A Hellion In Her Bed Part 8

So she swallowed her pride. "Thank you, that is very kind of you. And of course we'll provide for your lodgings along the way."

"Nonsense. Since I'm foisting my presence on you, I'll take care of those costs. I welcome the chance to get to know the rest of your family, since I'll be working with your brother."

Panic hit her again. "What do you mean?"

"We have to hammer out the terms of this agreement. If Lake Ale is providing the brew, will he wish us to transport it? Is he planning to transport it? Does he have enough resources and good local connections for barrels, or will that be something else we provide? A venture such as this involves several variables, which must be negotiated."

She stared at him, once again surprised by his sharp thinking. For a man running a business temporarily, he certainly had a good mind for it. That could prove dangerous.

"Do remember that my brother is unwell," she said. "He may not be able to give you the information you require."

He cast her a long, considering look that made her glance away guiltily. She wasn't exactly lying to him. Hugh was unwell. In a fashion.

"Just how ill is your brother?" he pressed as they dodged a lumbering cart.

What should she say? If she said Hugh was very ill, then he might not help them for fear of the company going under. But Hugh had to be ill enough to make it believable that he was unavailable while Lord Jarret was in Burton.

She settled for something vague. "The physician says he'll recover in good time, as long as he isn't disturbed by matters at Lake Ale. But the brewery manager and I can provide you with whatever you need to know."

"It sounds as if you spend a great deal of time there. I a.s.sumed you only brewed the ale, not helped to run the business."

"With Hugh unavailable, I have no choice."

"That's how my grandmother got into it, as well. Grandfather fell ill, and she stepped in to help. He guided her from his sickbed." Lord Jarret's voice softened. "When he died of his ailment, a family friend offered to sell the place and arrange for the proceeds to go to Gran and my mother, but Gran insisted upon taking over. By then, she knew enough to manage on her own."

"Your grandmother is a very brave woman."

"Or a mad one. Plenty of men claimed it was the latter."

"Let me guess: they were her compet.i.tors, right?"

He laughed. "They were, indeed."

There was no mistaking his grudging respect when he spoke of his grandmother. He might not approve of her tactics in trying to make his siblings marry-and Annabel could sympathize with that-but he clearly admired her.

"I understand that you and your siblings were raised by Mrs. Plumtree after ... that is ..."

His face hardened. "I see you've heard of the family scandal."

Oh, dear. She shouldn't have alluded to that. It made her sound so ... gossipy. She'd heard various versions of how his parents had died. One was that his mother had killed his father by mistaking him for an intruder and shooting him, then killing herself when she realized she'd shot her husband. Another was that his older brother had shot their mother when she'd tried to come between him and his father, and then had shot his father. Both versions rang false.

What was the real story? She didn't dare ask. And clearly it wasn't something he wanted to discuss, for a heavy silence fell between them. But just as she was about to apologize for prying, he spoke again.

"Gran became our guardian when I was thirteen. But I don't think you can properly say she raised us." His voice was remote, cold. "She was too busy at the brewery for that. We raised ourselves, for the most part."

"That would explain why you're all so-"

"Wild?"

She winced. There she went again, saying things she oughtn't. "Independent."

His laugh held an edge. "That's a nice way of putting it." He eyed her closely. "So what's your excuse for being 'independent'? Did your father raise you alone? Is that why you insist upon having a hand in his brewery?"

"No. My mother was an alewife. Every recipe we make was pa.s.sed down for generations from mother to daughter in her family. You might say I stepped into her shoes." Her voice softened. "They were big shoes to fill."

"So you've been doing it for how long now?"

"Since before Papa died," she said. "Almost seven years."

"That's impossible. You would have been far too young."

"I was twenty-two when Mother died and I started going to the brewery."

He gaped at her. "But that would make you-"

"Nearly thirty, yes. I'm afraid I'm rather long in the tooth."

He snorted. "You're annoying as the very devil, and one of the mouthiest d.a.m.ned females I've ever met, but not remotely long in the tooth."

She hid a smile. Perhaps it was silly, but she was flattered that he hadn't thought her an old spinster, as many in Burton did.

They walked awhile in silence. It was easy to do with the streets so busy. High Borough Street was known for its many inns and public houses, so people were coming and going even late at night. Thank goodness he'd walked her back to the inn; his ma.s.sive frame made her feel safe.

He'd been right about the difference between London and Burton, though she'd been loath to admit it to him. She moved freely about Burton, mostly because of her family's stature. She never even needed a footman-she was always quite safe as long as she stayed out of the less savory part of town.

But here ... well, there were a number of unsavory parts in London. And though she might have been perfectly safe in a hackney, even those could be breached by a determined footpad.

