A Hellion In Her Bed Part 27

"Good." He reached over the desk to clasp her hands in his. "You deserve better than a life as the poor relation. You're a beautiful, vibrant woman. If you're not interested in marriage, why not live your life as you please?"

"I'm already living my life as I please."

His dark gaze burned into her. "Really? Lying in your bed alone at night with only your memories for company? Watching someone else's children?"

She met his gaze steadily. "And whose children would I be watching otherwise-yours?"

That seemed to stun him. Releasing her hands, he leaned back in the chair, his face a mix of anger and uncertainty.

"You see, Jarret?" she said softly. "It can't work. We want different things. You want to follow the wind where it leads, and I want to dig my roots deep. You're a river, and I'm a tree. The tree can never follow the river, and the river can never stay with the tree."

He let out a coa.r.s.e oath. "So this is the end for us. Is that really what you want?" His booted foot touched her slipper beneath the desk, and he stroked his leg along hers in a sensual caress that made her blood heat. "No more nights in each other's arms. No more trips to heaven."

"Of course that's not what I want!" she cried, frustrated by his inability to see beyond his own desires. "But I won't throw my life away on a man who shares nothing of himself with me, who has no aim beyond thwarting his grandmother's plans for him, and who thinks that spending his days in frivolous pursuits will keep him happy."

"Happiness is fickle," he growled. "Look at you-you thought you'd be happy when you gave yourself to Rupert. Instead, it ruined your life. Our only choice is to seize the pleasures of life where we can. Hoping for more is a fruitless endeavor."

"So says the river." She flashed him a sad smile. "Not only can the tree not follow the river, but if it bathes in it, it rots and dies. I won't go to London to rot, Jarret."

Striving not to show how much he'd wounded her, she rose to gather up the papers they would need for the meeting. "My brother will be back soon, and when he returns he'll need to see that we've been productive while he was gone, or he'll get suspicious. So let's review the a.n.a.lysis of costs that I had Mr. Walters put together."

The silence of his displeasure was a palpable pressure in the room, but she ignored it. When he was gone, she still had a life to live. She wasn't going to abandon her son or her family simply because he wanted to play with her for a while. Let him go to his London wh.o.r.es for that.

The thought shot a sharp pain through her breast. But this was only temporary. He was only temporary. And she refused to let him ensnare her so totally that she lost herself.

Chapter Twenty.

Jarret had thought for sure that Annabel would relent in the days that followed. Every day, he expected her to get him alone again to say she'd changed her mind, that she would meet him for a night of mutual pleasure. Every evening in the inn, he half expected her to show up in his room.

She never did.

The rational part of him understood why. She lived the life of a respectable woman. The community seemed to hold her in high regard, even if her neighbors sometimes didn't understand her efforts with her brother's brewery. And although Hugh Lake hadn't taken care of his family as he should, they were closely knit and clearly fond of each other.

He was the interloper. For the first time in his life, he resented that. He hated having Annabel treat him like a business acquaintance when they'd been so much more to each other.

They could still be so much more, if she weren't so stubborn. All right, so he shouldn't have offered to take her with him to London. That had been beyond the pale, asking her to lower herself when she had no cause to do so.

But d.a.m.n it, he wanted to be with her again! And again, as often as he could. Worse yet, he knew she wanted to be with him. In unguarded moments, he saw it in the way she looked at him.

Since she made d.a.m.ned sure they were never alone, there was no chance of blatantly seducing her, and she cut off his more subtle efforts whenever he attempted them. If he brushed her fingers as she handed him some papers, she stopped handing him papers. If he stroked her leg under the table, she trod on his foot.

As the days wore on, he saw less and less of her, since she was busy overseeing the brewing of the pale ale. Meanwhile, he, Lake, and Walters continued to hammer out a contract that suited both companies, so he was increasingly occupied with that.

Thank G.o.d he got to see her in the evenings, which were spent with the Lakes. Their dinners had begun as strained affairs, because Lake had been resentful of his presence. But as they'd come to know each other over the negotiations, Lake had relaxed, and now treated him like an honored guest.

After dinner every night he and Lake retired to their port, but the man drank little, no doubt aware of Jarret's eyes on him. They spent only a short while away from the ladies before joining them in the parlor, where the evening generally consisted of reading or playing charades. Every night he suffered the torture of watching Annabel, knowing that he couldn't touch her.

Tonight it was even worse. He and Lake had made serious headway on their agreement. Tomorrow they had a few more details to take care of, and then there was no longer any reason for him to stay. Indeed, he'd already received one letter from Gran chiding him for neglecting the business in London. By the day after tomorrow, he could be on the road.

And he didn't want to leave.

He scowled. This was what came of letting a woman under one's skin. She tempted him to want things that were ephemeral. She made him yearn.

