A Hellion In Her Bed Part 10

"Oh, all right," she grumbled. "I will tell Mr. Croft not to come here anymore." She coughed into her handkerchief. "If you kept me informed the way you promised, I would not have to resort to such measures."

"I keep you informed well enough."

"Then why did I have to hear about this Lake Ale woman from Mr. Croft?" She erupted into another fit of coughing.

"Careful, Gran. Dr. Wright says you're not supposed to excite yourself." His unemotional tone would have hurt her feelings if not for the worry she'd seen flash across his face.

"Dr. Wright can go to h.e.l.l," she retorted.

"If you don't listen to him, you'll beat him there." Now worry had filtered into his voice as well.

She shot him a sharp glance. "Are you saying I am destined for h.e.l.l?"

He gave a rueful smile. "Perhaps." When she glared at him, his smile faded. "I'm saying you need to watch your health. And you're not going to do so by fretting over every little tale Mr. Croft lays at your feet."

The impudent whelp had no idea how hard it was to step back and hand over the reins at her age. "What are you doing here at this hour, anyway? I thought you played cards last night with your rascal friends."

A mild annoyance flickered in his eyes. "I see that Mr. Croft's reports are very thorough."

"They had better be. I pay him well for them." She sharpened her gaze on him. "So? What has made you rise with the chickens?"

"I'm traveling to Burton today."

She stared at him, instantly wary. "Why?"

He shrugged. "To speak to the owner of Lake Ale about our selling their October brew for them."

"To the East India Company?"

"Among others."

So the pretty Miss Lake had convinced him to consider her proposal, had she? Interesting. Now Hetty had to decide how to play this.

On the one hand, she did not wish to lose the company due to Jarret following his c.o.c.k. On the other hand, Plumtree Brewery was ailing and she wasn't sure she had the strength for the battle to save it.

Jarret could do it, though. She had no intention of watching him hand the place back to her at the end of the year. She wanted him well and truly hooked. And you only hooked a fish by giving him a little line.

But could the brewery withstand such an experiment in these hard times?

It didn't matter. If she put her foot down now, she would never get Jarret near it again, and Plumtree Brewery needed someone with his intelligence to run it. She had to risk giving him his head, for the future good of the company.

Besides, this woman brewer might be the key to shifting his interest from gambling to brewing. Jarret had only the most shallow relations with women. He'd been much like his older brother in that respect. Miss Lake could change that, especially if she'd managed to interest him in a project enough to get him hieing off to Burton.

Brewing was in his blood. She had ignored that to her peril, when she had sent him off to Eton against his wishes. He had been punishing her for it ever since. So he must continue to think he was punishing her.

What he must not guess is that he was playing into her hands. And of all her grandchildren, Jarret was the most suspicious.

"I do not want Plumtree Brewery to get into the India trade," she said, feeling her way along.

With a black scowl, he sat up in his chair. "You don't have a say in it."

Ah, that's the spirit. "But Jarret-"

"It could bolster our profits considerably."

"It could sink us, too. It has d.a.m.ned near sunk Hodgson's."

He conceded that with a nod. "But Allsopp's in Burton is profiting from it. Why shouldn't we?"

"What if I forbid you from involving us?"

That stubborn look he sometimes got pa.s.sed across his face. "What if I hand you back your brewery?" He rose and headed for the door.

"Wait!" Well played, Jarret, well played. He would make a fine captain of industry one day. She must have been mad to think he should be a barrister.

Now came the difficult part-giving in without making it look too easy. "What am I to do about Plumtree Brewery while you are gone?"

He halted at the door to shoot her a wary glance. "Harper and Croft can handle matters for a few days. I'll make sure they know what needs to be done. I shouldn't be away long."

She scowled. "I am not giving you my blessing in this."

"Then it's a good thing I don't need your blessing." He crossed his arms over his chest. "I didn't come here to gain permission or approval. I came to keep you informed. Since I've done what I came for, I'm leaving. Is that clear?"

Insolent rascal. She managed a stiff nod.

"Good." He surprised her by coming over to kiss her on the forehead. "Listen to Dr. Wright, will you? And for G.o.d's sake, take care of yourself."

Then he was gone.

She waited until she heard the door close downstairs before calling for her slyest footman.

"Follow my grandson," she ordered him, "but do it discreetly. Eventually, he'll go to an inn. There should be a guest there named Miss Lake, whom Lord Jarret is accompanying out of town. Once he and the woman leave, find out everything you can about her from the innkeeper and report back."

With a nod, the footman hurried off to do her bidding.

Hetty collapsed against the pillow with a smile. It was already looking to be a very good day.

Chapter Seven.

Annabel watched as Sissy nervously paced the inn's common room the next morning, then halted in front of her.

"How do I look?" Sissy was wearing her best day gown of purple velvet, adorned with the amethysts she donned only for special occasions. Her cheeks were flushed, and her blue eyes bright.

"You look lovely, as usual," Annabel answered.

"And you look like a washerwoman." Sissy made a face. "I can't believe you chose to wear that brown thing. We're riding with a marquess's son, for heaven's sake!"

