A Hellion in Her Bed (27 page)

She gulped in air. “That’s kind of you to say. But we both know that it’s far more likely he just didn’t … want to be burdened with a wife as he set out on his exciting adventure.”

“If that’s the case, then he was a fool. A complete and utter fool. Any man would be glad to have you waiting for him at home.”

“Not any man,” she said quietly.

He froze. She was right. He had no business saying such a thing when
he
would not want her waiting for him. Would he?

Before he could even think of an answer, she said with
forced lightness, “Anyway, it was a long time ago. Whatever his reasons, it’s in the past. I acted foolishly, and now this is my life.” She managed a smile. “It’s not a bad life. I have nieces and nephews to love, and I can come to the brewery whenever I please.”

“Annabel—” he began, feeling the need to say something, anything to make her realize her worth.

She touched a finger to his lips. “Let’s just enjoy this while we can.” She cuddled up against him. “Besides, there’s one thing I’ve always wondered about you. Why did you become a gambler? You have a knack for the brewing business, and you seem to like the work. Surely your grandmother would have been delighted to take you under her wing.”

He froze. The last thing he wanted to talk about with
her
was that time in his life. Letting her into his soul that deeply was the surest way to heartbreak. She would give him her soft sympathy, and he would start to care for her, and next thing he knew he’d be standing before a man of the cloth, handing his heart to her on a platter.

Not that he thought she would deliberately hurt him. He was sure she wouldn’t. But he’d spent so many years keeping himself remote from anyone who might, that he wasn’t about to change that now for a woman he meant to leave in the morning.

“I’m good at gambling, too, you know.” He cast her a lazy grin meant to distract her. “That’s how I got you into bed.”

She didn’t smile, her eyes huge in her face. “If you don’t want to talk about it, just say so.”

With a jolt, he remembered her words earlier:
What have you told me about yourself? Hardly enough for me to make even a sketch of you, much less a full picture.

“There’s nothing to talk about,” he said tersely. “Gran
wanted me to become a barrister, as befitted my station. She packed me off to Eton, and I found I preferred gambling to books. You see? All this time you’ve being saying I’m a scapegrace, and you’re right. I don’t care about anyone but myself, and I’d rather have a deck of cards in my hand than do anything useful with my time.”

“That’s not true,” she said, her eyes soft. “I know that in your heart—”

“You don’t know anything,” he snapped, then cursed himself when she flinched. “I’m sorry. It’s just that we have only a few hours before I leave for London, and I don’t want to spend it talking about my flaws.” He ran his hand down her luscious curves. “I’d much rather spend it making good on my promise.”

A tiny frown furrowed her brow. “What promise?”

“That I’d have you begging before the night was over.”

She opened her mouth, but he cut her off with a long, hot kiss designed to drive any thought from her mind but of
this
. When at last she looped her arms about his neck and he knew he’d won, his blood poured fierce and hot through his veins.

As he tore his lips from hers to kiss his way down to her beautiful breasts, she rasped, “I told you, I never beg.”

“Ah, but you will, my Venus. You will.”

Then he made sure that she did. This time he pleasured her with his mouth so thoroughly that he brought her to the knife’s edge of release within moments. And she did beg, for him to take her, to come inside her. He was only too happy to comply.

After they lay replete the second time, their limbs entwined, he drifted off into a doze, something he had never done with a woman. But there was something so peaceful about being with her, being held by her …

“Jarret!” a sharp voice said.

“Hmm?” He came slowly awake to find Annabel standing over him, already wearing her shift, drawers, and stockings.

“You have to help me dress. It’s nearly four
a.m.
, and I must return to the house before anyone discovers I’m gone.”

“Of course.” Wrestling himself from the fog of sleep, he sat up. “Give me a moment.”

How long had he slept? A couple of hours at least, just enough to make him feel like a dead man.

She had to be feeling the same sluggishness, yet she cast him a look of such sympathy that something tightened in his chest. “Surely you can sleep a few hours at the inn before you leave, can’t you?” Gathering up his clothes, she said, “Though you’re probably eager to return to London. I suppose you can always sleep in your carriage.”

