A Hellion in Her Bed (8 page)

“Hugh is ill,” she said. “He had no choice.”

Jarret raised an eyebrow. “Did you give him any choice?”

She slapped a card on the table. “Not really.”

Gabe gave a low whistle. “If you’re not going to marry her, Jarret, then someone should. She needs a husband to keep her out of trouble.”

“Believe me, I already suggested that,” Jarret muttered.

“You did not!” Miss Lake said hotly. “You said I need a keeper. It’s hardly the same thing. You’re undoubtedly one of those men who believe that women are like pets, to be kept caged and only trotted out at parties.”

“Honestly, Jarret,” Masters chided, eyes twinkling, “you have such a poor opinion of the female sex.” He leaned close to Miss Lake. “I assure you, madam, that
I
would never imply such a thing to a lady.”

Even as Jarret snorted, Miss Lake arched one delicate brow at Masters. “I suspect that would only be because you hope to turn the lady up sweet.”

“She’s got you there, Masters,” Gabe joked. “Perhaps Miss Lake is a reader of minds.”

Jarret took her trick. “She can’t be, or she wouldn’t presume to know my opinion about women.” He glanced at her. “Apparently I’m not the only one here who assumes things based on only one day’s acquaintance.”

“My assumption isn’t based on our acquaintance, sir,” she shot back, “but on what you said. If you think a woman needs a keeper, then you think her incapable of keeping herself. It’s downright insulting.”

“I meant no insult. I was merely pointing out that a woman must behave differently in the city than in the country. And if she doesn’t, she needs someone to look after her.”

“The country! I live in Burton. We have nearly seven thousand inhabitants.”

Everyone laughed.

When she scowled, Gabe said, “Forgive me, madam, but London has over a million inhabitants.”

“I know that. But that doesn’t make Burton the country, does it?”

“Perhaps by comparison—” Jarret began.

“I assure you, sir,” she said tightly, “we have our share of vice and wickedness. The difference is only a matter of scale.”

The wealth of bitterness in that remark gave him pause. Had she experienced such vice firsthand? Had some scoundrel taken advantage of her? And why did that possibility spark his temper?

“In any case,” she went on, “I’m perfectly aware that a woman must be careful in London.” She cast him an arch glance. “I
certainly didn’t set out to spend the evening with three unconscionable rogues who have the audacity to suggest that I need a husband, apparently to protect me from the likes of
them.
”

Masters laughed. “She does have a point, Jarret.”

“Don’t encourage her,” Jarret snapped.

Masters might be an unconscionable rogue, but
he
wasn’t. He was a carefree rogue, so he didn’t like being responsible for the reputation of the tart-tongued sprite sitting across from him. The one who’d blithely accepted the scandalous wager he shouldn’t have made.

They finished the second hand, and to his vast annoyance it ended in a draw, both of them having won thirteen tricks. The next one ended the same.

Grudgingly, he acknowledged that she was a better player than he’d expected. Not that two-handed whist required much strategy, but one did have to keep on one’s toes. She’d played some tricks expertly. He was impressed.

He was also annoyed, because he did
not
mean to lose tonight.

Picking up the hand she’d just dealt, he glanced at the top card of the stock to see that diamonds were trump. Ha. He’d see how she managed when the luck was on
his
side.

“So, Lord Jarret,” she asked as she led her card, “what
is
your opinion about women?”

“Uh-oh,” Masters said, eyes gleaming, “you’re in for it now, my boy.”

“Why is that?” Miss Lake asked.

Gabe laughed. “Because no man can answer that question to a woman’s satisfaction. Any attempt to do so is fraught with peril.”

“Mr. Pinter,” she appealed to the runner, “surely
you
have an answer to the question.”

Pinter got a panicky look on his face. “I beg to be excused from the discussion, Miss Lake. I have no opinion of women at all, I swear.”

Jarret sloughed off a low card to her lead. What a lot of cowards. “I’m willing to answer.” He thought of Gran and her meddling, not to mention his mother and her fateful act, and something dark welled up inside him. “Women are at their happiest when they’re sowing havoc in the lives of everyone around them.”

The table got very silent. Indeed, it seemed as if the entire tavern turned to stone, and every male eye in the room fixed on her.

To his surprise, she burst into laughter. “It appears that you and I have more in common than I thought. Because that is exactly my opinion of
men
.”

“Is that so?” He let her win a few tricks, ridding himself of useless cards as they played their way through the stock. “And what hapless man is responsible for making you form such an opinion?”

“What makes you think it’s only one man?” She raised an eyebrow at him. “What about you? Did some woman break your heart, setting your opinion about women for life?”

The stock was empty now. She played an ace, and he trumped it with a smile. He had enough diamonds in his hand to lead her out, and enough high cards to keep the lead for the rest of the tricks. This was one hand that wouldn’t come to a draw. “No woman has ever broken my heart. And no woman ever will.”

“That’s because Jarret never lets a woman close enough even to chip off a piece of it,” Gabe joked.

And why should he? They would try to change him, something he would never allow. His life had worked perfectly
well for him until Gran had started her machinations. It would work well for him again once this year was up.

Granted, occasionally it was lonely, and he found himself tiring of the late nights and the sameness of the games. But he felt comfortable at the card table. It was all he knew, all he could really be sure of.

Jarret laid down one card after another, drawing out her trumps and then her other cards, enjoying how she paled as she realized she couldn’t win this hand. “I should ask you the same question, Miss Lake. Did some man break
your
heart? Is that why you haven’t married?”

“I haven’t married, sir, because I see no benefit to it. And you and your friends aren’t exactly convincing me otherwise.”

“Well, you won’t have to worry about us much longer.” He took the last trick and smirked at her. “Because I just won this hand. We’re even now, and I’m a lot closer to winning our wager.”

“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 hell 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 damned 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 God 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 hell. 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.

Damn, damn,
damn
! 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 bloody hand, which meant she’d won the game. And the wager.

Damn it all to hell.

A
nnabel 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.