A Hellion In Her Bed Part 7

"No closer than I." She gathered up the cards. "My turn to deal, my lord. I'll try not to be as generous to you as you were to yourself."

His eyes narrowed. "If you're insinuating that I cheat, madam-"

"Of course not." A blush touched her cheeks as she shuffled the cards. "I should have said, I'll hope for as much luck as you had."

Her peevish tone made him grin. "Do I detect a whiff of sour grapes, Miss Lake?"

"Surely even you must admit you had an extraordinarily lucky hand that time," she retorted.

He shrugged. "A bad player can make a hash of a lucky hand. Just as a good player can turn a mediocre hand into a brilliant one."

"And a mediocre player can turn a brilliant hand into a lame one," Masters interjected. "Will you two get on with it? We want to see who wins, not listen to philosophizing about card playing."

Miss Lake flashed Jarret an arch glance. "Is he always this impatient?"

"Only when he has a bet riding on something. And he's foolishly pinned all his hopes on you."

"Do trounce him soundly, will you, Miss Lake?" Masters said. "I could use the blunt. And he could use the set-down."

"Why?" Miss Lake dealt the cards. "Does he usually win?"

"He always wins," Gabe complained. "Though he's been off his game recently."

"But not this evening," Jarret said as he saw his hand. It wasn't as spectacular as his last one, but he could make it work.

The next game moved quickly, both of them silent, intent upon the cards. When it ended in a draw-again-the men hovering about the table let out a collective groan.

Miss Lake shoved the cards across the table at him. "We could be at this all night, you know."

"Getting tired, Miss Lake?" he taunted as he shuffled the cards.

"Certainly not. But you must admit we're evenly matched."

"Perhaps." He dealt them their hands.

"Now I detect a whiff of sour grapes," she teased.

"Or perhaps you just smell impending doom," he shot back.

He picked up his hand. It was one of those that could go either way. By now he'd figured out her style of playing, so he ought to be able to gauge her strategy.

But then, she could gauge his, as well.

He did enjoy the challenge of playing cards with a worthy opponent. Masters and Gabe were indifferent players; neither was willing to expend the effort necessary to figure out where all the cards lay. They were more interested in drinking and flirting with the tavern maids.

Miss Lake, on the other hand, was a serious card player. It made him wonder about her family. She had to be living with her brother and sister-in-law, since her parents were dead. That made her the maiden aunt.

It was a shame, really. She looked far too young to be a maiden aunt-she couldn't be more than twenty-five. What kind of life was that for a woman?

Of course, Minerva was twenty-eight and seemed content with her situation. But that was because she had her books. What did Miss Lake have? A brewery that didn't belong to her, that her brother probably kept her away from as much as possible.

Although perhaps not, given her presence here in London.

She played her first card, and he forced himself to concentrate. It would take every bit of his skill to win, or at the very least, bring this to a draw.

They played several tricks in silence and had worked through the stock into the second thirteen tricks when Masters said, "So, Gabe, since Jarret found a way out of marrying, that leaves the rest of you. Have you picked out your wife?"

Gabe scowled. "I'm waiting until the last moment."

"Wise decision," Masters said. "And ... er ... what about your sisters? Have they made any choices?"

Something in Masters's tone alerted Jarret. He glanced over at his friend to find Masters examining his fingernails with seeming nonchalance. But there was a telltale tightening of his jaw, and he'd gone very still.

Gabe didn't seem to notice. "Oh, Celia is still annoyed at Gran over it, and Minerva is angry as h.e.l.l that Jarret got out of it. Minerva says she means to fight it, too, but I don't know what she thinks she can do. Jarret was the only one who had anything to negotiate with. Even Oliver's plan for getting around Gran failed."

"Well, if anyone can find a way around her, it's Lady Minerva," Masters said in a too careful voice.

