A Hellion In Her Bed Part 20

Geordie got a stubborn look on his face. "I didn't see that I had a choice. Even I know that the brewery is failing. Aunt Annabel says we've got to do something."

"And you think this Lord Jarret can help," Hugh said, half sneeringly.

"He seems a good enough fellow," Geordie said. "He treated us very well on the road. Called for a doctor when Mother was sick, and paid for it, too."

"You were sick?" Hugh said in alarm as he glanced at Sissy.

"Just a little dyspepsia," she said gently. "It pa.s.sed in a day or two."

"A day!" Worry flitted over his face.

"But Annabel took good care of me, and his lordship was very kind."

"Was he?" His lips thinned. "Just stepped right in, I suppose."

"You weren't there, Hugh," Annabel put in before his temper could flare. "So he provided the service that any gentleman should."

"I'll bet he did," Hugh muttered. "I should have been the one to take care of her."

"Yes, you should have," Sissy said quietly.

The stark words seemed to affect him. He ran his fingers through his spa.r.s.e hair, then cast a considering look at Geordie again. "This marquess's son. Do you think he can do any good?"

"Seems to me there's nothing to lose by asking him to help."

"I see." Hugh faced Annabel. "What exactly do you want me to do now that you've brought his lordship to Burton?"

Relieved that Hugh was going to listen, Annabel said, "For tonight, just meet him. If you don't approve of him, we'll forget the whole thing." Though she would do her best to keep that from happening. "If you do want to take a chance on him, then you can discuss business with him in the morning and figure out how he can help us sell our ale to the East India Company captains."

At his frown, she added hastily, "But for tonight, just meet him."

A long moment pa.s.sed while Sissy and Annabel held their breaths. Then he said, "All right."

They released their breaths. Perhaps everything would turn out well, after all.

"But I shan't pretend to be ill, do you understand?" When she and Sissy looked panicked, he added, "I won't gainsay what you've told him, but I won't lie to him myself. Let him think what he will."

Sissy stepped close to the desk. "And you won't drink any spirits tonight?"

There was a note of steel in her voice that Annabel rarely heard. But he heard it and seemed to heed it, too. He searched her face, a softness in his eyes. "I'll do my best, love."

Chapter Fifteen.

Jarret stood in the town hall's imposing suite of a.s.sembly rooms, surrounded by a group of brewers. Quietly sipping his wine, he tried to follow the conversation, but it was difficult when he was so distracted. He and Ba.s.s had arrived twenty minutes ago, along with Ba.s.s's wife, and so far he'd seen no sign of Annabel. Ever since her little evasion this afternoon, he'd wondered if he could trust her to appear.

Granted, she'd been right about the advantages of his viewing the brewery first. He'd been impressed. Given that Lake Ale lacked the modern equipment he took for granted at Plumtree Brewery, he was surprised by how smoothly their operation worked. And Walters was a gem among brewery managers, citing production rates and quotas off the top of his head.

But the place was clearly struggling. The hops they used weren't of the first quality, and leaks in their aging cast-iron mash tun were patched with sheets of tin. Worst of all, Walters had been so reluctant to speak about Lake himself that Jarret was back to wondering if there was more to the man's illness than Annabel had said. If Lake required constant care from a doctor and laudanum to sleep, that didn't bode well.

As the hour dragged on, he got a bad feeling in the pit of his stomach. He didn't like being played for a fool. If Annabel and her brother didn't show up here tonight ...

"And what brings you to our fair town, Lord Jarret?" one of the gentlemen asked. "Trying to get a look at the compet.i.tion, are you?"

He forced himself to pay attention. Earlier in the day, he'd debated whether to mention his possible investment connection to the Lakes, but in business, as in cards, it was always best to keep one's cards close to one's chest. Unfortunately, that made it difficult for him to ask questions without rousing speculation.

"Actually, I'm visiting friends," he said, using the only solution he'd hit upon. "I'm sure you know them. The Lake family?"

The men exchanged glances. He was just about to ask what they thought of the Lakes when a sound at the door made them all turn.

Speak of the devil.

He barely had time to register his relief that Annabel hadn't lied to him after all, when something else caught his attention. Not the thin, pale-looking fellow about his age who had to be Hugh Lake. No, the only person he had eyes for was the stunning beauty holding on to one of Lake's arms.

Annabel. But no version of Annabel he'd ever seen.

Her splendid chestnut hair was piled atop her head in a profusion of wild curls that enhanced her delicate features. Tonight she wasn't a pixie, but a fairy queen, adorned in sparkling gems and a silk gown that skimmed her luscious curves like a lover's caress.

At the sight of her, his blood ran hot, then cold. The gown was cut lower than those of the other ladies, harkening back to a couple of years ago, when nearly every woman in London was falling out of her dinner gown. All of Annabel's gowns were dated, and the way in which this one was dated set his pulse pounding. He could see way too much of the sweet swells of her b.r.e.a.s.t.s. So could every man here. And he didn't like that idea at all.

"Excuse me, gentlemen," he said and left them to approach the Lakes.

