A Hellion In Her Bed Part 23

"That's a great deal to hope for from a business arrangement," he pointed out.

A heavy sigh escaped her. "I know. But we had to try something." She met his gaze over her cards. "My point is, he had no idea I was telling you he was ill. He still doesn't know about the first wager, and he certainly doesn't know about the second. If he did, he would toss you out of town on your ear." Her voice sharpened. "He would certainly not try to wrangle you to the altar, as you suggested. So you needn't worry on that score."

"I'm not." He stared her down. "No one wrangles me into doing anything I don't want to do."

"Oh, I'm well aware of that," she said acidly. "You do exactly what you please, no matter what anyone else wants or needs. I surmised that from the beginning."

The fact that she was right didn't make her words any easier to stomach. "Don't fancy that you know anything about me after our short acquaintance." He picked up his cards. "You know nothing of my life except what the gossips have told you."

"And whose fault is that?" she asked in a soft voice. "What have you told me about yourself? Hardly enough for me to make even a sketch of you, much less a full picture. You can't blame me for judging you based on the little you've said."

That flummoxed him. She was right. She'd told him more about her and her fiance than he'd told her about his whole life.

But the more someone knew about you, the more they could make you care. And he didn't want to. So why was her insidious tale of woe about her brother having exactly the effect she probably intended?

Because he was an idiot. And because he understood the way her brother must have felt. How could he not?

It didn't matter. He couldn't let it matter. Her proposition had been foolish in the beginning, and it was even more so now that he knew the truth.

Sissy and I hoped that if we could get Plumtree Brewery involved, it would give him the confidence to pursue it further.

He cursed under his breath. Hugh Lake's lack of confidence wasn't his problem, d.a.m.n it!

"Bad cards?" she asked.

"No," he said, though in truth he hardly saw the cards at all. Something else was nagging at him, something he just had to know. He set down his cards. "Why do you care so much what happens to your brother? You said he wouldn't want you to make sacrifices for him. So why are you?"

Swallowing hard, she gazed down at her hand. "Because we all depend upon him."

"You could marry," he pointed out. "The men at the dinner said you'd turned down several offers. You could have found a husband and washed your hands of your brother, forced him to fend for himself, even taken in his family if you had to."

"I couldn't marry. I'm not chaste."

The shame in her voice twisted something inside him. "A decent man wouldn't care about that, knowing the circ.u.mstances. It's not uncommon for betrothed couples to ... get carried away before the wedding." He noted her heightened color, her shaking hands. There was something else she wasn't saying. "No, it's more than that. Why are you doing this for him?"

"Because what happened between him and Papa is partly my fault, all right?" Pain slashed across her face. "I owe him."

He stared at her. "How could that possibly be your fault?"

She arranged her cards with quick motions that betrayed her agitation. "I was visiting him and Sissy when Rupert and I ... well, you know. By the time Hugh caught me sneaking back into the house, it was too late. He set out to collar Rupert and make him marry me right away, but the transport had already left for the Continent." Her voice dropped to an aching whisper. "Papa never forgave Hugh for not watching over me more carefully. It changed everything between them. Father rode Hugh so much harder after that."

"That wasn't fair to either of you," he said sharply. "Did your father really think he could have done any better? I have two sisters, and I can a.s.sure you, if they wanted to meet with a man secretly, nothing I could do would stop them, short of imprisoning them in their rooms." He thought of Masters and scowled. "Sometimes I wish I could. Your father had no right to blame your brother for that."

"I know. He should have blamed me."

"No, d.a.m.n it! He should have blamed the man who ruined you without thinking what it would cost you."

An awareness of just how much it had cost her hit him like a mortal blow. She'd lived like a nun, caring for her family, unable to have a home or a family of her own. And all because of one stolen night with a man.

He lowered his voice. "You should not be taking all the burden for Rupert's sins. Or your father's. Or even your brother's."

"I'm not," she said with a wan smile. "I'm taking it for my own."

"You have no sins," he bit out.

"That's not what you said before," she reminded him.

He winced. Confound her to h.e.l.l. With every new piece she revealed about her family, his image of her shifted. As did his anger. He was rapidly becoming more angry on her behalf than angry at her.

Was he being a fool again? Or was she really justified in her actions?

He stared at her, trying to make her out. But that was impossible with a woman like Annabel, who was a ma.s.s of contradictions-innocent and worldly, forthright and secretive. All of it fascinating.

d.a.m.n her.