They pa.s.sed Plumtree Brewery, which seemed quieter with only the night staff at work, and approached Spur Inn. She'd chosen it for its proximity to the brewery and for its low cost, but she rather wished she'd chosen another. The crowd downstairs in the taproom seemed very rowdy, and she doubted she'd get much sleep tonight.

He opened the door to usher her inside. "I'll show you to your room. This is not a safe place for a woman to wander alone."

"Thank you, my lord," she said as they climbed the narrow stairs.

"Given that you offered earlier to spend a night in my bed as part of a gaming wager," he said in a husky voice, "I think you can call me something more personal than 'my lord.'"

Heat rose in her cheeks. He would bring that up again. It made her aware that she was practically alone with him, since everyone else in the inn seemed to be tucked away in their rooms or in the taproom below.

Why had he made that wager anyway? Simply to put her off? Or because he desired her? And if it was the latter, then why let her win?

If they were to spend the next two days closed up in a carriage together, she needed to know if he was a gentleman or a rogue. "Speaking of that, Lord Jarret-"

"Jarret," he corrected her.

"Jarret." A shiver spun down her spine. Using his Christian name seemed so intimate. "I was wondering ..." Oh, heavens, how was she to ask this?

"Yes?"

They'd reached the next floor. It was deserted. Once again, she found herself glad he'd accompanied her, for the room she shared with Sissy and Geordie was at the unlit end of the hall. She wouldn't have wanted to be trapped alone here with some drunken fellow coming up from downstairs.

They stopped outside the door to her room. She forced herself to look him in the eye. "Did you let me win that game?"

"Why would I do that?"

"Because you're less of a h.e.l.lion than you care to admit. Because you're a gentleman."

"I'm not that much of a gentleman."

She lowered her voice. "But a gentleman wouldn't want to force a woman into his bed just because of a wager."

"Then why would I make the wager in the first place?"

"To scare me. And when it didn't work, you had to find a way out of it."

His broad brow creased in a frown. "I could simply not have demanded that you honor our agreement." His voice held a trace of irritation now.

"I considered that. But that would have left me under an obligation to you, and you might have thought I'd find that intolerable. Letting me win would have been the gentlemanly thing to do."

"I did not let you win," he bit out.

"It's just that ... well, there was absolutely no reason for you to lose. I watched how you played. You had to have known I had the ten of-"

"You're going to make me admit this, aren't you?" He advanced, forcing her to back up until she collided with the wall. Planting his hands on either side of her shoulders, he leaned in to growl, "You won fair and square. You beat me because of your superior playing. Happy now?"

"No! I simply cannot believe that a man of your skill with cards-"

His mouth covered hers, taking her by surprise. It was warm, fragrant with the tang of hops from the ale he'd drunk, and oh so soft. Only his lips touched her, but that was enough to bring long-suppressed urges to the fore.

It was like gulping ale on an empty stomach-the sudden rush of heat, the roiling in one's belly, the tingling that spread from her head down to the tips of her fingers and toes. The smell of wool and soap and man intoxicated her-she hadn't been this close to a man in years. She'd forgotten how good they could smell.

And how good they could feel, for his lips were molding hers, teasing hers. Barely conscious of what she did, she opened her mouth. He tensed against her, as if in surprise, but then his tongue sank inside and he pressed into her, his body hardening. She felt every inch of him, from the muscled chest meeting her b.r.e.a.s.t.s to the bulge rising between his legs.

Undaunted by that evidence of his arousal, she slid her arms about his neck and lifted up on her toes to better accept his kiss. His hands slid down to clasp her waist, pulling her between his thighs as he drank of her mouth over and over.

Time stopped. There was only this man she barely knew, taking charge of her mouth as if it were his right. His fingers dug into her waist, the thumbs caressing her ribs as his tongue tangled with hers, exploring, wreaking havoc on her senses. Wild feelings careened through her chest and belly, making her hot and achy, making her want. Lord, it had been so long since she'd felt the heady pulse of desire.

Suddenly a sound, like something falling in a nearby room, made him tear his mouth from hers and back away, instantly alert. For a moment they merely stood there, both panting, their gazes locked upon each other.

What had she been thinking? She'd let him kiss her, and worse, she'd kissed him back!

Though she and Rupert had made love only once, they'd come close several times before, being stupid and young and infatuated. She'd never forgotten the pleasures he'd introduced her to. Now Jarret had chipped away at thirteen years of respectable living, and she'd simply stood still and let him.