Jarret tensed. He'd wondered if there were something between Masters and Minerva after seeing them together at the St. Valentine's Day Ball, but he'd forgotten about it after Oliver announced his engagement to Maria.

There d.a.m.ned well better not be. Masters might be his best friend, but he was not to be trusted around women. And he had a peculiar habit of disappearing to G.o.d knows where for days on end. Minerva deserved better than a sometime husband. If not for Gran's machinations, she wouldn't even have to find- "Trumps are hearts, Lord Jarret," Miss Lake said.

He looked down to see that he'd tried to take her jack of diamonds with a five of spades, the trump suit from their last game. Confound it all to h.e.l.l. The idea of Masters going after his sister had distracted him.

"Of course," he said smoothly and pushed the trick across to her.

But now he was in trouble. At least three tricks had gone by, during which he'd played without thinking. He tried to remember what had been played, but for the life of him he couldn't.

d.a.m.n, d.a.m.n, d.a.m.n! He couldn't remember where the queen of clubs or ten of hearts was. He'd had neither-he remembered that much-but which had she already played?

It was the last two tricks now, and they were at a draw again. He had the nine of hearts and a five of clubs-and it was his lead. He was fairly certain she had the eight of diamonds and either the queen of clubs or ten of hearts.

He did some swift calculations. If he led with the five, every possible combination ended in a draw. If he led with the nine of hearts, she could win, he could win, or it could end in a draw, depending on how she played.

He ought to lead with the five. That was the safe choice, since he couldn't lose. But he couldn't win either. What if his next hand was abysmal? At least by leading with the nine of hearts, he had a chance to win.

It all rested on whether she would have saved the trump or the high card. From the way she'd been playing, it was hard to be sure.

He took a long breath. It had never been in his nature to play it safe.

With his heart thundering in his chest, he laid down the nine. She shot him a quizzical glance, then played the ten of hearts.

He stared blindly at the cards. He'd guessed wrong, and now he was sunk.

The last trick was a mere formality. She'd won the b.l.o.o.d.y hand, which meant she'd won the game. And the wager.

d.a.m.n it all to h.e.l.l.

Chapter Five.

Annabel gaped at the cards, hardly able to believe her eyes. Mr. Masters broke into a cheer, which triggered groans from those who had bet against him. Lord Gabriel, who'd bet on his brother, uttered a curse unfit for a lady's ears.

Lord Jarret just stared at the cards, expressionless.

That wasn't terribly surprising-he hadn't reacted to his cards the entire game, making it impossible to read his strategy. When he'd gained the lead, she'd been certain the game would end in a draw. She'd known exactly what cards he had left and thought for sure he knew the same for her. His friends had emphasized that he was famous for remembering every card played.

So why had he played the nine of hearts? Could he have a.s.sumed that she didn't remember what had been played?

No, that made no sense. Once he'd played the nine, she'd had no choice but to follow suit, which meant she'd had no choice but to win.

Had he let her win? That seemed the only logical explanation. But why would he, when he'd been so opposed to helping her brother's brewery?

There was only one explanation: he'd wanted to avoid bedding her.

She thought back to their discussion. When he'd made his outrageous proposal and she'd agreed, he had appeared to be alarmed that his bluff had been called. And a man like that would have too much pride to back out of a wager.

Had he decided that the only way to avoid bedding her against her will was to lose? If he had, that showed him to be far less a rogue than she'd guessed. Either that, or he found her unattractive, which he hadn't seemed to do. Granted, she wasn't some fresh young thing, but she wasn't doddering on the edge of the grave either, and a true rogue wouldn't be that particular, would he?

Still, if he'd wanted to be a gentleman about it, he could simply have refused to demand payment of the debt. Or taken Mother's ring. Why hadn't he done that?

Perhaps she really had beaten him.

A heavy silence fell on the room. Everyone waited for her or Lord Jarret to speak.

"It looks like Plumtree Brewery will be joining up with Lake Ale, Lord Jarret," she ventured, not sure what else to say.