Tonight she was driving him slowly insane. Her gown left just enough of her creamy shoulders bare to remind him of what it had felt like to caress them. Every time she tilted her head toward one of the children, exposing the slender column of her neck, he had a fierce urge to seize her and plant a kiss on her throat, to lick the pulse there until it jumped into the wild rhythm that showed she felt more for him than she dared display.

It wasn't just that, however. Tonight the children were with them, since their nursery maid had the evening off. While he and Lake sat to one side playing loo, and Mrs. Lake embroidered a cushion, Annabel and the children gamboled about the parlor.

They adored their aunt Annabel's singing, and rightfully so, since her clear, sweet soprano was well suited to children's songs. They begged for any ditty that involved jumping about like monkeys or contorting one's body into ridiculous shapes. Even Geordie, who claimed to be too old for such nonsense, was swinging the younger ones about and lifting his little brother to ride on his shoulders.

The cozy family scene reminded Jarret painfully of his own family before his world had crumbled. He couldn't look away-their antics and her cheerful endurance of them captivated him to the point that he paid little attention to his cards. It was strange to watch a woman he desired so fiercely playing nursemaid to a handful of giggling urchins. He shouldn't find it enchanting, but he did.

Her words of a few days ago sprang into his mind: And whose children would I be watching otherwise-yours?

Until that moment, he hadn't even thought about having children of his own. He had no need to bear an heir, no need for a wife when there were taproom maids aplenty to tumble, and no wish to alter his way of life for some screeching harpy who didn't approve of his late evenings and reckless gambling.

But the thought of giving Annabel children stole the breath from his body. Any children he and Annabel might have would probably resemble the motley crew presently wreaking havoc in the parlor-bright-eyed and ruddy-cheeked, their legs akimbo and laughter spilling from their mouths. Except that they would have his eyes or his hair or his nose. And they would call him Father.

A terrifying thought. To have children dependent on him, looking to him for guidance, expecting great things of him ... his mind boggled. How could he ever live up to such expectations?

"Enough!" Annabel dropped into a chair and flattened her hand against her chest. "I'm all sung out."

"Please, Aunt Annabel," begged the youngest, a five-year-old girl called Katie. "One more."

"It's always one more with you children," Mrs. Lake said. "Leave your aunt alone. You'll make her hoa.r.s.e."

"Perhaps you can convince Lord Jarret to sing." Annabel looked mischievous. "a.s.suming he knows any songs that can be sung in polite company."

"I know a couple," he answered, "but you'd be better off asking a fish to play the pianoforte. Trust me, no one would want to hear me sing."

"I can hardly believe that," Annabel protested. "You have such a lovely speaking voice."

He barely had time to register that she found his voice lovely before the children ran up to clamor for a performance. He held out as long as he could, but relented when little Katie stuck her thumb in her mouth and looked as if she might cry. "Fine," he said. "But you'll regret it."

Rising to his feet, he made a production of clearing his throat and uttering noises like the ones he'd seen professional singers make. Then he launched into the only children's song he could think of: "Hot Cross Buns."

At the first notes, the children gaped at him as if someone in the room had just farted. Even Annabel blinked, and Mrs. Lake looked downright stunned.

He plowed on with great enthusiasm anyway. It wasn't as if he hadn't warned them, and he hadn't been allowed to sing to anyone since his family had first discovered his deficit. Fortunately "Hot Cross Buns" was short, so he only had to torture them for a minute or two.

When he was done, a tense silence fell upon the room. Then Annabel said, eyes twinkling, "That has to be the worst rendition of 'Hot Cross Buns' I have ever heard."

"Annabel!" Mrs. Lake said.

"Trust me, I'm not offended," he told her with a smug smile. "I know my limitations."

"Your singing is like cats fighting," Geordie ventured.

"More like cats screaming, or so I've been told," Jarret said. "Gabe claims I sound like a fiddle that has been stomped on."

"Or a flute with a walnut in it," one of the children supplied.

"Do it again!" Katie cried. "I like it!"

Astonished, Jarret knelt to stare into her face. "You like it, moppet?" He glanced at Mrs. Lake. "You neglected to tell me, madam, that insanity runs in your family."

The others laughed, but Katie wouldn't be put off. "I don't know what 'sanity' means, sir, but your singing reminds me of the owl that screeches outside the nursery every night. I like owls. Can you sing another?"

Jarret laughed and chucked her under the chin. "Sorry, dear girl, but your parents would have me tarred and feathered."

She clapped her hands. "That sounds like fun, too!"

He cast Annabel an amused glance over Katie's head. "Your aunt would certainly enjoy it." He leaned close to whisper loudly, "She likes to make me suffer."

Annabel's blush sent the blood roaring through his veins. Then she shot him a chiding look as she held out her hands to her nieces and nephews. "Come, children, it's nearly bedtime. Let's leave his lordship and your papa in peace to finish their card game, shall we?"