As she handed him his clothes, then tidied up the room, all he could do was stare at her, so fragile-looking and small in that shift that left nothing to the imagination.

He was supposed to leave today. He would never see her again, never be bothered by Lake Ale’s problems. He could go back and report to Gran that she’d been right—the company’s pale ale had not been worth the risk to Plumtree Brewery.

The thought made his throat close up. “What will you tell your brother?” he clipped out. “About our meeting tomorrow … today, I mean.”

“The truth, I suppose.”

“Good God.”

She whirled around, her cheeks reddening. “Not about you and me. I’ll just tell him you changed your mind after seeing the brewery, and that you went back to London.” She gave him a sad smile. “It was never very likely that you would help us anyway, was it?”

Suddenly, Jarret didn’t like the idea of being a man no one could count on, and he sure as hell didn’t like the idea of being yet another man in a long line who’d disappointed her—her father, her brother, her fiancé.

And if he didn’t help the Lakes, where would they end up? Would she convince her brother to sell the company? It wouldn’t gain them much in this market. Even if they got some money from it, they would soon sink without the income from the brewery. Especially if her brother couldn’t get his head out of a bottle.

She could ask another brewer for help, he supposed. Like that damned Allsopp.
Miss Lake will do just about anything to save her father’s brewery.
His blood ran cold. Not because she might want to give herself to a lecher like Allsopp, but because she might feel she had no choice. It chafed him raw to think of it.

Rising from the bed, he stalked over to the waning fire to throw the two cundums onto it and watch as they burned. Many a woman had been forced to do unconscionable things to save the people they loved. And the thought of Annabel being one of them …

“I’m not leaving for London today.” He couldn’t. Drunk or no, her brother was the key to saving Lake Ale, and if Jarret left her here alone to deal with the man, he’d be no better than that damned Rupert, with his empty words and emptier promises.

He went to the bed and tugged on his drawers. He could feel her eyes on him.

“Why not?” she asked, clearly perplexed.

He walked over to pick up her corset, then helped her into it. “I’m going to stay here and see what I can do about this scheme of yours, of course.”

She froze, then pivoted to face him. “You … you’ll speak to the East India captains? You’ll contract with us for pale ale?”

The hope shimmering in her eyes fairly slew him. “That’s what you want, isn’t it?”

“Yes!” A brilliant smile broke over her face as she threw herself into his arms. “Yes, yes, yes!” She laughed, the dulcet tones like music, and covered his face with kisses. “But why? You don’t have to. The wager—”

“I don’t care about that confounded wager,” he growled. “You need help, and I want to help. I can spare a few more days to see if we could make this work.”

“Oh, Jarret,” she whispered, “that is the nicest thing you could ever have done for me.” Inexplicably, she began to cry.

Purely masculine panic rose in his chest. “Here now, dearling,” he murmured as he folded her close. “I thought you’d be happy.”

“I
am
happy,” she gasped. “This is what I do when I’m happy.”

“Then I’d hate to see what you do when you’re sad.”

“I cry then, too,” she blubbered. “I cry a lot.”

It was killing him. How many times had she cried over the man who’d left her and died? How often had her brother driven her to tears? It drove a fist in his gut even to imagine it.

“The only time I don’t cry,” she said as she attempted to get control of herself, “is when I’m angry. Then I yell.”

“I remember.” In an attempt to slow her tears, he added, “I never cry. Too messy.”

She lifted a teary-eyed gaze to him. “Never?”

“Never.”

“That’s awful.” She swiped at her tears with the back of her hand. “I can’t imagine not being able to cry. I feel so much
better afterward.” She flashed him a watery smile. “Though I look much worse.”

“You’ll always look like a goddess to me.” Realizing how maudlin that sounded, he turned her around so he could continue lacing up her corset … and avoid seeing the hope in her eyes. “So where does this meeting with your brother take place?”

“Wherever you want.”

“It needs to be here,” Jarret said, “and I want both you and Mr. Walters present.”

“Of course.”