He couldn't take his eyes off Annabel, something that others apparently noticed-for when he did tear his gaze from her, it was to see her brother glowering at him. d.a.m.n.

As he reached the Lakes, Mrs. Lake performed the introductions, clearly nervous. And probably with good reason, given the piercing glance Lake fixed on him. Before the man could say anything, Jarret murmured, "I should warn you, sir, that I told the other brewers I was here in Burton visiting friends-you and your lovely wife, of course. I didn't think you would want our business bandied about by them."

Lake's dour look softened a fraction. "Thank you. I appreciate your discretion." A footman came by with gla.s.ses of wine. Glancing at his wife, Lake declined a gla.s.s. He looked more healthy than Jarret would have expected, given what the doctor had said this afternoon. Perhaps this illness was only temporary.

When Lake returned his attention to Jarret, the fierceness was back in his features. "I understand that I have you to thank for the safe return of my family to Burton."

Jarret wondered how much the women had told the man about the trip. Best to err on the side of caution. "I merely borrowed my brother's coach to transport us, sir. As I had to come this way to observe your brewery anyway, I thought we might as well travel in comfort together."

"That was generous of you, my lord," Lake said stiffly. "Though I gather that the trip wasn't without difficulties, what with Sissy's illness."

"Your wife had a bit of trouble in Daventry, yes. But your sister is an excellent nurse. I did very little. Looked after your son, mostly." He smiled. "Actually, it was mutual-he and I kept each other out of trouble. With George around, I could hardly engage in the pastimes that a bachelor generally enjoys. I figured he was a bit young for gambling until dawn and bouncing taproom maids on his knee."

The outrageous remark gained him a censuring glance from Annabel but a reluctant smile from her brother. "I daresay Geordie would disagree."

"Yes. He's more eager to be a man than his body yet allows."

Lake relaxed further. "Indeed he is. The lad has fire in him, I'll give you that."

The other brewers then joined them, obviously eager to sniff out the connection between the two men. Fortunately, the announcement that dinner was served came moments later, so he and Lake didn't have to endure questions for long.

Unfortunately, he ended up seated at the other end of the table from them. Annabel sat between her brother and some b.l.o.o.d.y fellow with an eye for her bosom. Jarret spent the next half hour torn between listening for tidbits about the brewing business and considering the possibility of poking out the eyes of Annabel's dinner companion with his oyster fork. His only consolation was that she seemed discomfited enough by the man's lecherous regard to drape her bosom with her shawl.

Only then did he relax-although he had to wonder why the other man's attentions irritated him so. She'd made it quite clear that she could take care of herself.

She'd also set him straight on where he stood with her. He had no right to be possessive. He didn't even want the right.

Or he hadn't wanted it, until she showed up in that fairy queen's gown that he ached to strip from her one silky inch at a time.

Confound it all to h.e.l.l. He had to stop thinking about her like that.

He made himself focus on what the other men were saying. The first thing he learned was that a dinner among tradesmen differed vastly from a dinner among his peers. The tradesmen actually spent it discussing ... trade. Father would have called that vulgar.

He found it invigorating. There was an energy among these men that was lacking at the few society events he attended. And they were canny fellows, too, each trying to eke out some bit of information about his compet.i.tors without being caught. It reminded him of playing cards with a truly accomplished player. As with piquet, only the cleverest at deduction could win, and Jarret had the urge to win at this, too.

When the dancing began he was loath to leave the table, but he needn't have worried. Though the gentlemen moved to the room designated for dancing, several then congregated by the punch table to discuss the latest patents in steam boilers.

Lake soon joined the party, and Jarrett watched as the man voiced his opinions, clearly well versed in his profession, if not as enthusiastic as the other gentlemen.

When Mrs. Lake came and asked her husband to dance, Allsopp, who stood next to Jarret, said, "Miss Lake is looking very pretty tonight."

Jarret cast the man a sharp glance to find him eyeing Annabel with a more than neighborly interest. The alien feeling of possessiveness that welled up in him shook him. So did the sudden murderous rage he felt when Allsopp ran his gaze down her body.

The man had a wife, d.a.m.n it! He shouldn't be looking at Annabel like that. No one should be looking at her like that. Only with great effort did he squelch the warning that sprang to his lips. Instead he said, "It's rather surprising that she's never married."

Allsopp downed his punch. "It's not for lack of proposals. I understand she's turned down two or three men who offered marriage."

That flummoxed him. Apparently he wasn't the only man who didn't meet Annabel's lofty standards. While that should have soothed his pride, it raised more questions, instead. Why would a woman so obviously sensual and capable of a deep love for children avoid marriage?

"Perhaps she stays at home to care for her brother," Jarret ventured.

"Well, he needs looking after, to be sure."

Something in the snide way Allsopp said it raised Jarret's suspicious. "You mean, because of his illness."

Allsopp laughed. "Is that what they're calling it these days?"

Jarret went still. Forcing himself to sound nonchalant, he said, "No, I suppose not." He held his breath, hoping the man would go on. If he asked him point-blank what he meant, Allsopp was liable to close up.

