A Hellion in Her Bed

by Sabrina Jeffries

  Hugh crossed his arms over his chest. “And where might that have been?”

  Toby swallowed, then glanced nervously behind him to the door. “You won’t give me to the constable, will you?”

  “It depends on what you have to say.”

  He thrust out his lower lip. “I knew I shouldn’t have helped that little mama’s boy. I told him he had a fool plan, but he wouldn’t listen.”

  “What was his plan?” Annabel prodded.

  “Wanted to go see some fancy gent in London. The same one what was here last week. He had me pretend to be his older brother putting him on the coach. I told the coachman he was off to visit our uncle. George paid for the ticket himself, and gave me the watch because I helped him.”

  Annabel’s heart faltered. Geordie had gone off to London alone?

  “Why on earth would he want to see Lord Jarret?” Sissy demanded.

  “I dunno, ma’am. He wouldn’t say. But he kept asking me questions about what it was like to be a bastard, till I nearly changed my mind about helping him.”

  A bastard.

  Annabel’s gaze flew to Hugh, whose pallid color said he was thinking the same thing she was.

  “Thank you, lad, for telling us the truth,” Hugh said in a strained voice. “Go on with you now.”

  Toby frowned. “What about the watch? It’s mine, fair and square.”

  “Just be glad we’re not turning you over to the constable,” Hugh snapped. “I’m not giving you that watch.”

  “But you can have some cake if you like,” Sissy added with a wan smile. “For helping us.”

  Toby thrust out his chest. “Don’t need any cake.” He glanced sullenly at Sissy. “But if you’ve got some roast beef …”

  “I’m sure we could find something you like,” Sissy said kindly, herding him toward the kitchen.

  Hugh thanked the shop owner and sent him on his way. As soon as the man was gone, Annabel said, “Geordie must have heard us talking about him yesterday. You know how bad he’s gotten about listening at doors.”

  Hugh nodded grimly. “I’ll get the coach ready. We’ll leave for London at once. Sissy can stay here with the children, in case he comes to his senses and returns.”

  Annabel nodded, her heart beating a frenzied pace. Anything could happen to him on the road alone.

  Hugh put his arm around her. “He’ll be all right, Annie. He’s a resourceful boy.”

  “How will he know where to find Jarret? What if he gets into trouble while he’s wandering London alone? All sorts of things could happen to him in the city!”

  “I know, but you can’t start imagining the worst or you’ll make yourself mad. We’ll just have to hope he reaches Lord Jarret quickly.” Hugh pressed a kiss to her forehead. “Have some faith in the lad. He has a good head on his shoulders.”

  That wouldn’t make any difference if he came up against some of the rougher sorts. All she could see in her mind was George being accosted by footpads, robbed and beaten, and left to die in some alley. “I should have told him,” she whispered. “If only I had told him—”

  “What’s done is done. We’ll find him, even if we have to tear London apart.”

  The fierce determination in her brother’s voice gave her little comfort, but one thing was certain. If she did find Geordie safe and unharmed, she was never going to let him go.

  JARRET ENTERED THE offices of Plumtree Brewery after noon with a spring in his step. The East India captains had agreed to a contract with Plumtree Brewery to sell Lake Ale’s brew. They’d been so impressed with the quality of Annabel’s pale ale that they’d put in an order for two thousand barrels! That was nearly as much as had been going to the Russians. Lake Ale’s cut alone would keep the small brewery going for at least another year, and Annabel would be ecstatic.

  He stopped short. He should tell her firsthand; go up to Burton so they could celebrate.

  So he could see her.

  With a groan, he sank into his chair behind the desk. He was supposed to be putting her from his mind. Ever since he’d left Burton, he’d buried himself in work, in the project, and in setting Plumtree to rights. He’d tried to forget her.

  But he couldn’t. When he smelled the fragrant hops, he thought of her clean, fruity scent. When he saw the froth in the mashtun, he thought of her beautiful hair. And when the lamps were dimmed at night and the place was still, he thought of making love to her in that tiny room off Lake Ale’s office, lit only by a coal fire and their passion.

