A Hellion in Her Bed

by Sabrina Jeffries

  For a moment, he remained stiff in her arms. Then his arms came around her, and he pressed his head against her shoulder. “It’ll be all right, Mother,” he whispered. “Really, it will.”

  Mother. Tears rolled down her cheeks. She’d waited so long to hear him call her that, and it was the most beautiful thing she’d ever heard.

  She watched him until he was out the door, trying not to make an absolute cake of herself. Then she felt Jarret press something into her hand. A handkerchief.

  “You’re right,” he said softly. “You do cry a lot.”

  His pity was almost as painful to her as Geordie’s distance had been. She knew what was coming, after all. Drying her tears, she turned to face him. “Jarret, I know you feel sorry for me now, and probably feel obligated to—”

  “Don’t tell me what I feel,” he said, his voice firmer. He pulled out her chair. “Sit down, dearling. I need to tell you a story.”

  She blinked but did as he asked. He took the chair next to hers and turned it so they were half facing each other, their knees touching.

  “There was once a boy who loved going to his grandparents’ brewery more than anything in the world. He liked the fragrant smell of hops and the golden color of the barley as it roasted. He would have lived there if his grandparents had let him.”

  He took her hands in his. “Then his parents died in a terrible accident, and his widowed grandmother suddenly had five children to raise—something she hadn’t planned on while also running a brewery. She did her best with them, but the brewery had to be her first priority, since it was the source of most of the family income. The eldest—the heir to the estate—was already in school, the oldest girl had a governess, and the two young ones were still in the nursery, so they had their nursery maid. But the second son was a difficult matter.”

  Annabel sucked in a breath as it dawned on her what he was doing.

  He gazed beyond her to the window. “He was used to spending part of each day at the brewery, but his grandmother decided it would be best to pack him off to school with his older brother. She said he ought to be a barrister or a clergyman or a soldier, something befitting his rank. And no matter how much he begged to be allowed to stay at the brewery, she refused.”

  “Oh, Jarret,” she said softly, feeling the pain he must have felt, to lose his family and his future in one stroke.

  His voice grew thick with emotion. “He didn’t like school. The boys taunted him with vile rumors about the deaths of his parents, and he missed the estate that his grandmother closed up after the accident. Fortunately—or unfortunately, depending on how you look at it—he discovered he was good at gambling, that he could keep the bullies in their place with his prowess at cards. His father had taught him how to play. It was the only remnant left from his old life, and he desperately needed something to cling to from that.”

  A long breath escaped him. “You asked me once how I became a gambler. That’s how it started. Perhaps it made sense for a boy of thirteen, who missed his family so much that he suffered physical pain every time he thought of them.

  “But I let it go on long beyond the time I was old enough to know better. I fully embraced Lady Luck, and because I already knew she was a fickle mistress, I was immune to the pain she could cause. Then I set out to make myself immune to the pain people could cause. That was easy. I just made sure they never got close enough to me to hurt me.”

  He stared down at her hands, rubbing his thumbs gently over the knuckles. “Then I met you. You were stubborn and beautiful and clever as hell, and you entranced me from the moment you waltzed into the brewery office. I panicked, as men often do when they suddenly glimpse a future very different from the one they’ve imagined for themselves. I did a number of stupid things while trying to hold you at arm’s length and convince myself that I couldn’t care for you. That I didn’t care for you.”

  His gaze lifted to meet hers, deepening to that color of the ocean that she always adored. “But I do.” He brought her hands to his lips and kissed them. “I love you, Annabel Lake. I love the way you take care of everyone around you. I love how hard you fight for your son. And most of all, I love that when you look at me, you don’t see me as I am, but me as I could be. If I could only find it in my heart.”

  Tears welled up and she fought them back, not wanting to spoil the moment. But it was hard, because it was when she was really, really happy that she cried the most.

