthy rogue, when all the while she was the one who was untrustworthy. The more he’d thought about it the more his heart had frozen, until he was sure he was now immune to her smiles and half-truths.
Yet here she was, looking fragile and tired, her petite frame practically dwarfed by a wool cloak and her eyes haunted—and it threatened to destroy every wall he’d so carefully built.
Damn her to hell. Why did she affect him like this? Why had he not yet learned that everything she said and did was for the benefit of her family’s cursed brewery?
“You’re early,” she said in a low voice as she walked past him to the door.
“I am eager for the night’s festivities to begin,” he clipped out. “I want to have plenty of time to enjoy my … winnings.” He swept her with a deliberate glance to remind her of how he would take his revenge.
Instead of rousing a blush in her pale cheeks, it made anger flare in her eyes. “Assuming that you win, which is by no means certain.”
She was always a fighter, and damned if that didn’t arouse him.
He came up close behind her, taking petty satisfaction in the way her fingers fumbled with the keys. “It’s certain enough.”
Removing the key from her gloved hand, he bent past her to unlock the door. He could feel her tremble, which tugged at his conscience. With a muttered curse, he handed her the key and moved back.
“I beat you before,” she said. “I can beat you again.”
He snorted. “Do you know what they call me in the gaming hells of London?”
“Cocky?”
He suppressed a laugh. “The Prince of Piquet. I almost never lose.”
She pushed the door open. “Then it sounds to me as if you have an unfair advantage. That’s hardly gentlemanly of you.”
“No, it’s not,” he agreed without an ounce of guilt as he entered behind her.
Shutting the door, she picked up a nearby flint and got the candle lit, then wedged it into a sconce. When she took off her wool cloak, he dragged in a harsh breath. She still wore her dinner gown, the one he’d wanted to rip off her with his teeth.
She faced him with a brittle expression, and it was all he could do not to shove her against the wall and kiss the coldness from her. But that would give her too much power over him.
“Perhaps we should choose a more level playing field.” Defiance lit her features. “If you don’t like two-handed whist, we can play Irish whist, as your friend Mr. Masters suggested. It can’t be much different from regular whist, and if you explain the rules, I’m sure I could follow it.”
A caustic laugh burst out of him. “Oh, I’m sure you could follow it very well.” Giving her no warning, he caught her by the hips and hauled her close to press against his rapidly hardening cock. “This is Irish whist, my dear.” He thrust himself suggestively against her. “Where the jack takes the ace.”
If he’d hoped to embarrass her, he’d failed. She merely looked perplexed. “I don’t understand. I can figure out what ‘jack’ refers to, but—”
“‘Ace of spades’ is cant for ‘whore,’” he said bluntly, “because a spade resembles the triangle of dark hair between a woman’s legs. Ergo, jack takes the ace.”
Appalled, she shoved away from him. “Why is it called Irish whist?”
A gentleman never said such things to a gently bred female, but tonight he wasn’t feeling much like a gentleman. He half expected her to slap him for his crudeness, and hoped she would. He was spoiling for a fight.
“Lord, men are children,” she said crisply. “Is that how you spend your time when women aren’t around? Thinking up naughty terms for women’s privates?”
Only Annabel would look at it that way. Forcing himself not to be charmed by that, he raked his gaze down to linger on that part of her. “When we’re not thinking up ways to get into women’s privates.”
A hot rush of blood rose in her cheeks, and she whirled and headed for the coal grate. “We need some heat in here. I didn’t have time to change out of my dinner gown.”
“Good,” he murmured as she bent to start the fire. “After I spent the entire evening imagining tearing that gown off of you, I’m looking forward to the reality.”
Her back went rigid. “You’re awfully sure of yourself, aren’t you?”
“I always am.”
When she turned her head, probably to rebuke him for his arrogance, she caught him staring at her nicely displayed arse, and she straightened to glare at him. “You think I’m a whore now, don’t you?”
That brought him up short. “Why would I think that?”
“Because of what I did with Rupert.”
“One night of passion with your ‘true love’ hardly qualifies you for status as a whore.”
“Then why are you treating me differently?” she countered. “Why are you being so crude and saying such shocking things to me?”
Because he wanted her to feel the same shock he’d felt when he’d realized how she’d lied to him. Because it still gnawed at him that the fetching country lass who’d enticed him had been toying with him only to get what she wanted. “You’re the one who brought up Irish whist.”