A Hellion in Her Bed (22 page)

“Well, of course they aren’t going to tell
you
the truth. It would be embarrassing. They’ve tried to hide it from everyone.” Allsopp snorted. “As if that will work in a town as small as this. People talk. Servants talk. Does the man look ill to you?”

He nodded toward the dance floor, where Lake was dancing a reel quite competently for someone who’d supposedly been under the influence of laudanum only hours ago.

Then again, Lake
had
been asleep in the middle of the day. Who but an ill man did that?

A man who’s been up drinking all night.

Confound it all to hell. Now other pieces fell into place—George’s discomfort at the subject of his father’s illness. Annabel’s alarm when he’d said he was traveling to Burton to look at the company. Mrs. Lake’s nervousness. He’d known all along they were hiding
something
. And clearly it wasn’t that Mr. Lake was mortally ill.

He should have guessed. This wasn’t London, and men in the provinces didn’t abandon one of their own simply because he was ill. They made allowances, attempted to help the man’s family, showed a neighborly concern for his condition.

But a drunk garnered no such sympathy—especially in the more conservative circles of tradesmen. He was seen as weak and unstable, which of course he was. His family was pitied, or worse, ostracized.

Anger swelled in his chest. A mortal illness could have been handled. It would have been problematic but manageable. But this was far more dicey. If Lake had lost the confidence of his fellow brewers due to a character flaw, how the hell was Jarret supposed to convince the East India captains to place orders for his pale ale?

If Lake had been on the edge of death, Jarret could have convinced the man to put Annabel in charge. Geordie would have inherited, and Annabel could have managed Geordie. But a drunk was unpredictable and untrustworthy. And anyone getting into bed with him would be deemed untrustworthy, too, or a fool.

Either way, it would be a disastrous association. Plumtree was already struggling—teaming up with a company on the brink of disaster could very well push it off the cliff. How could he have been so stupid? He’d let Annabel’s talk of a quick solution to the bad market seduce him into taking a foolish risk.

No, he’d let the thought of having her in his bed seduce him. And now the company would suffer, because he could never pass up a good wager. Because he had wanted her.

Still
wanted her, damn it all to hell. “How long has Lake been neglecting his company?” he bit out.

“A year, at least. From what I hear, he started drinking heavily after the Russian tariffs began to affect business. He began showing losses, and he couldn’t handle the pressure. Or so I assume. Since then, only the efforts of Miss Lake and his brewery manager have kept the place together. Granted, Miss Lake will do just about anything to save her father’s brewery, but she’s a woman, after all, and she—”

“—can’t effectively run a brewery that she doesn’t own, can she?” said a stricken female voice behind them.

They turned to find Annabel standing there, ashen-faced, acute shame showing in every line of those beautiful features. When she glanced to him, guilt flashed in her eyes.

And he knew for sure then that everything Allsopp said was true.

A cold fury seized him, turning his heart to ice. She’d lied to him, knowing full well how it would affect his interest in the project. She’d used his sympathy for an ill man against him. For all he knew, even her kisses had been feigned to make him go along with her brother’s scheme.
Her
scheme.

Miss Lake will do just about anything to save her father’s brewery.

And he’d followed her lead blindly, like some besotted idiot. When was he going to learn? Caring about someone was the surest way to pain and loss. And the loss of the Annabel he’d thought he could trust was the cruelest blow yet.

“Miss Lake,” Allsopp said after a moment’s horrible silence, “I’m so sorry. I did not see you there.”

“Clearly,” she choked out.

Despite everything, her devastated expression tugged at his sympathies. He tamped that impulse down ruthlessly. She was a lying schemer, and he wanted no part of her.

But when he turned to walk away, she stepped forward to lay a hand on his arm. “I came to fetch his lordship for the waltz,” she told Allsopp, her hand digging into Jarret’s arm in a silent plea. “He asked me earlier to save it for him.”

It was a bold move, and one that showed her resourcefulness, since he most decidedly had
not
asked her to dance, knowing that it would only heighten his urge to carry her off and swive her senseless.