  Christ, he was getting maudlin again. He was starting to be maudlin all the time. He missed her. He hadn’t expected to miss her so damned much.

  Croft opened the door to his office. “Mr. Pinter is here, sir. Will you see him?”

  “Of course.” At least it would take his mind off Annabel.

  As soon as Pinter took a seat, he got right to the point. “I found the groom who saddled your mother’s horse that day. He says he never saw or heard anything about Desmond—had no idea he was in the vicinity. But your mother said something to the groom that might be important.”

  Jarret steadied himself. “Yes?”

  Pinter shifted in his chair. “She … er … asked that he not mention to your father where she’d gone.”

  For a second, Jarret could hardly breathe. That confirmed it—Mother hadn’t ridden out to confront Father. She’d wanted to avoid him. But then, how had Father known where she was headed? Why had he gone after her, when they’d barely been on speaking terms most days?

  “And Desmond? Have you learned anything more about that? Masters is still trying to finagle a way to look at the earlier versions of Gran’s will.”

  “All I know is that his mill was struggling at the time.”

  “Which gives him a stronger motive.”

  “Yes.”

  “Is it possible that Mother was riding out to meet him? Perhaps she was angry enough with Father that she wanted to plot something with her cousin. She never hated him like the rest of us did.”

  “It’s conceivable. But once again …”

  “I know, you need more information. Well then, keep digging.”

  Pinter nodded. “You should know that Desmond is still spouting his poison, but no one seems to be paying him much heed. Everyone is impressed by how you’ve handled the brewery. There are even rumors of a big contract with the East India captains.”

  “They’re not rumors,” Jarret said proudly.

  “Ah. Then congratulations are in order. I’m sure the Lakes will be pleased.”

  Jarret sighed. “By the way, I did offer for Miss Lake. She turned me down.”

  “Did she?”

  “It seems she was less than hopeful about my suitability to be a husband.”

  Pinter shot him a pensive glance. “Perhaps this will change her mind.”

  “I doubt it. I’ve made something of a mess of my life until now. She’d be mad to marry me.”

  “I’ve seen stranger unions. Your brother’s, for one. I wouldn’t give up hope just yet. In my experience, intelligent women need more time for such decisions than men think they should. You can’t blame them for being skittish. After all, a woman gives up far more to marry than a man does.”

  After Pinter left, those words echoed in Jarret’s mind. He really had been asking a great deal of her—to risk losing her son for him. And he’d offered nothing in return except his name and a promise that he’d be a different man, even though he’d done nothing to show that he could be a different man. He’d wanted her to take a leap of faith, when no other man had ever been worthy of her trust.

  He wasn’t even willing to let her in to the part of him he’d always kept carefully hidden, the part that was terrified of caring too much. She was right about one thing—pretending he had no heart kept him from letting it be broken. Though he began to wonder if a lifetime without her wasn’t just as bad.

  Somewhere in the last month, he’d gone from the Jarret who didn’t care to the Jarret who cared a great deal
about what happened to her. To the two of them. That terrified him. If he allowed himself to love her, and Fate ripped her away from him as it had Mother and Father …

  He froze. Pinter’s information had made it clear that Fate hadn’t played any part in that. Oliver’s confession had said as much, but Jarret hadn’t wanted to believe it. And why? Because if Mother hadn’t killed Father accidentally, if it had been a deliberate act, then he’d wasted his entire life believing a lie.

  Fate might have a hand in many of life’s tragedies, but many more of them were caused by people behaving foolishly or dangerously—or even, in the case of Gran, bullheadedly. If a man separated himself from people, if he refused to care, then he simply allowed those actions to continue. But the world needed people who cared enough to balance out the foolish and dangerous ones, to pick up the pieces. The world needed people like Annabel.

  He needed people like Annabel. No, he needed Annabel. In his life, by his side. And no amount of burying himself in work was going to change that.

