A Hellion in Her Bed (21 page)

“What bothers her,” said a small voice from the door, “is the same thing that bothers all of us, Father.”

She whirled to find Geordie standing there with a look of pure despair.

“It’s the drinking.” Geordie’s gaze shot to Hugh’s hand lifting the decanter. “It’s
always
been the drinking.”

Oh no, why on earth had Geordie decided to confront Hugh
now
?

Crossing his arms over his bony little chest, Geordie glared at Hugh. “I had to
lie
for you, Father. They had to tell Lord Jarret you were sick to get him to help us, so I had to lie because
they
lied.”

Hugh stood frozen, his face carved in stone. Annabelle and Sissy had tried talking to him about his drinking before, but since it always sent him into an even worse retreat from the world, they’d given up.

Ignoring Geordie, Hugh shot Sissy a look of betrayal. “You told that blasted lord that I was ill?”

Geordie wouldn’t be ignored. “Don’t be angry at
them.
What else were they to say? That you were a drunk?” His face grew red with anger. “That you don’t care about anything but that … that damned whisky in your hand?”

This time Hugh looked at Geordie, really looked at him, and the blood drained from his face. “Is that what they told you, boy? That I’m a drunk?”

“They didn’t tell me anything. But I’m not blind. I see how you spend your nights. We all do.” He dragged in a pitiful breath. “You used to do things with us children. You used to p-play cards and take us on walks and … You don’t do anything but d-drink anymore.”

Hugh set the decanter down. “Come here, boy.”

Swallowing hard, Geordie approached him. “Yes, sir.”

“So you went along with your aunt’s and your mother’s lies, did you?”

Geordie got a stubborn look on his face. “I didn’t see that I had a choice. Even I know that the brewery is failing. Aunt Annabel says we’ve got to do something.”

“And you think this Lord Jarret can help,” Hugh said, half sneeringly.

“He seems a good enough fellow,” Geordie said. “He treated us very well on the road. Called for a doctor when Mother was sick, and paid for it, too.”

“You were sick?” Hugh said in alarm as he glanced at Sissy.

“Just a little dyspepsia,” she said gently. “It passed in a day or two.”

“A day!” Worry flitted over his face.

“But Annabel took good care of me, and his lordship was very kind.”

“Was he?” His lips thinned. “Just stepped right in, I suppose.”

“You weren’t there, Hugh,” Annabel put in before his temper could flare. “So he provided the service that any gentleman should.”

“I’ll bet he did,” Hugh muttered. “I should have been the one to take care of her.”

“Yes, you should have,” Sissy said quietly.

The stark words seemed to affect him. He ran his fingers through his sparse hair, then cast a considering look at Geordie again. “This marquess’s son. Do you think he can do any good?”

“Seems to me there’s nothing to lose by asking him to help.”

“I see.” Hugh faced Annabel. “What exactly do you want me to do now that you’ve brought his lordship to Burton?”

Relieved that Hugh was going to listen, Annabel said, “For tonight, just meet him. If you don’t approve of him, we’ll
forget the whole thing.” Though she would do her best to keep that from happening. “If you do want to take a chance on him, then you can discuss business with him in the morning and figure out how he can help us sell our ale to the East India Company captains.”

At his frown, she added hastily, “But for tonight, just meet him.”

A long moment passed while Sissy and Annabel held their breaths. Then he said, “All right.”

They released their breaths. Perhaps everything would turn out well, after all.

“But I shan’t pretend to be ill, do you understand?” When she and Sissy looked panicked, he added, “I won’t gainsay what you’ve told him, but I won’t lie to him myself. Let him think what he will.”

Sissy stepped close to the desk. “And you won’t drink any spirits tonight?”

There was a note of steel in her voice that Annabel rarely heard. But he heard it and seemed to heed it, too. He searched her face, a softness in his eyes. “I’ll do my best, love.”

J
arret stood in the town hall’s imposing suite of assembly rooms, surrounded by a group of brewers. Quietly sipping his wine, he tried to follow the conversation, but it was difficult when he was so distracted. He and Bass had arrived twenty minutes ago, along with Bass’s wife, and so far he’d seen no sign of Annabel. Ever since her little evasion this afternoon, he’d wondered if he could trust her to appear.