Apparently growing uncomfortable with his hard stare, she gestured to the hand he'd laid on the desk. "Are we going to play piquet? Or do you plan to keep asking me questions all night?"

He tapped his cards, suddenly wishing he hadn't been so hasty to accept her wager. Short of telling her he would stay and help her, which he wasn't willing to do, he had no choice but to finish it out. And that meant he had to beat her.

But he was no longer sure he could stomach taking her to bed when she was essentially offering herself as a sacrifice for her foolish brother.

He would cross that bridge when he came to it. "Let's play," he clipped out.

And the game was on.

He had to force himself to focus. Piquet was complicated, requiring a great deal of thought. It wasn't conducive to chatting, something she clearly realized, for they spoke only during the declarations phase of the hand when the game required it.

But he couldn't quiet the muttering of his conscience.

She is only doing what she has to in order to survive. And she deserves better than another man who will use her and leave her.

He thrust that unsettling thought from his mind to concentrate on the cards. He'd stupidly agreed to her wager, and now he was bound as a gentleman to finish it, but he was not going to risk Plumtree Brewery simply because she'd told him some sad tale about her hapless brother and their G.o.dforsaken brewery.

Fortunately he'd been dealt a stellar hand, and the draw only improved it. He stared with grim satisfaction at his cards. He was not going to lose this time, thank G.o.d.

The die was cast the moment they made their respective declarations and he scored a repique, giving him ninety points. He knew that would be d.a.m.ned hard to beat, though she certainly tried. Her playing was good, even inspired. But no one bested him at piquet.

So it was no surprise when he won every trick, scoring him a capot and forty extra points as well. No surprise that her face paled with each successive win. No surprise that when the hand was done, securing him the win in one brutal deal, despair flickered in her eyes, though she tried to hide it with a smile.

"You won," she said with feigned nonchalance.

"I told you I would," he retorted.

"Yes, you did." She wouldn't meet his gaze. She gathered up the cards, her hands shaking, and she looked lost.

So it was also no surprise when he heard himself say, "I won't hold you to your part of the wager. As far as I'm concerned, the matter is now settled."

A strange calmness stole over him. This was the right thing to do, and they both knew it. "I only wanted to be free of this cursed deal with your brother, and now I am. So you need not share my bed. Go home."

Chapter Seventeen.

Annabel stared at him, hardly able to believe her ears. An hour ago, she would have leaped at the offer and considered herself lucky to be spared a night with a man who was so clearly furious at her.

But over the course of the evening, something had changed. He had changed. And after all he'd said, after how he'd softened ...

"You don't have to do that," she said. "I pay my debts." When he flinched at the word debts, she added hastily, "You may not think me honorable, but-"

"It's got nothing to do with honor, Annabel." Every line of his body was tense, every feature looked carved in stone. "I'm absolving you of any responsibility for your debts. As the winner, I can do that, you know."

"I don't want you to do it!" she protested. "I chose to make that wager, and I won't have you 'absolving' me of responsibility for it simply because you pity me."

"And I won't have you sharing my bed as part of some foolish bargain." He rose to lean over the desk, his eyes stormy. "If I ever take you to bed, it will be because you choose it-not because it was some fruitless ploy to save your family or your brother or your d.a.m.ned brewery."

In a flash, she understood. She'd hurt his pride. She should have realized it when he'd said those cutting words about her using kisses and caresses to "reel him in." He might not want to marry her, but clearly he didn't like thinking that she saw him only as a means to an end.

Inexplicably, that warmed her. If he cared even that much ... "What if I'm not doing it as part of a bargain?"

He froze, and for a moment she wasn't sure if he'd understood. Then she saw the muscle ticking in his jaw. Oh yes, he understood.

"What other reason would you have?" he asked in a deceptively soft voice.

Heat rose in her cheeks. "Must you ... make me say it?"

His expression was steady, but his eyes flared with hunger. "Yes. I'm afraid I must."

Briefly she contemplated running. He would let her go if she did-she knew that now. And the desire that his need kindled in her terrified her. She'd never felt anything like this with Rupert. The last thing she needed was this handsome, arrogant lord dragging her into the luxuriant flames with him, to be consumed by a blaze she'd avoided half her life.