  Chapter Twenty-six

  A few hours later, Jarret heard a familiar strident voice coming from the outer office. Despite everything, a smile lit his face. Seconds later, Gran bustled in with Croft on her heels.

  “You really should sit down, madam,” Croft told her. “You know what Dr. Wright says.” He ran over to pick up the coverlet draped over the settee. “Here, this spot would be best. Then you can rest your head on the bolster and put your feet—”

  “Croft, if you do not stop fluttering about me, I will put my feet up your arse!” Gran snapped. “I am fine. I feel fine.”

  “But—”

  “Out!” She pointed her finger to the door. “I want to speak to my grandson.”

  With a wounded look, Croft carefully refolded the coverlet and placed it precisely back on the settee, then left the room.

  “You really should be nicer to the man,” Jarret said, biting back a smile. “He worships the ground you walk on. Every other word out of his mouth is ‘Mrs. Plumtree says this’ and ‘Mrs. Plumtree says that.’”

  “He thinks I am hovering over the grave,” she grumbled as she sat down on the settee. “You all do.”

  “Not me. I know better; I hate having my knuckles rapped.” He leaned back in his chair and folded his hands over his abdomen. “How are you feeling these days?”

  “Much better,” she said. “Dr. Wright thinks I am on the mend.”

  She certainly looked better than she had a couple of weeks ago. Jarret hadn’t heard her cough in a while, and her face had good color. The very fact that she was here said quite a lot.

  “You must have incredible sources if you already know about the contract.”

  “Contract?” she said with patently false innocence. “What contract?”

  He arched an eyebrow at her. “Gran, I’m not in leading strings anymore. You’ve heard about the deal with the East India captains, haven’t you?”

  She shrugged. “There are rumors …”

  “And you came to confirm them. Well, they are all true.” He picked up his copy of the contract and brought it over to drop in her lap. “See for yourself.”

  She pounced on the contract like a profligate scenting sin. It took her several moments to scan it for the particulars, but when she got to the amount they’d contracted for, her eyes went wide. “You got them to agree to purchase two thousand barrels? However did you manage that?”

  “It’s a good brew at a good price. They’re no fools.”

  “But that is almost a quarter of the market!”

  “You sound surprised,” he said dryly as he took a seat again. “What did you think I’d been doing up here all this time? Twiddling my thumbs?”

  She must have heard the edge in his voice, for she set down the contract. “Jarret, never let it be said that I am not willing to acknowledge my mistakes. And I made a very great one when I refused to let you continue on at the brewery when you were young.”

  The words shouldn’t have mattered so much to him, but they did. “Good of you to admit it.” Somehow he managed a smile. “I wasn’t cut out to be a barrister, Gran. But I realize now that you suddenly found yourself stuck with five grandchildren to raise, and you probably didn’t need all of them underfoot—”

  “Oh, God, it was not that.” Her blue eyes deepened in sorrow. “Don’t you see, my boy? I pushed my daughter to marry your father. After that ended in disaster, I realized that we had never given you a choice—your grandfather and I just dragged you to the brewery and told you that it was your future.”

  “It was a future I wanted.”

  “You were thirteen. What did you know? You had never had any other choice shown to you. I wanted you to see the world that was available to you before you entered the brewery business. I wanted you to have the same advantages as any gentleman your age—a good education, a chance for something greater.”

  A month ago, he would have lashed out over that. He would have told her that Eton was the last place to send a grieving boy whose family had suffered scandal and who needed familiar places and familiar people around him.

  But that had been before he met Annabel. Now he understood that mothers—and grandmothers—sometimes made the wrong sacrifices for their children. Because they had limited resources or limited knowledge. Or simply because they were afraid.

  That didn’t mean they loved them any less. Sometimes it meant they loved them more.

  “You did what you thought was right,” he said softly, realizing that any resentment he’d felt for her over the past was gone. “I don’t blame you for that.”

