A Hellion in Her Bed

by Sabrina Jeffries

  “Really, Mrs. Lake,” Lady Minerva said for the third time, “we don’t wish to put you to any trouble. We just came to fetch Jarret, that’s all.”

  “Nonsense,” Sissy said. “You’ve been traveling all day, and Lord Gabriel says you haven’t even had dinner. It’s no trouble at all. Any friends and family of Lord Jarret’s are very welcome here.”

  Lady Minerva smiled her thanks, then glanced at Annabel with blatant curiosity.

  Annabel tried to look nonchalant, but her heart pounded. They were here to fetch Jarret. He’d be leaving shortly. She’d known this day would come soon, but now that it was upon her, she didn’t know how she could endure it.

  It had been easier to barricade her heart from him that first day, with Hugh’s words ringing in her ears about how worried he’d been, but it had grown increasingly harder as the week had gone on.

  Sometimes Jarret gazed at her with such heat that she feared she might boil over. He followed her with his eyes, and she followed him with all of her senses, aware at every moment of how he smelled, where he stood, to whom he spoke, what he said.

  Worst of all were the nights, filled with memories of their amazing evening together. In bed she touched herself, remembering the feel of his hand arousing her body … kneading her breasts, sliding between her legs … taking her to heaven over and over and …

  “Do pour me some of that orgeat, Miss Lake,” Lady Minerva said as she held out her glass. “Judging from your expression of pure bliss, it must be delicious.”

  Annabel started, color flooding her face. When she caught Jarret’s considering gaze on her, she wanted to sink through the floor. Did he read minds? Did the entire family read minds, for pity’s sake?

  In silence, she filled Lady Minerva’s glass, afraid that if she spoke, she’d say something that gave away her feelings.

  After watching her a moment, Jarret settled back in his chair. “Now tell me, Minerva, what’s of such dire importance that Gran sent you up here to ‘fetch’ me?”

  “Actually,” Lord Gabriel cut in, “Gran sent me. Minerva just came along because she’s nosy.”

  “Not nosy,” Lady Minerva protested. “Desperate. Gran is driving me mad. She keeps inviting unattached men to join the family for dinner, and if I try to get out of it, she fakes an attack.”

  “Are you sure she’s faking?” Jarret asked with a frown.

  “She recovers well enough to show up at dinner, so what do you think?”

  Jarret chuckled. “She must be feeling better if she’s up to her shenanigans again.” He met Annabel’s gaze from across the room. “All the more reason that I need not rush back.”

  “We don’t want to keep you from your duties at Plumtree Brewery,” Hugh said. “You and I can put the final touches on our agreement tomorrow, and you could be on your way by noon.”

  That twisted the knife in Annabel’s heart.

  A look of sheer frustration crossed Jarret’s face as he stared at Annabel. “There were a few more things I wanted to discuss with you. It might take us another day at least.”

  “I’m happy to stay a day or two,” Lady Minerva said, “but Gran’s instructions were specific. We were to bring you back in time for the meeting with the maltmen.”

  “Confound it all—I completely forgot about that.”

  “If we leave by noon tomorrow, we’ll just make it, but we can’t leave any later than that,” Lady Minerva said.

  Annabel forced herself to be practical. “And the sooner you return to London, the sooner you can make our case to the East India captains,” she pointed out. “Perhaps it’s just as well.” The thought of his leaving was killing her.

  Something fierce flickered in his eyes as they met hers. “Perhaps.”

  The word was noncommittal. Even Lord Gabriel noticed, for he elbowed his sister, who sat next to him on the settee. “Sounds to me like old Jarret has grown rather attached to Burton, eh?”

  Jarret ignored his brother, turning to the quiet Mr. Pinter. “I take it you’ve brought news, too?”

  “Yes, sir. I’ve looked into those two matters you wanted me to explore. Since I wasn’t sure if Lady Minerva and Lord Gabriel would be able to convince you to return, I thought it best to come consult with you on how to proceed.”

  “He won’t say a word about these mysterious ‘matters’ of yours,” Lady Minerva complained. “I’ve tried to coax it out of him for the whole trip.”