  He smiled his dimpled smile. “Well, I’ve found something in my heart, my love, and it’s you. You fill it up so completely that I don’t need anything else.” His gaze turned solemn. “I don’t want to be the river anymore. I want to be the earth that the tree roots in. And I believe that I can, if you’ll be my tree. Will you?”

  It was too much. She began to cry, though she smiled so he’d know that they were happy tears. “That proposal … is vastly superior … to your last one,” she choked out between sobs. “I would very much love to be your tree.”

  He kissed her so tenderly, so sweetly, that her heart filled up with him, too. And it was all the more precious because she knew it wasn’t just a prelude to lovemaking.

  He loved her. He really loved her! And he wanted to marry her, despite—

  She jerked back from him. “What about Geordie?”

  He took the handkerchief from her and dried her tears. “He and I have been discussing the matter, and we think we’ve come up with an excellent solution to everyone’s problem.” He rose, tugging her to her feet. “But I want you to hear it from him. Or rather from him and Gran, since they were the ones to devise it.”

  His grandmother had been part of a solution to the problem of Geordie’s bastardy? Amazing. Perhaps he was right when he’d said she wouldn’t care.

  Annabel let him lead her into the hall where, unsurprisingly, the entire family stood. When Lady Minerva cast her a knowing smile, Annabel blushed. Oh, Lord, they were as bad as Geordie, listening at doors.

  “All right, George,” Jarret said, “it’s your turn. Tell Annabel your plan for where you should live.”

  Geordie dragged in a deep breath as he faced her. “Well, remember how you said that I should go to school? As it happens, Harrow is six miles from Ealing, and they take day pupils. Mrs. Plumtree says I could live at Halstead Hall with you and Lord Jarret, and go to school there every day.”

  “No one would find it odd that the boy would live with his aunt and uncle while in school,” Mrs. Plumtree pointed out. “They need never know of his true relationship to either of you, if that is what he prefers.”

  “And frankly,” Jarret put in, “he’d be better off not staying in the boarding facilities.”

  Given what Jarret had said about his own experience at school, she understood why he’d feel that way, although Geordie might prefer it eventually.

  “For the holidays, of course, I’d go home to Burton,” Geordie went on, with a furtive glance at Hugh. “If they want me there.”

  “Of course we want you there, boy,” Hugh said. “Sissy would feel bereft if she had to do without you completely.”

  Geordie shoved his hands in his coat pockets. “So what do you think? No one would have me all the time, but I’d get to be with everyone some of the time.”

  Annabel gazed at her dear son, then at the man she loved more than life. Had she really thought she could give one of them up for the other? She must have been mad. And thank God they’d found a solution so she didn’t have to.

  “I think it’s brilliant,” she said, tears threatening again. “Absolutely brilliant.”

  “He’s a clever boy, our George,” Jarret said, sliding an arm about her waist. “But then, his mother is clever, too. Which is why she has finally consented to be my wife.”

  As the hall exploded with congratulations and cheers all around, Annabel didn’t know whether to blush or beam or just start crying again. She was so happy, she didn’t know if her heart could take it.

  When the noise died down, Lady Minerva
said, “Are you pleased now, Gran? Not only is Jarret running the brewery, but you got him married off, too, and gained a new great-grandchild in the bargain. Surely that will satisfy your thirst to see us wed.”

  Gran thrust out her chin. “Still three to go, my girl.”

  “Gran!” Lord Gabriel protested. “You’re being unreasonable!”

  “Give it up, Gabe,” Jarret remarked. “You know how Gran is when she sets her mind to something. She is not going to be moved on this.” He gazed at Mrs. Plumtree. “And speaking of moving, perhaps we should move this celebration into the drawing room. Gran’s been on her feet for far too long, and she’s looking a little peaked right now.”

  “I am not!” she said, but Annabel noticed that she didn’t struggle when Lady Celia and Lord Gabriel hurried to her side and each took an arm to guide her down the hall.

  Lady Minerva paused beside Jarret. “Does this mean you’ve become a traitor like Oliver, and gone over to Gran’s side?”