Didn't she know better by now? Encouraging such behavior never led to anything but trouble for a woman like her, especially when the man was known for his wild living. Sons of marquesses didn't marry poor spinsters from Burton. They bedded them. He'd made that quite clear.

He leaned close. "As I said, Annabel, I'm not that much of a gentleman." His rough rasp of her Christian name set her pulse to pounding. "I didn't let you win. I played the nine of hearts because I got distracted and failed to notice that the ten hadn't been played. I certainly wasn't trying to let you off the hook for our wager."

His eyes, glinting dangerously in the dim light, trailed down to her mouth. "If this odd conversation stems from some belief that I'm a tenderhearted fellow you can twist to your will with a pretty smile, I hope I've put that idea to rest. But in case I haven't, think twice before wagering your body in a card game with me again to save your brother's precious brewery. Because next time I'll make sure I win. And when I do, I will claim my prize."

Heat rose in her cheeks, though she wasn't sure if it was from shame or arousal. "Don't worry, my lord." Show no weakness, or he'll run roughshod over you. "There's no need for me to wager with you now that I've got you where I want you."

His gaze sharpened on her, a mirthless smile touching his lips. "Be careful, my dear lady. Plenty of people have thought they had me where they wanted me, only to be proved wrong when I got them where I wanted them. You're playing with the big boys now. We don't roll over and play dead as easily as your brother."

He paused, as if to make certain she got the message. Then he straightened, the heat in his features cooling. "I have to speak to Gran in the morning, but I should be done before midday. We'll leave for Burton then." He tipped his hat. "Until tomorrow ... Annabel."

Utterly incapable of a coherent response, she watched as he turned and sauntered off.

Once he disappeared into the stairwell, she collapsed against the wall, her knees shaking and her hands clammy.

Arrogant beast. The big boys, indeed. He was so sure of himself, so smug! It roused her temper as no man had, in all her years struggling to be accepted among the brewers.

And his other threat-to claim his prize ... She wasn't the fool he took her for. He had been the one to make that outrageous wager in the first place, not her. She'd only accepted it because it was her last chance at saving Lake Ale. Did he really think otherwise? Did he really think she would step into that trap again?

Of course he did. He probably thought he could turn any woman into one of his doxies with his seductions.

Did he have doxies? Or was there a mistress stashed away somewhere whom he visited whenever he needed an outlet for his urges? The idea rankled, but only because she hated the idea of being one of many women he'd taken advantage of for ... for that.

Clearly Lord Jarret was interested in women only as physical creatures with whom he could sate his l.u.s.t. And she could see why women were eager to throw themselves on his pyre. The man definitely knew how to kiss. She could only imagine how skilled he must be at all the rest.

Long-forgotten images swam into her mind, of bodies intertwined, hands exploring, of driving each other to greater heights of- A pox on him! She'd spent years tucking away all those urges and hopes and needs, and with one foolish kiss, he'd dragged them out again to plague her. She wouldn't let him do this to her!

Shaking off the unwanted heat in her belly, she fumbled in her cloak pocket for the room key and unlocked the door.

When she entered, she found the result of her youthful pa.s.sion lying on a pallet near the fire, his face turned toward the hearth. Geordie had kicked off the blanket, which now lay on the floor, and his nightshirt was twisted about his skinny legs.

Annabel's heart tightened in her chest. Moving carefully to avoid waking Sissy, who was dozing in a chair, Annabel crept over to cover Geordie up. He mumbled something in his sleep and caught the blanket up to his chin.

Tears stung her eyes. Did he ever wonder why his "aunt" insisted upon coming with his mother to his room each evening to bid him good night? Or why his "aunt" was so interested in his future? Did he even care what she thought of him? Or was it only his "mother" who captured his deepest affection?

That pained her too much to dwell on. Sometimes, looking at him was like staring at a fairy-tale castle far away on a mountaintop. He was hers and yet not. Would he ever be hers? Or would telling him the truth drive him even farther away?

One of his dark brown locks lay across his cheek, and she had to fight the impulse to smooth it back. She didn't want to wake him. He looked so sweet asleep.

"You're back," said a soft voice.

She looked up to find Sissy stirring. "Yes."

"Did you get to talk to Mrs. Plumtree?"

"Not exactly. But I did convince Lord Jarret to help the brewery."

Sissy smiled. "You did! That's wonderful!" When Geordie's even breathing broke and he turned over, she dropped her voice to a whisper. "I knew you could do it."

"But there's a catch." Swiftly she explained that Lord Jarret would be traveling with them to Burton and why.

"Oh dear," Sissy said. "What if he sees Hugh in one of his ... well ..."

"We'll just have to make sure he doesn't. I'm counting on you to help with that."

"Of course!"