“And I want to see Lake Ale’s books.”

She froze. “All of them?”

“All of them. I won’t sign any contract with your company until I’m sure that one of you can keep the place going long enough to get this ale on the ships to India.”

A sigh escaped her. “I don’t know if Hugh will agree to that.”

“He’d better, if he wants me to help him.”

As he finished lacing her up, she squared her shoulders. “Then I’ll make sure he does.”

He couldn’t prevent a smile. For all her tears, she was stalwart, ready to throw herself into any fray. “I’ll need a list of your suppliers. And if you know anything about the operations of Allsopp and Bass, I’ll need that information, too.”

“All right.”

While they dressed, he dictated other demands, mostly to make her understand that this would by no means be easy. They would have to work hard to make it happen.

When they were both ready, he said, “I’ll walk you home.”

“Absolutely not.” Her voice was firm. “I won’t chance anyone seeing us together.”

“But Annabel, it’s not safe.”

She laughed. “I’m as safe walking Burton’s streets, even at this hour, as I would be in my own home.” She nodded at the door. “You leave first, and try to get into the inn without being seen. I’ll follow shortly after.”

He didn’t like it, but he could tell she was going to be stubborn about it. “Very well.” He started for the door, then paused to glance at her. “When can I see you again?”

“In a few hours, at the meeting,” she retorted.

He frowned. “That’s not what I mean, and you know it.”

The color rose in her cheeks, but she met his gaze steadily. “Is … seeing me again a requirement of your staying here to help us?”

“No, damn it! That’s not why I asked.”

She stared at him, as if to assess his sincerity. Then a soft smile curved up her lips. “In that case, you may see me whenever you like.”

His heart began to pound. “Tonight? Same time? Here?”

Mischief sparked in her eyes. “If that’s what you wish, my lord.”

“What I wish,” he growled as he walked back to her and hauled her into his arms, “is to have you stop calling me
my lord
.”

He took her mouth with his, glorying in how freely she gave herself up to it. He never tired of kissing her. Her kisses were like a drug to his senses, and he was fast becoming addicted.

She let him kiss her only a moment before pushing him away. “That’s enough of that. We have a long day ahead of us.”

He eyed her askance. “I can see you’re going to be a stern taskmaster, Miss Lake.”

“You have no idea.” She reached up to smooth a lock of his hair. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

He left then, his heart and his steps light, feeling like some knight in shining armor. Damned if it didn’t feel good to be helping someone. To be helping
her
.

He could easily get used to the thought of Annabel always in his arms. If he wasn’t careful, she’d have him wrapped around her little finger as thoroughly as Maria had wrapped his brother around hers.

He snorted. That was absurd. He was just doing a kindness for her. Not even a kindness—a business venture that made perfect sense, as long as he could control the variables. It was a way to boost Plumtree’s flagging sales; nothing more.

By the time he reached the inn, he’d almost convinced himself that was true.

A
nnabel practically danced through the streets of Burton. It was ridiculous, but she couldn’t stop smiling. Surely the fact that Jarret had agreed to stay and help Lake Ale meant something.

Her rational mind told her it was daft to think he actually might care for her; her heart desperately wanted to believe it. Perhaps in time …

She mustn’t torment herself with such hopes. Jarret hadn’t said one word about marriage or love. The only thing he’d wanted was to ensure that they could do
that
again.

As a heady swirl of temptation rose in her body, she chided herself for being so wanton. But really, she couldn’t help it. Who could have guessed that lovemaking really was so wonderful? She’d guessed that it might be, and she’d certainly liked all the parts that came before and after. But until Jarret, she hadn’t realized that the act itself could be so downright glorious.

She reached the house and unlocked the door, glancing around to make sure no one had seen her. Then she slipped
inside and removed her boots so she could get to her room without making any sound.

“Where have you been?” said a sonorous male voice.

She froze, her heart stampeding into triple time. Not again. Oh Lord, not again.

Then she settled her shoulders. She was not a girl of seventeen anymore, to be cowering at the voice of her brother. Schooling her expression into nonchalance, she turned toward him.