  Jarret smiled. “No. I think she has sound reasons, but she’s going about it all wrong. So if you find a way to fight her ultimatum, I’ll back you every step.” He cast her a considering glance. “I was thinking we should consult Giles Masters on the legal aspects of it. What do you think?”

  “That ne’er-do-well?” Lady Minerva said. A blush inexplicably stained her cheeks. “I can’t imagine what good he could do.”

  “He’s a brilliant barrister.”

  “In his own mind, perhaps,” she shot back, and turned to walk away. “But do as you please. He’s your friend.”

  “What was that all about?” Annabel said as Jarret watched his sister walk off.

  He frowned. “I’m not sure.”

  Hugh glanced from Annabel to Jarret. “It looks like you and I will be having a very thorough talk about settlements and pin money, my lord.”

  “I’d say that’s a necessity,” Jarret said, “especially now that we’re all going to be quite a bit richer.” When Hugh looked perplexed, he added, “The East India captains have agreed to take two thousand barrels of your pale ale, along with a few hundred of some Plumtree varieties. I hope that in time, we’ll have them taking even more.”

  Hugh just stood there, stunned. Annabel whirled toward Jarret with a little cry and showered him with kisses. “You did it! Oh, I knew you could do it! You’re the most brilliant brewer in England!”

  A broad smile split Hugh’s face. “Thank you, my lord, for helping us.”

  He thrust his hand out to Jarret, who took it and pumped it enthusiastically. “I’ll tell you all about it,” Jarret said, “but first I want a moment alone with my future bride.”

  With a nod, Hugh put his arm about Geordie’s shoulder. “Come on, son. Let’s give the lovebirds a little privacy.”

  As soon as everyone had cleared from the hall, Jarret tugged her into the deserted dining room. He pulled her into his arms and kissed her, this time with substantially more heat than before.

  After he had her quivering from head to toe, he drew back to murmur, “How soon can we be married?”

  “As soon as you like.”

  “Gran will want a grand affair, with acres of wedding cake and a ceremony at St. Paul’s. I don’t want to deprive you of that if that’s what you want, too.”

  She laughed. “As long as I have you, my love, we could get married in a barn.”

  His gaze smoldered. “Considering that we nearly con-summated our union in one, that seems appropriate. But I’d settle for a special license and a small gathering at Halstead Hall, if you’re amenable.”

  “That sounds perfect. Of course, if your grandmother doesn’t approve—”

  “Gran will approve of anything, as long as she sees me married. I daresay we could hold the wedding in the brewery next to the mashtun, and she’d agree.”

  “I seriously doubt that,” she said with a laugh.

  A sudden gleam appeared in his eye. “Care to place a wager on it, my love?”

  She eyed him askance. “I thought you gave up gambling.”

  “Ah, but this is a private wager. Surely that can be allowed.”

  “What would be the stakes?” she asked archly.

  “A lifetime in my bed,” he said.

  She bit back a smile. “And if you win?”

  He blinked, then burst into laughter.

  And as the sounds of family merrymaking drifted to them from down the hall, he showed her just what to expect from winning a hellion in her bed.

  Epilogue

  In the end, they had a simple wedding in the Sharpe family chapel less than two weeks after Annabel’s arrival in London. Though they would have preferred to wait until Jarret’s brother Oliver returned to England, they had to marry swiftly. They wanted to get George into school for the next term at Harrow, and he couldn’t very well live with an “aunt and uncle” who weren’t married.

  Now, six weeks after the wedding, Jarret headed up the main stairs at Halstead Hall. They didn’t intend to live here forever—once George was done with school, they would find a place in town closer to the brewery—but he was enjoying being in his childhood home again.

  If only Annabel felt better, his life would be complete. This stomach ailment of hers worried him—she’d always seemed too resilient for such things, and it was lingering too long. He shouldn’t have left her to go to town with the others to meet Oliver and Maria at the docks, but she’d insisted.