But the blaze was already out of control within her; she doubted that running would extinguish it. And she had promised, after all.

She stood to round the desk on shaking legs. "It's been nearly thirteen years since I lay with a man, and in all that time, I told myself I didn't miss it. I told myself that I was content, that I had no need of a man's kisses or caresses. And then you came along and ... and everything ... changed ..."

Her voice faltered as he shoved away from the desk to come meet her.

"Go on," he said in a husky rasp that turned her knees to jelly.

He was inches away from her now, his hand stretching up to brush her cheek, then down her neck in a slow, sensual caress that made it nearly impossible for her to think.

"I-I want you," she admitted as her gaze locked with his smoldering one. "I want you to touch me. I want you in my b-"

His lips were on hers before she could finish. He splayed his fingers across the back of her head to hold her still for a kiss that was as fiery and consuming as it was tender. His kiss ravaged like a conqueror of old, scorching the earth it left behind as he laid claim to every part of her mouth.

Curling her fingers into his coat lapels, she pulled him closer, which only made him more ravenous, until he was driving into her mouth in a frank mimicking of what they were soon going to do.

As his mouth plundered hers, he lifted his free hand to tug her sleeve down. It took little effort, since her gown had been made back when bodices barely clung to one's shoulders, and within moments, he had her breast bared for his teasing fingers.

The shock of pleasure his caress sent through her reminded her of where they were. Though she knew the brewery was empty, she didn't like the idea of his touching her in front of a window that anyone could see through. "Wait," she drew back to whisper.

"Not on your life, my pretty pixie," he growled. "You had your chance to escape, and you didn't take it."

"Who said anything about escaping?"

His gaze turned white-hot, searing her with its intensity. With her heart thundering in antic.i.p.ation, she seized a candle holder and took him by the hand to lead him to a door at one end of the room. When she opened it to pull him inside, he gave a low chuckle, no doubt surprised to find himself in a small room fitted with a single bed and a writing table.

"When the brewery was running at night," she explained as she went to light a fire in the grate, "Mr. Walters used to nap in here. We haven't used it recently, but it's clean. And it has to be more comfortable than the desk."

She walked back to put the candle on the writing table, and he came up behind her to slip his arm about her waist. "No wonder you wanted to have this card game at the brewery." He pressed a kiss into her hair. "You were planning ahead, I see."

Her breath grew ragged as his mouth found the tender skin just beneath her jaw, where the pulse beat a frenzied drumming. "If you will remember ..." she choked out, "I didn't expect you to win."

"I think you did." He skimmed his hands up to cup her b.r.e.a.s.t.s, making her blood run even higher. "Tell me, Miss Lake, did you let me win that game?"

"What?" She twisted in his arms to face him, a hot retort springing to her lips until she saw the dark gleam in his eyes. In a flash, she remembered what she'd said to him that day at the London inn.

Shrugging out of her sleeves, she arched one eyebrow. "Now why would I do that, my lord?"

His gaze flared hot as it fixed on her exposed corset. "Because you want the h.e.l.lion in your bed more than you'll admit."

"Are you really such a h.e.l.lion?" she asked seriously. "I think you're more of a gentleman than you'll admit."

He turned her around so he could loosen the fastenings of her gown. "You're the first woman to think so." He dragged her gown off of her, letting it drop to the floor.

When he brushed kisses along her bared shoulders, she shivered deliciously. "But not the first woman to ... share your bed."

His fingers paused in the course of unlacing her corset. "No."

"How many have there been?" she asked, wanting to remind herself that this was nothing special to him. Because if she let herself believe that it was, she was sure to be hurt when she discovered it wasn't.

"Hundreds," he said sarcastically as he freed her corset and tossed it aside. "Thousands."

"That many?" she said, matching his light tone.

"Half the women in London, if one is to believe the gossips." He skimmed his hands down her sides to her hips, and his voice fell to a jagged whisper. "But none as lovely as you."

"Now that is a lie if ever I heard one," she said as she pivoted to face him.

But the dark intensity of his gaze as he raked it down her thinly clad body made her wish it were not. "I never lie to a woman," he said softly.

Her heart pounded in her throat. "Never?"

"There's never been a need." His expression was deadly serious. "The women I bed are most often taproom maids and ladies of easy virtue who don't expect or require promises and soft words." He caressed her cheek with the back of his hand. "It's all about the pleasure to them. Or the money."