  “More like ‘bully,’” Lord Gabriel said with a laugh. He cast Annabel a conspirational glance. “Our sister could strip the paint off a wall with her tongue if she had a mind to. You two would make quite a pair.”

  Lady Minerva flashed Annabel a dazzling smile. “So he keeps telling me, but I can’t imagine what he means. You’ve been downright shy ever since we arrived.”

  “Because she can’t get a word in edgewise with you,” Jarret put in. “Give her a chance, and she can rival even your tongue.”

  “Feel free to take your brother off whenever you wish,” Annabel said tartly. “We won’t miss him, I’ll warrant.”

  Everyone laughed. Except Jarret. “Not even a little?” His silky voice made shivers run along her spine.

  She caught Hugh watching them and forced a light smile to her lips. “Only when we need someone to scare the townfolk from their beds with a song.”

  Lord Gabriel laughed. “Good God, if you heard Jarret sing, then I don’t blame you for wanting to be rid of him. Never mind Minerva’s tongue—Jarret’s singing could strip the paint from the walls. It could curdle milk. It could—”

  “Enough,” Jarret said irritably. “They already know how bad my singing is.”

  “And how good your card playing is, I gather,” Lady Minerva said. “Gabe told me how you and Miss Lake played two-handed whist for—”

  Annabel jumped to her feet. “Forgive the interruption, Lady Minerva, but I must go check on what’s happened with your dinner. Perhaps you’d come with me? We have an interesting Turner print in the hall that I’m sure you would like, since it depicts a castle much like those in Gothic novels, and I understand you write those. Is that true?”

  She was babbling, but what else could she do? She didn’t want Hugh to learn about the card game or the wager.

  Lady Minerva looked bemused, but she stood. “I do write Gothic novels, and I happen to adore Turner.”

  “So do I,” Jarret surprised her by saying. “I’ll come with you.”

  But as soon as the three of them were in the hall well away from the dining room, he told his sister, “The Turner is over there. Give it a good look, will you, while I speak to Miss Lake?”

  A tinkling laugh escaped the young woman. “Whatever you say, Jarret. I’ll wait here for further instructions.”

  Ignoring his sister’s teasing tone, Jarret pulled Annabel across the hall into Hugh’s study.

  As soon as they were alone, he hauled her into his arms and kissed her with a fervency that sent her head spinning. She ought to resist, but how could she with the knowledge of his impending departure weighing so heavily on her chest?

  She curled her fingers into his lapels and held on for dear life as he brought all his powers of seduction to bear, focusing them entirely on ravaging her mouth, making her want to swoon. Or beg.

  That thought sobered her enough to make her break the kiss.

  He pressed his mouth to her ear, his words heated, urgent. “I have to see you tonight.”

  “Why?”

  “You know why.”

  She did. Worse, she wanted to go. Right now she didn’t care about Hugh or Geordie or anything but being in Jarret’s arms again. “The same place?”

  He drew back with a narrowed gaze. “I thought I’d have to twist your arm a bit.”

  “You are twisting my arm,” she pointed out. And very effectively, too.

  Skimming his hands down to her behind, he dragged her into the lee of his thighs. “I’m happy to twist it some more,” he said in a husky tone as he sought her mouth
again.

  “Not here.” She wriggled free of his embrace. “Later. At the brewery.”

  Fire leapt in his eyes. “Are you sure you can get away? I don’t want to cause trouble for you with your brother.”

  “I’m not sure, but I’ll try.”

  He grabbed her hand and kissed it, then turned it over to kiss her wrist where the pulse beat a wild refrain. “Try hard,” he urged her in a guttural voice. “I’m not leaving Burton until I can see you alone again.”

  Before she could answer, a whisper came from just outside the door. “Jarret, I hear servants approaching.”

  With a frustrated curse, he tugged Annabel back the way they’d come. Though he released her hand as soon as they reached the hall, she could feel his eyes on her like a caress. And when the three of them merged with the servants to head for the dining room, he took advantage of the confusion to whisper, “Until tonight, sweet Venus.”