"But I want to see his lordship tarred and feathered!" Katie cried. "Mama, what's 'tarred' mean?"

As the adults laughed, Annabel gathered up the children. Ignoring their whining, she and Mrs. Lake shooed them toward the stairs while Jarret rose to take his seat at the card table again. But when he picked up his cards, he noticed Lake staring at him with an a.s.sessing gaze.

"Something on your mind, sir?" he asked.

Lake set down his hand. "Forgive me for being blunt, my lord, but why did you decide to come here and help us? Even if this scheme works, there will be little benefit for Plumtree Brewery in it."

Jarret arranged his cards. "I disagree. I've seen enough of Allsopp's success to know that it could be beneficial for us both."

"If I can sustain it," Lake said, a troubled expression crossing his brow. "Which is by no means certain."

Jarret weighed his words carefully. "Having spent a great deal of time with you this week, I've come to realize that what your sister says about you is true. You have good business instincts. You just don't trust them."

"You see how close Lake Ale is to the edge," Lake retorted. "Does that seem indicative of a man with good business instincts?"

"It's not your instincts that are the problem. It's your tendency to drown them in a bottle."

To Lake's credit, although anger flared in his face, he didn't try to deny anything. "My drinking didn't create the problems with the Russian market. My drinking didn't raise the price of barrels or hops."

"That's true. But a man's strength is measured by how he reacts to life's challenges. And until now, you haven't reacted particularly well."

"You ought to know what that's like," Lake shot back. "From what I understand, you react to 'life's challenges' by avoiding them entirely at the gaming table."

Jarret gritted his teeth, but he couldn't deny the accusation. Granted, he'd had no family to support, no reason to step in at the brewery when Gran held the reins-but he could have tried.

How would his life have been different if he'd approached Gran ten years ago and asked to be given another chance? At the time, he'd thought it foolish to invest his life in such an endeavor when all he ever got for his efforts was grief.

Now he began to wonder if that decision had been foolish. Not trying had gained him nothing, for here he was ten years later, running the brewery anyway. If he'd started back then, he might have prevented some of the problems with the Russian market. He might even have kept Gran from getting so angry at her grandchildren that she'd felt compelled to lay down her fateful ultimatum.

That thought was sobering.

"You're right," he said. "I'm not qualified to give advice about how to deal with the hand that Fate deals us. But I'm learning from my mistakes, and one thing I'm learning is that hiding solves nothing. It just delays the inevitable. Better to make an attempt and fail, than not to make an attempt at all."

It was true. He'd found more hope, more enjoyment during this week of creating a future for their two companies than he had in years of gambling. The hand a man received might be unpredictable, but as in cards, what the man made of that hand could change everything.

The anger had faded from Lake's features, but he was still watching Jarret as warily as a fox watches the hunter. "You haven't answered my question. Why did you come here? How did Annie convince you to consider it?"

"Your sister can be very persuasive," he evaded.

Lake nodded. "She's also very pretty-something I believe you've noticed."

"A man would have to be blind not to notice that." He dared not say more until he knew where Lake was leading.

"I have noticed that you've stayed longer in Burton than was strictly necessary to negotiate the terms of our deal. Is there a reason for that?"

Jarret grew irritated with this cat-and-mouse game. "Whatever you wish to say to me, sir, say it."

"Very well." Giving up any pretense of continuing their game, Lake leaned back in his chair and folded his arms over his chest. "If you have honorable intentions toward my sister, you should speak up. If not, I suggest that you leave her be."

The warning was not entirely unexpected, but it rankled all the same. "What makes you think I have any intentions, honorable or otherwise, toward her?"

"For one thing, you have an uncanny ability to make her blush. I've never seen Annie blush as often as she has in the time you've been here."

Jarret forced a smile. "I make a great many women blush, Lake. I don't mean anything by it."

"That is my point exactly. I don't wish to see my sister's heart broken by a scoundrel."

Jarret's eyes narrowed. "Your sister is perfectly capable of protecting her heart from anyone."

"She had her heart broken by a rascal before."

That threw Jarret off guard. "Surely you're not referring to the heroic Rupert."

Lake snorted. "A hero doesn't court a woman above his station when he knows her family doesn't approve."

"Your father didn't approve of Rupert?"

An exasperated look crossed Lake's face. "Father knew, as did I, that Rupert was an impetuous young man with more pluck than brains. He had no money to support a wife and wasn't likely ever to get any. His father left him and his brother with nothing, and though they worked hard, they had no ambition. Given time, I suspect Annie would have seen that, and the romance would have ended of its own accord."

"So that's why your father asked them to wait to marry?"

Lake nodded. "Father knew that if he out-and-out forbade her to see Rupert, my willful sister would do the opposite. So he took a more subtle approach, hoping that if he delayed the wedding, she would eventually come to her senses."

"But the subtle approach didn't work."