"Of course, we don't tolerate drunkenness the way you lords do. There's nothing wrong with having a tipple from time to time, but when a man neglects his business because he's drowning himself in a bottle, we can't overlook that."

A lead ball dropped into the pit of Jarret's stomach. Was that what Annabel had been hiding all this time?

But perhaps he shouldn't trust the word of a compet.i.tor who might have sniffed out Jarret's real reason for coming here. "I didn't realize my friend's problem had become so p.r.o.nounced," he said smoothly. "The ladies said he was ill, and I a.s.sumed that was the reason for his negligence of late."

"Well, of course they aren't going to tell you the truth. It would be embarra.s.sing. They've tried to hide it from everyone." Allsopp snorted. "As if that will work in a town as small as this. People talk. Servants talk. Does the man look ill to you?"

He nodded toward the dance floor, where Lake was dancing a reel quite competently for someone who'd supposedly been under the influence of laudanum only hours ago.

Then again, Lake had been asleep in the middle of the day. Who but an ill man did that?

A man who's been up drinking all night.

Confound it all to h.e.l.l. Now other pieces fell into place-George's discomfort at the subject of his father's illness. Annabel's alarm when he'd said he was traveling to Burton to look at the company. Mrs. Lake's nervousness. He'd known all along they were hiding something. And clearly it wasn't that Mr. Lake was mortally ill.

He should have guessed. This wasn't London, and men in the provinces didn't abandon one of their own simply because he was ill. They made allowances, attempted to help the man's family, showed a neighborly concern for his condition.

But a drunk garnered no such sympathy-especially in the more conservative circles of tradesmen. He was seen as weak and unstable, which of course he was. His family was pitied, or worse, ostracized.

Anger swelled in his chest. A mortal illness could have been handled. It would have been problematic but manageable. But this was far more dicey. If Lake had lost the confidence of his fellow brewers due to a character flaw, how the h.e.l.l was Jarret supposed to convince the East India captains to place orders for his pale ale?

If Lake had been on the edge of death, Jarret could have convinced the man to put Annabel in charge. Geordie would have inherited, and Annabel could have managed Geordie. But a drunk was unpredictable and untrustworthy. And anyone getting into bed with him would be deemed untrustworthy, too, or a fool.

Either way, it would be a disastrous a.s.sociation. Plumtree was already struggling-teaming up with a company on the brink of disaster could very well push it off the cliff. How could he have been so stupid? He'd let Annabel's talk of a quick solution to the bad market seduce him into taking a foolish risk.

No, he'd let the thought of having her in his bed seduce him. And now the company would suffer, because he could never pa.s.s up a good wager. Because he had wanted her.

Still wanted her, d.a.m.n it all to h.e.l.l. "How long has Lake been neglecting his company?" he bit out.

"A year, at least. From what I hear, he started drinking heavily after the Russian tariffs began to affect business. He began showing losses, and he couldn't handle the pressure. Or so I a.s.sume. Since then, only the efforts of Miss Lake and his brewery manager have kept the place together. Granted, Miss Lake will do just about anything to save her father's brewery, but she's a woman, after all, and she-"

"-can't effectively run a brewery that she doesn't own, can she?" said a stricken female voice behind them.

They turned to find Annabel standing there, ashen-faced, acute shame showing in every line of those beautiful features. When she glanced to him, guilt flashed in her eyes.

And he knew for sure then that everything Allsopp said was true.

A cold fury seized him, turning his heart to ice. She'd lied to him, knowing full well how it would affect his interest in the project. She'd used his sympathy for an ill man against him. For all he knew, even her kisses had been feigned to make him go along with her brother's scheme. Her scheme.

Miss Lake will do just about anything to save her father's brewery.

And he'd followed her lead blindly, like some besotted idiot. When was he going to learn? Caring about someone was the surest way to pain and loss. And the loss of the Annabel he'd thought he could trust was the cruelest blow yet.

"Miss Lake," Allsopp said after a moment's horrible silence, "I'm so sorry. I did not see you there."

"Clearly," she choked out.

Despite everything, her devastated expression tugged at his sympathies. He tamped that impulse down ruthlessly. She was a lying schemer, and he wanted no part of her.

But when he turned to walk away, she stepped forward to lay a hand on his arm. "I came to fetch his lordship for the waltz," she told Allsopp, her hand digging into Jarret's arm in a silent plea. "He asked me earlier to save it for him."

It was a bold move, and one that showed her resourcefulness, since he most decidedly had not asked her to dance, knowing that it would only heighten his urge to carry her off and swive her senseless.

For half a second, he considered calling her a liar to her face. But he couldn't put aside years of good breeding that easily, even for a lady who'd turned out to be a schemer. Especially when those d.a.m.ned soft eyes of hers quietly beseeched him.

Lying eyes, he reminded himself. She'd known all along that he was taking a great risk, and had willfully hidden the truth from him. She'd called him irresponsible? She'd railed against him for being a gambler? She had some nerve.

Very well. They would dance. And he would make it clear that he was done with her and Lake Ale, wager or no wager. He'd not agreed to this.