  Her heart melted. She’d honestly thought she’d fortified her heart against him a little, but with every day, he’d been chipping away at those walls, and now they were nothing but piles of rubble.

  The next few hours were pure torture. She could think only of what was ahead. Watching Jarret with his family was painful—they were clearly affectionate toward each other, and she envied them the chance to see him every day when she could only have him for one more night. She found she liked Lady Minerva a great deal, and Lord Gabriel kept them all laughing with tales of his racing exploits.

  Once the Sharpes and Mr. Pinter left, she told her brother and Sissy that she was going to retire. When she reached her room she sent away the maid, saying that she would undress herself. Then she paced and fretted, wondering how she could leave the house without alerting Hugh that she was gone. She knew from the servants that he stayed up late every night. No doubt he was keeping an eye on her.

  And with good reason. She shouldn’t even consider this. What difference would one more night make? Her heart would be just as broken with or without it.

  Still, she yearned for another night with him. It was like a sickness, this need to see him.

  A sudden knock at the door made her start. Before she could jump into bed, Sissy entered. “I see you’re still dressed.”

  Annabel’s mind was a blank. She couldn’t even drum up an excuse for why she hadn’t donned her nightdress yet.

  “I suppose you’re going to the brewery to work,” Sissy went on. As Annabel gaped at her, she added, “Hugh told me that you went there our first night back, and that he forbade you to go again.”

  “Yes. He says it’s too dangerous.”

  “But I’m sure you must need to go tonight.” Her sister-in-law searched her face. “With his lordship leaving tomorrow, you probably have a great deal to do.” Her voice softened. “I understand, as your brother does not, that sometimes a woman has certain … needs. You need to go to the brewery. And I don’t blame you.”

  Annabel stared hard at her sister-in-law. Was Sissy being particularly obtuse tonight? Or was she actually implying that she knew the real reason behind Annabel’s desire to go to the brewery?

  She chose her words carefully. “Hugh would disapprove.”

  Sissy shrugged. “You’re his sister. What do you expect? But that doesn’t mean it’s wrong for you to … pursue something you think is important.” She shot Annabel an earnest look. “I can take care of Hugh if you feel compelled to go to the brewery tonight.”

  Hope rose in Annabel’s chest. “How?”

  Sissy laughed. “I’ve been married to the man for thirteen years. I think I know how to distract him.” A sly look crossed her face. “And I’ll point out to him that his lordship’s family will be keeping the man busy.”

  “Yes. Very busy, I’m sure.”

  “So Hugh need not worry that his lordship will require his … attention in the wee hours of the morning. Right?”

  Her blood pounded in her veins. “Right. Exactly. No need to worry.”

  Sissy smiled kindly. “I never worry about you. I know you will do the right thing.”

  A choked laugh escaped Annabel. “I’m not sure going to the brewery tonight is the right thing.”

  “Sometimes you just have to make a leap of faith. And I have faith in Lord Jarret, too—especially after his conversation with Hugh this evening.”

  Annabel froze. “What conversation?”

  “Hugh demanded to know if his intentions were honorable.”

  Annabel groaned. “Did he laugh in Hugh’s face?” she asked bitterly.

  “No. That’s the point. Hugh said he seemed intrigued by the idea.”

  Her heart sank. “He was being polite, that’s all.”

  “There isn’t an ounce of politeness in the way Lord Jarret looks at you.”

  She eyed Sissy askance. “Have you forgotten his reputation?”

  “Actually, no. From what I’ve heard, he prefers the fruit hanging lowest on the tree: easy pickings. Forgive me, my dear, but you are not easy pickings. And we both know he has stayed here long past the time he should have.”

  “If you’re helping me because you foolishly think he might marry me—”

  “I’m helping you, dear heart, because you deserve a little happiness. No matter what form it comes in.”

  Sissy meant well. She was making it easy for her. But Annabel could never leave Geordie behind. So tonight would have to be her only night with Jarret.

  Chapter Twenty-two

  Jarret was grateful that Minerva and Gabe retired once they reached the inn. His blood raced at the thought of seeing Annabel.