Granted, she’d been right about the advantages of his viewing the brewery first. He’d been impressed. Given that Lake Ale lacked the modern equipment he took for granted at Plumtree Brewery, he was surprised by how smoothly their operation worked. And Walters was a gem among brewery managers, citing production rates and quotas off the top of his head.

But the place was clearly struggling. The hops they used weren’t of the first quality, and leaks in their aging cast-iron mash tun were patched with sheets of tin. Worst of all, Walters had been so reluctant to speak about Lake himself that Jarret was back to wondering if there was more to the man’s
illness than Annabel had said. If Lake required constant care from a doctor and laudanum to sleep, that didn’t bode well.

As the hour dragged on, he got a bad feeling in the pit of his stomach. He didn’t like being played for a fool. If Annabel and her brother didn’t show up here tonight …

“And what brings
you
to our fair town, Lord Jarret?” one of the gentlemen asked. “Trying to get a look at the competition, are you?”

He forced himself to pay attention. Earlier in the day, he’d debated whether to mention his possible investment connection to the Lakes, but in business, as in cards, it was always best to keep one’s cards close to one’s chest. Unfortunately, that made it difficult for him to ask questions without rousing speculation.

“Actually, I’m visiting friends,” he said, using the only solution he’d hit upon. “I’m sure you know them. The Lake family?”

The men exchanged glances. He was just about to ask what they thought of the Lakes when a sound at the door made them all turn.

Speak of the devil.

He barely had time to register his relief that Annabel hadn’t lied to him after all, when something else caught his attention. Not the thin, pale-looking fellow about his age who had to be Hugh Lake. No, the only person he had eyes for was the stunning beauty holding on to one of Lake’s arms.

Annabel. But no version of Annabel he’d ever seen.

Her splendid chestnut hair was piled atop her head in a profusion of wild curls that enhanced her delicate features. Tonight she wasn’t a pixie, but a fairy queen, adorned in sparkling gems and a silk gown that skimmed her luscious curves like a lover’s caress.

At the sight of her, his blood ran hot, then cold. The gown was cut lower than those of the other ladies, harkening back to a couple of years ago, when nearly every woman in London was falling out of her dinner gown. All of Annabel’s gowns were dated, and the way in which
this
one was dated set his pulse pounding. He could see way too much of the sweet swells of her breasts. So could every man here. And he didn’t like that idea at all.

“Excuse me, gentlemen,” he said and left them to approach the Lakes.

He couldn’t take his eyes off Annabel, something that others apparently noticed—for when he did tear his gaze from her, it was to see her brother glowering at him. Damn.

As he reached the Lakes, Mrs. Lake performed the introductions, clearly nervous. And probably with good reason, given the piercing glance Lake fixed on him. Before the man could say anything, Jarret murmured, “I should warn you, sir, that I told the other brewers I was here in Burton visiting friends—you and your lovely wife, of course. I didn’t think you would want our business bandied about by them.”

Lake’s dour look softened a fraction. “Thank you. I appreciate your discretion.” A footman came by with glasses of wine. Glancing at his wife, Lake declined a glass. He looked more healthy than Jarret would have expected, given what the doctor had said this afternoon. Perhaps this illness
was
only temporary.

When Lake returned his attention to Jarret, the fierceness was back in his features. “I understand that I have you to thank for the safe return of my family to Burton.”

Jarret wondered how much the women had told the man about the trip. Best to err on the side of caution. “I merely borrowed my brother’s coach to transport us, sir. As I had to
come this way to observe your brewery anyway, I thought we might as well travel in comfort together.”

“That was generous of you, my lord,” Lake said stiffly. “Though I gather that the trip wasn’t without difficulties, what with Sissy’s illness.”

“Your wife had a bit of trouble in Daventry, yes. But your sister is an excellent nurse. I did very little. Looked after your son, mostly.” He smiled. “Actually, it was mutual—he and I kept each other out of trouble. With George around, I could hardly engage in the pastimes that a bachelor generally enjoys. I figured he was a bit young for gambling until dawn and bouncing taproom maids on his knee.”