His eyes locked with hers, glinting green in the candlelight. "It certainly does."

Even his tone gave nothing away. It was extremely unnerving. "Thank you for agreeing to the stakes. For agreeing to play cards with me at all."

"It was my pleasure."

Ah, there it was-just a hint of irritation in his voice.

He stood abruptly. "Where in town are you staying, Miss Lake?"

She blinked, taken off guard by the question. "At the Spur Inn."

"That's in High Borough Street, right?" When she nodded, he donned the hat and greatcoat hanging from a hook on a nearby post. "I'll accompany you."

"No need for that. I can hire a hackney."

"Out of the question."

"I can take her," Mr. Pinter put in.

"No," Lord Jarret said firmly. When Mr. Pinter looked as if he might protest, Lord Jarret added, "Miss Lake and I have a few matters to discuss. Privately."

Warily, she rose. She'd a.s.sumed that their discussion would take place in the morning.

"You'll return here when you're done, won't you?" Mr. Masters asked Lord Jarret, still grinning about his win. "Now that you're on a losing streak again, I want another crack at you and Gabe."

"And you want to gloat awhile longer," Lord Jarret said dryly.

"Absolutely. You're not going to live this one down anytime soon."

"That's what I'm afraid of," Lord Jarret remarked with no trace of rancor. If he was angry, he hid it well. "Unfortunately, you'll have to have your fun another time, old boy. I'm coming back to speak with Pinter. Then I'm going home. I have to rise early if I'm to travel to Burton."

While she was still gaping at him over that, he rounded the table. "Come, Miss Lake, we'd best go."

She took the arm he offered. As soon as they got out onto the street, she asked, "What do you mean, travel to Burton? There's no need for that. Just talk to the East India Company and convince them to carry our October brew. Offer them rea.s.surances that you'll guarantee it, or something."

He shot her a cold glance. "The wager was that I would help Lake Ale, not that I would turn a blind eye to anything your brother's company does. I'm not risking my family's relations with the East India Company without knowing more about your brother's brewery: its situation, the amount of ale that could reasonably be produced, the plan he has for-"

"But you can't come to Burton!" she cried.

His eyes narrowed on her. "Why not?"

"I-I ... well ..." Inspiration hit. "How will your brewery manage without you?"

The minute he saw Hugh and realized that she'd invented her brother's "illness," or that Hugh hadn't entirely approved this plan, he would back out of their agreement, wager or no wager.

He navigated her expertly around a mud puddle. "Plumtree will be fine. I'll leave instructions for my master brewer and Croft, and they'll handle things until I return. I won't be gone more than a few days." He searched her face. "Is there something you're not telling me?"

She forced herself to meet his gaze steadily. "Of course not. I merely don't want to inconvenience you."

He gave a dry laugh. "Rather late for that. You wanted my help, and now you have it. I'm happy to escort you and your family to Burton whenever you're ready to leave."

She considered that. If he traveled with them, she might be able to control the situation better than if he showed up at Lake Ale unannounced. Still, it would be altogether better if he remained in London.

"Forgive me, sir, but I can't imagine your b.u.mping and jostling in a mail coach with me, my sister-in-law, and my nephew," she said.

"Nor can I. Which is why we'll take the Sharpe family traveling coach."

"Oh, no, I couldn't-"

"My eldest brother is the only one who uses it, and he'll be out of the country with his new wife for another two months at least." He slanted a glance at her as they turned onto High Borough Street. "It will save you the fare to Burton."

A flush touched her cheeks. She hated to admit it, but that would be helpful. Neither she nor Sissy had dreamed that lodgings in London would be so expensive. They had precious little for the journey back, and none to stay at a coaching inn as they had coming to London.

She hadn't been looking forward to a day and a half of solid travel by mail coach with Sissy and a cranky twelve-year-old. This would enable them to stay one night at an inn, even with his lordship.