  Before then, however, he had something else important to do. He led Pinter into the private sitting room the inn had provided upon Jarret’s arrival.

  “Brandy?” he asked as Pinter settled into a chair.

  “Thank you, my lord.”

  Jarret poured. After handing Pinter his, Jarret stood sipping his own, too edgy to sit down. “So tell me what you’ve learned.”

  “I still haven’t tracked down any of the grooms present in the stables when your mother rode out that night.” Pinter drank from his glass. “But I thought you should hear as soon as possible what I’ve discovered about the other matter.”

  “Ah.”

  Desmond Plumtree, their cousin. Jarret gulped some brandy. On that fateful weekend, while coming back from the picnic, he had thought he saw his cousin in the woods. He’d dismissed the possibility since Desmond hadn’t been invited to the house party, assuming he’d mistaken some other guest for Desmond and putting it out of his mind completely. Until Oliver’s tale had cast doubts on everything they’d believed about that night.

  “I was right, wasn’t I?” he said to Pinter. “Desmond was on the estate the night of their deaths.”

  “I can only prove he was in the vicinity. It took some doing, but I found a former groom from an inn in nearby Turnham who remembered cleaning Mr. Plumtree’s tack the next morning.”

  “Astonishing that a groom should remember that after all these years.”

  “Not when you consider that he found blood on the stirrup.”

  A chill swept down Jarret’s spine. His heart racing, he took a seat. “Blood?” he said in a hollow voice. “And the groom didn’t mention it to anyone?”

  “He said Mr. Plumtree claimed to have been hunting. That’s not unusual around there, nor is it odd for a hunter to have blood on him.”

  “Yet he remembered it.”

  “He thought it odd that it was on the stirrup,” Pinter said. “Who gets blood on the bottom of their boots while hunting? A man of Mr. Plumtree’s position would use servants to fetch and clean his game. Still, the groom didn’t connect it with the tragedy, since he’d seen Desmond drinking at the inn the night before.”

  “But Mother and Father might not have died at night. They possibly died earlier, in the late afternoon.”

  “Exactly. But most people don’t know that, because of the great pains your grandmother took to cover up the truth.” />
  Jarret nodded absently. What might have happened if Gran had told the truth, instead of trying to protect the family name? Would they have gotten to the bottom of the matter much sooner? Or would it merely have made the gossip about their family even worse?

  Though how could it have been any worse than people believing Oliver had killed their parents?

  “All right,” Jarret said, “assuming that Desmond was there and had something to do with their deaths—a rather great assumption—what reason would he have for killing them? He wasn’t the heir to anything. He’d have nothing to gain.”

  “Didn’t you say that your grandmother has threatened to leave Plumtree Brewery to him?”

  “Yes, but she said so only to torment the five of us, since she knows we hate our cousin. Besides, murdering our parents wouldn’t have gained Desmond the brewery, even if he had been Gran’s heir.”

  “But there’s another way of looking at this. Perhaps your cousin expected to inherit the brewery when your grandmother’s husband, his uncle, died a few years before. Or even to be allowed to take it over. I’m sure he didn’t expect her to run it alone.”

  “True.”

  Pinter folded his hands over his waistcoat. “When he didn’t gain what he might have seen as his due, he might have plotted another way to gain it. Your grandmother was already reeling from the death of her husband. Perhaps he believed that enduring the violent deaths of her only child and son-in-law—and the ensuing scandal—might push her over the edge. It might not kill her, but it could make her give up running the brewery.”

  Setting down his glass, Pinter rose to pace the room. “You would have been too young yet to run it, and the young marquess too busy dealing with the estate. If your grandmother couldn’t handle the brewery anymore, the logical person to run things would have been her nephew. He might even have known he was designated as heir, so if she died from the strain …”

  “If that was his reasoning, why not just kill Gran? She would have been an easier target.”

  “Ah, but with your parents alive, your mother might have inherited. There was always a chance she would choose someone to run it. And he couldn’t kill all three—that would look too suspicious.”