"We'll be traipsing in and out of inns, and it looks like rain. I'm not going to wear my Sunday best just because Lord Jarret happens to be a lord." And certainly not just because he'd kissed her senseless in the hall. Or made her feel things, want things ...

She must stop thinking about that! Today he'd probably probe more into why Lake Ale was in trouble, and she had to be ready. Becoming a dreamy-eyed romantic every time he flashed his dimpled smile would not help.

With a sigh, Sissy glanced at the clock. "I do hope something dreadful hasn't happened. Shouldn't he be here by now?" Jarret had sent a note saying he would arrive at ten-thirty, and it was nearly eleven.

"I'm sure he's merely taking his sweet time," Annabel said dryly, "as lords are apt to do."

"He's coming!" Geordie shouted from the window where he'd been keeping watch for the last half hour.

The sudden leap of her pulse made Annabel scowl. "How do you know it's him?"

"There's a crest on the door and everything." Geordie puffed out his chest. "Just wait until that lout Toby Mawer sees me drive up in a marquess's coach. He'll be green with envy!"

Annabel scarcely had time to steady her nerves before Jarret strode into the common room, full of confidence and arrogance and all things lordly, from his well-tailored morning coat of Sardinian blue superfine to the highly polished sheen of his black Hussar boots. It would make any woman grow wobbly in the knees.

Not her, of course. Her knees were quite unwobbly, thank you very much.

As she rose, his gaze met hers. "Miss Lake," he said in the husky voice she remembered from last night. "Forgive my tardiness. There was an issue with the horses."

"We can hardly complain, my lord," she said as she held out her hand, "given your generosity in taking us to Burton."

He pressed her hand briefly, his gaze running over her with an easy familiarity that made her shiver. Something dark and knowing flickered in his eyes before he smoothed his features into a cordial smile.

Now her knees were wobbly.

Sissy cleared her throat, and Annabel started. "Lord Jarret, may I present my sister-in-law, Cecelia Lake. Sissy, this is Lord Jarret Sharpe."

As they made the requisite bows and curtsies, accompanied by murmured pleasantries, Geordie hurried to Sissy's side.

Sissy laid her hand on Geordie's arm. "And this is my son, Geordie."

"George," Geordie corrected her. He held out his hand manfully. "George Lake, at your service. Very good of you to let us use your carriage, sir. I hope it doesn't inconvenience you too much."

A lump stuck in Annabel's throat to hear Geordie sound so grown up. He must have been practicing that introduction for the past hour.

"Not at all," Jarret said with nary a trace of condescension. "Happy to help you and your family."

When Geordie fairly preened at being treated like a man, she could have kissed Jarret. For all his bl.u.s.ter, Geordie was sensitive, and they didn't need one of his fits of pique today.

"Shall we go, then?" Jarret offered Annabel his arm, leaving Geordie to follow suit with Sissy.

Annabel took it, fighting to quell the sudden tripling of her pulse. They had walked exactly this way last night, and it hadn't affected her so. But that was before he'd kissed her. Now she was intensely aware of the tension in his body, the flexing of his muscles beneath her hand ... the rosemary scent of Hungary Water.

"You look well today, Miss Lake," he said.

Sissy snorted behind her.

When Jarret shot Annabel a quizzical glance, she said, "My sister-in-law wanted me to dress more extravagantly for a ride in a marquess's coach."

Amus.e.m.e.nt gleamed in his eyes. "And of course, being thoroughly unimpressed by rank, you refused."

"It looks like rain," she said defensively.

His only response was an insolent arch of his brow.

When they reached the coach and he handed her in, she caught sight of Sissy's face and groaned. Her sister-in-law wore a speculative look that showed she'd noticed how comfortable Annabel and Jarret were together.

Oh, dear. She would have to be more careful with herself around him.

Geordie paused next to Jarret before climbing in. "Would it be all right if I rode up top with the coachman?"

"Certainly not!" Sissy and Annabel said in unison from inside the carriage.

Jarret eyed them askance. "It's fine with me, ladies."

"It's too dangerous," Sissy said.

"What if there's an accident?" Annabel added. "That's no place for a boy. Get inside, Geordie. You are not riding up there."

Grumbling about being treated like a child, Geordie climbed in and plopped down in the seat opposite them. Even after they were settled and Jarret had ordered the coachman to drive on, he sulked, arms crossed over his chest.

But the boy couldn't stay immune to the sights of London for long. Soon he was peeking out the window at the spectacle of a barge being loaded on the river, and then he gasped as they took a corner speedily, with almost no jostling.

"This is a berline coach, isn't it, my lord?" he asked.

"Indeed it is."

"With two underperches and full underlock?"

"I have no idea," Jarret drawled.

"Geordie has an avid interest in carriages," Annabel explained.

"It has to have full underlock," Geordie went on. "It turns too neatly for anything else." He bounced on the seat. "And it's well sprung, too. It must have cost you a fortune!"

"Geordie!" Sissy chided. "Don't be rude."

"Actually, I don't know what it cost," Jarret said. "It belongs to my brother."

"Oh. Right," Geordie mumbled. "It's your brother who's the marquess." He peered up at Jarret. "Perhaps that's why you don't look like a lord."

Jarret blinked. "How is a lord supposed to look?"