For half a second, he considered calling her a liar to her face. But he couldn’t put aside years of good breeding that
easily, even for a lady who’d turned out to be a schemer. Especially when those damned soft eyes of hers quietly beseeched him.

Lying
eyes, he reminded himself. She’d known all along that he was taking a great risk, and had willfully hidden the truth from him. She’d called
him
irresponsible? She’d railed against
him
for being a gambler? She had some nerve.

Very well. They would dance. And he would make it clear that he was done with her and Lake Ale, wager or no wager. He’d not agreed to
this.

They walked to the dance floor in silence, both aware that others were nearby. Only when the music started and he had her in his arms did she venture to speak.

“I suppose you want the truth now.”

“What a novel idea,” he said coldly. “Yes, let’s do have the truth. If you even know what such a thing is.”

“Jarret, please don’t be angry.”

“All this time, you’ve played me for a fool—”

“No! I believed—I still believe—that investing in pale ale will save the brewery. But I knew you’d never consider helping us if you thought—”

“That your brother was incompetent? That he’d destroyed his own company by drinking himself into a stupor every day?” He cast her an icy glance, not caring one whit that half of the dancers in the assembly room were straining to see what was going on between them. “You’re damned right I wouldn’t have considered it.”

He swung her into a turn so swiftly that she nearly stumbled, and he had to force himself to pay attention to the music, to keep his fury in check. It felt like a herculean task, which was astonishing. He’d always prided himself on being able to control his temper.

When he could speak again, he hissed, “Plumtree Brewery depends on me
not
to take unnecessary risks and
not
to drag it into the same pit your brother has dragged his company into. If you think I’ll go along with your idiocy now that you’ve lured me up here with your sad tale of a sick brother, you’re out of your mind.”

“Lured you here!” Her eyes flashed at him. “
You’re
the one who suggested that wager. The wager you lost. The wager you’ve apparently decided to renege on.”

His temper ratcheted higher. “That wager was based on false pretenses, as you well know. As far as I’m concerned, that makes the whole bloody thing null and void.”

They danced in silence for several moments, him going through the motions and her fixing her gaze beyond his head as they stepped and swirled and whirled in time, like two automatons turned by metal gears.

Then she shifted her gaze to lock with his. “What if we were to make the wager again—only this time, without the false pretenses?”

The steely glint in her eyes told him she was serious. And the instant response of his pulse told him he was just as swayed by the idea as he had been last time.

Angry at the way his body betrayed him, he opened his mouth to tell her to go to hell. Instead he said, “What do you mean?”

But he knew what she meant. Why was he letting her think he’d even consider it?

Because after everything, he still wanted her in his bed. And he deserved to have her, too! She’d lied to him and manipulated him. He at least ought to get something out of this damned mess.

“The exact same wager,” she replied. “If I win our card
game, you help Lake Ale with the East India Company. If you win, I …” She cast a furtive glance around them.

He bent close to whisper, “Share my bed for a night. Say it.”

She turned her head the half inch it took to whisper, “I’ll share your bed for a night. Same terms as before.”

He drew back to stare at her. Her cheeks were pink, but that stubborn chin of hers was set defiantly. His temper flared again at the realization of how much she was willing to sacrifice for a brewery.

But it’s no more than Gran was willing to sacrifice. Annabel has a family to save, too.

When that thought roused unwanted sympathy, he scowled. She wouldn’t give up her innocence to a
scapegrace
like him without being sure of getting something for it. This had to be some new scheme …

“An excellent plan, my dear. Either way, you get what you want. If you win, you gain my help with the brewery. And if I win, you go running to your brother about how I’ve ruined you, and next thing I know I’m wearing a leg shackle, and I’ll have you and your brother’s brewery on my hands for good.”

She gaped at him. “What a horrible thing to say! I would never—”

“No? And why should I believe that, pray tell?”

Her gaze dropped to his cravat, the color of her cheeks deepening. “Because it’s impossible to ruin what is already ruined.”

