A Hellion In Her Bed Part 13

With a chuckle, he bent his head to brush her ear with his lips. "Try again," he said in a husky voice that made her shiver deliciously.

Her breath seemed stuck somewhere in her throat. "Brewing you a very special ale?"

"I had something more ... personal in mind."

Then he covered her mouth with his.

Chapter Nine.

Jarret was tired of having her treat him with the cool politeness anyone showed a business partner. All her animation today had been for her brewery plans. All her soft words and smiles had been for her nephew and sister-in-law.

She acted as if last night in the hall had never happened, and it chafed him. He burned to remind her that she'd been anything but businesslike to him last night. That when he'd kissed her, she'd melted.

As she was melting now. He exulted as she arched into him, clutched at his coat, and let him delve into her silky mouth with his tongue. Groaning low in his throat, he dragged her flush against him. The hot, sweet scent of her intoxicated him. It was unlike any other woman's-no cloying flowers or perfume, just something juicy and delicious. Oranges and honey ... something a man could sink his teeth into.

He wanted to sink his teeth into her. Moving his mouth along her jaw, he immersed himself in the heady scent that was Annabel. He sought the tender skin of her neck, then the tempting lobe of her ear. When he bit it lightly, she gave a full-throated gasp, though her hands tightened on his coat lapels.

"Surely I have now given you sufficient thanks for all your ... help, my lord," she whispered.

"Then it's my turn to thank you for your help." He kissed his way down her neck.

"I've done nothing to deserve such extravagant thanks."

"You're kissing me." And making his blood race and his body go hard.

"Giving kisses ... as thanks for kisses ..." She breathed heavily against his cheek. "That could be dangerous. Where would it end up, after all?"

He knew where he'd like it to end up. With her in his bed, her pale thighs parting to let him in, her body pressing up against his to find its pleasure. Their mutual pleasure.

He settled for filling one hand with her breast.

She froze. "That is not where it should end up," she said, grabbing his hand to move it aside.

With a growl he took her mouth again, this time more roughly, sensing that despite her words, it was boldness she craved, not hesitation or tenderness. He must have guessed right, for her hand softened, then molded his to her breast.

By G.o.d, she was as eager as he, which sparked his fever higher. She might be cold to him around her family, but here, alone, she was warm and willing, driving him to madness.

He kneaded her breast until her sweet pebble of a nipple rose against his palm, palpable in its arousal even through her layers of clothes. Her low moans made him ache, until he found himself pressing her against the wall next to the half-closed door, covering her body with his, pushing between her legs- "Aunt Annabel? Lord Jarret? Are you in there?" came a voice from the other side of the door, inches away from them.

He barely had time to release her and move back before George came around the door and saw them.

Annabel turned red, her accusing gaze leaping to Jarret's.

d.a.m.n, d.a.m.n, d.a.m.n. As un.o.btrusively as possible, he removed his hat to hide his rampant erection.

"What's going on here?" George asked sharply.

With a forced smile, Annabel said, "His lordship and I were discussing ... your mother."

George's lips thinned into a line. "Mother is sick. You have to come."

"Of course." Annabel touched a hand to her hopelessly mussed hair, then pushed past Jarret to go around the door. She paused in the hall to look back at her nephew. "Are you coming, Geordie?"

The lad's dark-eyed gaze never left Jarret's. "I'll be there in a moment."

Jarret stifled a curse. Was he now to be dressed down by an infant? Not b.l.o.o.d.y likely. It was none of the lad's business what he and Annabel did in private.

George closed the door and faced him. "I should like to know, my lord, what your intentions are toward my aunt."

His intentions? Well, that certainly put the damper on his arousal.

He tossed his hat onto a chair. "I don't know what you think you saw, lad, but-"

"I can tell when a man has just been kissing a woman," George said hotly.

If the boy hadn't looked so serious, Jarret would have laughed outright. "Oh, you can, can you?" He leveled George with a skeptical look. "You've had a great deal of experience in the matter, I suppose."

Though George flushed, he held his ground. "It doesn't take experience-I'm not blind. And you have a certain reputation with women."

"So I've heard." He stared the lad down. "But your aunt's reputation is unblemished. Surely you don't think she would allow-"

"Allow? No. That doesn't mean that you couldn't have ... well ..."

"Are you accusing me of forcing my attentions on your aunt?"

George stiffened. "I know what I saw."

"You don't know a d.a.m.ned thing, boy," Jarret shot back. "Whatever occurred between me and your aunt is our private business, and you have no say in the matter."

"You're the one who said I should start thinking like a man." The lad squared his shoulders. "So that's what I'm doing. If Father were here, he'd do the same thing. And if your intentions aren't honorable-"

"What if they are?" Jarret snapped.

Why the h.e.l.l had he said that?

George stared at him, a hopeful light in his eyes. "Well then, that would be different."

When Jarret didn't reply, George eyed him warily. "So you're saying your intentions are honorable?"

Jarret scowled, feeling backed into a corner. Why should he have to answer to some unlicked cub, for G.o.d's sake? He'd do what he wanted, d.a.m.n it, just as he always did-and use the annoying pup's suggestion to his own advantage.

"Your aunt and I have some things to work out, so I'd appreciate it if you'd keep my intentions private, George."

He couldn't have the boy running off to tell Annabel that Jarret was going to court her, for G.o.d's sake.

The boy nodded.

"Good." Jarret gestured to the door. "Now we'd better go see about your mother."