  He cracked open the door to find her dozing. The late afternoon sun spilled across the beautiful hair that he never tired of touching and the sweet features that always caused a clutch in his chest. It was hard to believe that she was his. Why had he ever balked at marriage? She was the joy of his life.

  Not only was she an ever entertaining companion, in bed and out, but she was a wonderful partner in business, as well. Until she’d started feeling ill she’d gone to the brewery with him every day to experiment with various brews or consult with Harper about innovations Jarret wanted to try. He liked that he could talk to her about the business and she understood what he meant, what his difficulties were. She made excellent suggestions, and she knew how to put her finger on what was bothering him about any situation.

  Suddenly she stirred, and his heart quickened. “How are you feeling?” he asked as he came toward the bed.

  As sleep faded from her face, she shot him a daggered glance. “Awful. And it’s all your fault.”

  “Why? I told you not to eat those pickles, since they don’t seem to agree with you. But you’re fond of the strangest foods—”

  “There’s a reason for that.” She sat up, still glaring at him. “I’m not ill. I’m enceinte.”

  It took a moment for that to sink in, then relief made him so giddy, he laughed.

  “It’s not funny!” she cried as she rose. “You assured me that your cundum things worked. You promised, yet here I am, in exactly the same situation I was thirteen years ago—”

  “Not exactly the same situation,” he pointed out cheerily. “You’re married.”

  “But what if I hadn’t been? What if you’d trotted off to London and left me with child, after swearing to me that there was no chance—”

  “Well, there’s always a chance, even with cundums. There could have been a hole in it, or perhaps it wasn’t tied tightly enough, or—”

  She hit him with a pillow. “You told me it always worked! How do you know you don’t have ten little by-blows running about London from all your wild living?”

  He struggled to hide his smiles, but it was difficult. She was so fetchingly annoyed. And she was bearing his child. His first child!

  “I assure you, my love, if I’d sired by-blows, their mothers would have come to me with their hands out by now. I’m a marquess’s son, you know.”

  “I know only too well,” she said with a sniff. “And after all those years of waltzing about town, throwing your seed wherever—”

  “It wasn’t so much throwing as sowing.” At her glare, he laughed and
drew her into his arms. “Come now, surely you’re not really angry about having our baby, are you?”

  The fight seemed to go right out of her. “No,” she admitted. Then her features softened, and tears filled her eyes.

  Jarret offered her one of the handkerchiefs he’d learned to keep always at hand. “Let me guess. You cry when you’re with child, too.”

  “Yes, but they’re tears of joy. Do you realize this will be the first time I can hold my child without worrying that people will guess the truth? I can dote on him—or her—without restraint. This baby will be truly mine.”

  “And mine,” he protested.

  She smiled at him through her tears. “Of course.”

  He drew her to the door. “Come, you have to meet my brother and sister-in-law.”

  “Now? But I look a fright!” she wailed.

  “You look absolutely stunning,” he said, meaning every word. “As always.”

  “Flatterer,” she said, but a small smile played about her lips.

  Still, he could tell she was nervous as they approached the drawing room. “Relax,” he murmured. “I’m sure Oliver left his quizzing glass in America and broke his fancy cane while promenading at court.”

  That got a laugh out of her, which was why, when they entered, her eyes were sparkling and her lips sweetly curved. Jarret wanted to kiss her right then and there, and only refrained because his rapscallion brothers were watching.

  Oliver must have been able to read his mind, for he shot Jarret a smug grin as he rose with his wife and came to greet them.

  “Oliver, Maria,” Jarret said, “may I present my wife, Annabel.”

  As Annabel curtsied very low, Oliver bent to take her hand and squeeze it warmly. “So you’re the brewster my brother couldn’t stop talking about on our way from London. I gather that you share his penchant for card playing.”

  She turned crimson. “Jarret, you devil, surely you didn’t—”

  “Gabe told him. He loves to relate the story of how my wife beat me at the tables the first time we met.”

  “At least she didn’t try to thrust a sword through your throat,” Oliver said.