She’d said it so softly he wasn’t sure he’d heard her right. “What?”

“Don’t make me repeat it,” she told him, sotto voce. “I had a fiancé, remember? We were young and impetuous and in love. You can guess the rest.” She brought her gaze up to
his. “Why do you think I’ve never married? Because no man wants an unchaste bride.”

He searched her face, but the very fact that she was telling him this lent it truth. And she’d been far too comfortable with their intimacies, too knowledgeable about things no virgin should know.

“So,” he said, trying to take it in, “more lies are unmasked.”

Her eyes flashed fire. “I never lied to you about that. You never asked. You merely assumed that I was … what you thought.”

The words made him grit his teeth, but she was right. She’d never once claimed to be an innocent. And even if she had, he could hardly blame her. That wasn’t something a woman revealed about herself to just anyone.

“Does your brother know?” he asked.

“Yes.”

“How could he—”

“I’ve said all I’m going to say on that subject.” Her blush had spread to the tops of her breasts—her quite exposed breasts, which he suddenly realized he could plunder to his heart’s content if he accepted her proposal.
And
won the card game.

Damn, how could he be considering this? Making foolish wagers with her had already landed him in trouble once.

And yet …

This was his chance to extract payment for her lying to him, for scheming to bring him here in the first place. And it wasn’t really a risk this time, because he would make sure the odds were stacked in his favor.

“So are you willing?” she whispered.

“I have some conditions.”

Her eyes widened.

“This time we play piquet.”

“Why?”

“That should be obvious. It relies far more on skill than chance.” And piquet was
his
game. His eyes narrowed on her. “Do you know how to play?”

“I do,” she said, but her voice quavered.

Good. It was about bloody time he got some advantage.

He tightened his grip on her waist. There was no way in hell he would lose
this
game. There’d be no distractions, no Masters and Gabe making remarks that tore his attention from the cards.

“And we play one game only,” he went on. “Winner takes all. I’ve already wasted enough time on this scheme of yours as it is.”

She lifted her chin. “All right.”

There it was again—the understated “all right” that never failed to turn his blood to fire. “You agree to both conditions?”

She nodded.

They took another turn about the floor as he weighed his choices. He could throw her proposal in her face, walk out of here tonight, and not look back. But when he won, he’d finally have some compensation for her deception. And he wanted that compensation.
Christ
, how he wanted it.

What’s more, he deserved it, for all the times she’d kissed him and let him caress her without its meaning
anything
to her. She’d made it quite clear he wasn’t acceptable as a husband, yet she’d refused to let them continue as lovers. And with no reason, given she was unchaste. So she’d probably been trying to reel him in, to get him so besotted with her that he wouldn’t care what lies she’d told him. And that possibility infuriated him.

“I do have one request before you give me your answer.”

“You don’t get a request,” he clipped out.

“The only time that Rupert and I … Well, he took … precautions against certain eventualities. If you win the wager, I would ask that you do the same.”

“I can do that,” he said.

She swallowed. “Does that mean you accept the wager?”

He paused, but it was a sure thing. And he’d never been one to pass up a sure thing.

“Yes.” The waltz was coming to an end, and they probably would not get another chance to speak privately. “Where and when will this game take place?”

“One
a.m
. at the office in the brewery. We had to let our evening staff go, so Lake Ale will be closed, but I have a key.” The music stopped and they stepped back, her to curtsy, him to bow. “I’ll wait for you inside.”

As he took her arm to lead her from the floor, she murmured, “And I would appreciate it if you could try not to be seen on your way there.”

“Don’t worry. No one will ever learn of this from me.”

“Thank you. I’m still considered respectable by my neighbors here.”

Her tone pricked his conscience, but he frowned it away. As far as he was concerned, she’d made her bed. And now that she’d done so,
he
damned well was going to lie in it.

A
NNABEL STARED OUT
the window as the Lake family coach lurched homeward. She’d averted disaster, but for how long? She’d always been good at piquet, but good enough to beat Jarret? And if she lost …