"Yes, sir." As they started toward the door, George glanced up at Jarret. "You know, if you marry my aunt, you'll be my uncle."

He stifled a groan. "Yes, I suppose I will."

G.o.d help him, there was probably a special h.e.l.l reserved for a man who willfully lied to a twelve-year-old boy. And l.u.s.ted after the boy's virginal aunt. And had no intention of stopping either the lying or the l.u.s.ting.

As they walked to the Lakes' room, he heard sounds of violent retching inside. George hastened his steps, his face blanching. When the lad swung open the door, Annabel hurried out to meet them. She closed the door behind her, but not before Jarret glimpsed Mrs. Lake hunched over a chamber pot.

A surge of anger made him grit his teeth. If he ever saw that d.a.m.ned rumormongering b.i.t.c.h Mrs. Cranley again, there'd be h.e.l.l to pay.

"How is she?" he asked Annabel.

"Not well, I'm afraid."

"Is there anything we can do?" Jarret asked.

"If you could have the innkeeper fetch a doctor-"

"Done," Jarret said.

Fear spread over George's pale cheeks. "I want to see her."

"Not now, Geordie." Annabel ruffled the lad's hair with a tenderness that made Jarret's throat tighten. "She wants to be alone with me right now. She'll be fine once the bad meat has pa.s.sed through her."

But Jarret could tell from her tone that she wasn't entirely convinced.

"I tell you what, lad," he said, "why don't we go see about getting a physician for your mother, then order some dinner?" He glanced at Annabel. "Do you want anything?"

She shook her head. "I couldn't eat right now. You two go on."

The innkeeper sent promptly for a doctor, then insisted upon offering them dinner for free. They ate in silence.

When the servant brought them a currant pie, George screwed his face up, looking as if he might cry. "Mother loves currant pie."

"Then we'll make sure she gets some, as soon as she's feeling better."

George lifted his gaze to Jarret. "Isn't there anything we can do?" His expression turned fierce. "We could go back and make the constable punish Mrs. Cranley."

Jarret certainly understood that impulse. "And what would happen if your mother needed us while we were gone? What if your aunt has to send us on to fetch your father? We must stay here in case we're needed."

"I suppose." He stared downcast at his plate. "Aunt Annabel wouldn't send for Father, though. And he wouldn't come, even if she did."

"Why not? Is he too ill to travel?" Jarret asked.

George shot him a fierce glance. "I don't want to talk about him, blast it! Bad enough that Mama's sick, and she m-might d-die, but Father ..."

The boy burst into tears, alarming Jarret. "Here now, she's not going to die." Not sure what else to do, he laid his arm about George's bony shoulders and squeezed. "She'll be fine. She just needs rest, and then she'll be right as rain."

All George seemed able to do was nod. Jarret could understand George's panic over his mother, but his reaction to the mention of his father's illness seemed unreasonable, given Annabel's statement that it wasn't life-threatening.

Jarret tensed. What if that was the secret Annabel was hiding? If her brother were dying, it would explain the man's inability to send a letter of introduction with her and why they all got so uneasy whenever his name was brought up.

But why keep that quiet? Perhaps because she feared that Jarret might balk at an alliance with a brewery that was about to be sold? Or worried that he might try to purchase the place at a loss if he figured out how bad off Lake Ale was?

He snorted. She had nothing to fear on that score. Plumtree Brewery didn't have the liquid a.s.sets right now to buy another brewery.

But neither could he involve it in Annabel's scheme if the legal owner couldn't see the project to fruition. That would be a contractual nightmare.

He looked at George, now furtively rubbing away the remainder of his tears, and wondered if he should press the boy further.

"Why don't we play some cards, lad? It'll pa.s.s the time until your aunt or the doctor can give us a report."

"A-all right. And perhaps you could tell me about your brother? You know, the one who races horses?"

"Absolutely," Jarret said.

George flashed him a waterlogged smile, and Jarret was jolted back to those horrible first weeks after his parents' deaths, when he'd found sustenance from even the smallest kindness of a stranger.

d.a.m.n it all to h.e.l.l. He couldn't torment the lad further right now-that would be cruel. George had to be panicking, fearful of watching both of his parents perish, leaving him all alone in the world. Jarret would have to confront Annabel about it once the rest of this mess was done.

Five hours later, when she came down to look in on them, she seemed pleased to find him entertaining George. She managed a faint smile as she watched them playing Pope Joan, but her appearance alarmed him. Tendrils of hair straggled down her pale cheeks, and her eyes were dulled by worry.

"Aunt Annabel!" Geordie cried, leaping up from the table. "How is Mother?"

"She's sleeping right now," she said, casting Jarret a veiled glance.

That wasn't an answer, and they both knew it. He stood and held out a chair for her. "Come, sit down. You look like h.e.l.l."

He winced the minute the words left his lips. It was a tribute to how frustrated this situation made him that he would say something so rude.

She arched a brow. "What flattery. You'll make me swoon."

"Sorry," he said. "I didn't mean that how it sounded. But you need to eat. Take a seat, and I'll call for something."

"Not yet. Sissy is still feverish. Perhaps later, once I'm sure she'll be fine."

"No, right now," he said firmly and pressed her into the chair. "You'll do your sister-in-law no good if you fall sick yourself."

She reluctantly acquiesced, but when the servant brought her pigeon and peas, she only picked at them. "Actually, I came down to ask a favor of you, my lord."

He wished she would stop with the "my lord" nonsense. His hand had been cupping her breast only a few hours ago. "Whatever you need."