The outrageous remark gained him a censuring glance from Annabel but a reluctant smile from her brother. “I daresay Geordie would disagree.”

“Yes. He’s more eager to be a man than his body yet allows.”

Lake relaxed further. “Indeed he is. The lad has fire in him, I’ll give you that.”

The other brewers then joined them, obviously eager to sniff out the connection between the two men. Fortunately, the announcement that dinner was served came moments later, so he and Lake didn’t have to endure questions for long.

Unfortunately, he ended up seated at the other end of the table from them. Annabel sat between her brother and some bloody fellow with an eye for her bosom. Jarret spent the next half hour torn between listening for tidbits about the brewing business and considering the possibility of poking out the eyes of Annabel’s dinner companion with his oyster fork. His only consolation was that she seemed discomfited enough by the man’s lecherous regard to drape her bosom with her shawl.

Only then did he relax—although he had to wonder why
the other man’s attentions irritated him so. She’d made it quite clear that she could take care of herself.

She’d also set him straight on where he stood with her. He had no right to be possessive. He didn’t even
want
the right.

Or he hadn’t wanted it, until she showed up in that fairy queen’s gown that he ached to strip from her one silky inch at a time.

Confound it all to hell. He
had
to stop thinking about her like that.

He made himself focus on what the other men were saying. The first thing he learned was that a dinner among tradesmen differed vastly from a dinner among his peers. The tradesmen actually spent it discussing … trade. Father would have called that vulgar.

He found it invigorating. There was an energy among these men that was lacking at the few society events he attended. And they were canny fellows, too, each trying to eke out some bit of information about his competitors without being caught. It reminded him of playing cards with a truly accomplished player. As with piquet, only the cleverest at deduction could win, and Jarret had the urge to win at this, too.

When the dancing began he was loath to leave the table, but he needn’t have worried. Though the gentlemen moved to the room designated for dancing, several then congregated by the punch table to discuss the latest patents in steam boilers.

Lake soon joined the party, and Jarrett watched as the man voiced his opinions, clearly well versed in his profession, if not as enthusiastic as the other gentlemen.

When Mrs. Lake came and asked her husband to dance, Allsopp, who stood next to Jarret, said, “Miss Lake is looking very pretty tonight.”

Jarret cast the man a sharp glance to find him eyeing Annabel with a more than neighborly interest. The alien feeling of possessiveness that welled up in him shook him. So did the sudden murderous rage he felt when Allsopp ran his gaze down her body.

The man had a wife, damn it! He shouldn’t be looking at Annabel like that.
No
one should be looking at her like that. Only with great effort did he squelch the warning that sprang to his lips. Instead he said, “It’s rather surprising that she’s never married.”

Allsopp downed his punch. “It’s not for lack of proposals. I understand she’s turned down two or three men who offered marriage.”

That flummoxed him. Apparently he wasn’t the only man who didn’t meet Annabel’s lofty standards. While that should have soothed his pride, it raised more questions, instead. Why would a woman so obviously sensual and capable of a deep love for children avoid marriage?

“Perhaps she stays at home to care for her brother,” Jarret ventured.

“Well, he needs looking after, to be sure.”

Something in the snide way Allsopp said it raised Jarret’s suspicious. “You mean, because of his illness.”

Allsopp laughed. “Is that what they’re calling it these days?”

Jarret went still. Forcing himself to sound nonchalant, he said, “No, I suppose not.” He held his breath, hoping the man would go on. If he asked him point-blank what he meant, Allsopp was liable to close up.

“Of course, we don’t tolerate drunkenness the way you lords do. There’s nothing wrong with having a tipple from time to time, but when a man neglects his business because he’s drowning himself in a bottle, we can’t overlook that.”

A lead ball dropped into the pit of Jarret’s stomach. Was
that
what Annabel had been hiding all this time?

But perhaps he shouldn’t trust the word of a competitor who might have sniffed out Jarret’s real reason for coming here. “I didn’t realize my friend’s problem had become so pronounced,” he said smoothly. “The ladies said he was ill, and I assumed that was the reason for his negligence of late.”