  She blinked back tears, then jerked the contract back into her lap and continued to read. “It is a solid agreement, with many advantages for us.”

  “I know.”

  A bark of laughter escaped her. “Cocky rascal, aren’t you?”

  “So I’ve been told.” As she went on reading, he broached a subject he’d been putting off. “Gran, I intend to keep running the brewery after the year is up.”

  She kept reading, but her hands trembled a little. “I suppose that could be arranged.”

  “And you are going to retire.”

  That got her full attention. “What? You are not going to put me out to pasture, Jarret Sharpe.”

  “No, indeed. You’re too valuable for that. I mean to use your expertise every chance I get.” When that seemed to mollify her, he added gently, “But the brewing business is for the young. You know that, or you wouldn’t have asked me to step in.” He cast her an arch glance. “Besides, if your devious little plan works out and you get everyone married off, you’ll soon have great-grandchildren to coddle. You’ll have no time for Plumtree.”

  She digested that a moment. “I take it you still disapprove of my methods.”

  “I do. I suspect that down the road, it’s going to give you grief in ways you haven’t anticipated.”

  With a sniff, she returned to reading the contract. When she was done, she set it aside. “Do you believe Lake Ale can hold up their end?”

  “I have no doubt of that. Annabel will make sure they hold up their end.”

  “Annabel?” she asked, her eyebrows lifting.

  He hesitated. But he’d already decided that he had to try again with Annabel. She was everything he wanted. “You’d like her. She’s a great deal like you, actually—stubborn and impudent and a plague of a woman. With a heart as big as the ocean.”

  “So why don’t you marry her?”

  “I proposed, but she turned me down.”

  “What?” She scowled. “Well then, I do not think she is right for you. Sounds like a fool to me, and you should not marry a fool.”

  “She’s no fool, trust me. Just a bit skittish. And her life is … complicated.”

  “Well then, uncomplicate it.” She stabbed a finger at the contract. “If you managed a deal like this, you can uncomplicate the life of some provincial brewster who spends her time looking after her brother’s children, and has not ha
d a man in her life since her fiancé died in the war.”

  He blinked. “How did you know all that?”

  She tipped up her chin. “I have sources, remember?”

  God help them all. No telling what other secrets she’d dredged up.

  He was about to prod further when a ruckus in the outer office caught their attention. Croft let out a yelp, and a boy ran into the room, his eyes wild.

  “George?” Jarret said as he leapt from the chair, his heart thundering. What was the lad doing here? And did that mean Annabel was here, too?

  Croft ran in to grab the poor boy by his collar. “Forgive me, sir, but the little brat kicked me and got past me. I swear—”

  “Let him go, Croft. I know him. Leave us.”

  Croft threw up his hands, muttered something vaguely curselike, and marched stiffly out.

  George looked a bit worse for wear, with his clothes rumpled, his hair thoroughly mussed, and his shoes muddy. And were those cake crumbs on his coat?

  As soon as Croft had closed the door, George said, without preamble, “You knew I was a bastard, and you didn’t tell me!”

  The look of betrayal on his face made Jarret’s gut twist. Damn it all to hell. “I didn’t know until the night before I left, when your aunt—”

  “My mother, you mean. You can say it. She’s my mother.”

  Gran cleared her throat. In horror, George looked over to see her sitting there, and his face went red.

  “George, this is my grandmother, Mrs. Hester Plumtree. Gran, this is George Lake, Annabel’s—”

  “Son,” George finished, his stance belligerent. “Her bastard son.”

  Gran blinked, then stood. Coming up to George, she held out her hand. “Pleased to meet you, George. I’ve heard a great many good things about your mother.”

  The lad stared at her, obviously not quite sure what to do. At last he took her hand and shook it, a trifle warily.

  “Gran, would you give us a moment?” Jarret said. “George and I need to have a little talk.”

  “Certainly.” She shot him a furtive glance. “Is this one of those complications you were talking about?”

  “You could say that.” And she was going to expect full details later.