A Hellion in Her Bed (32 page)

“Certainly not.” At his scowl, she let out a laugh. “All right, perhaps a little.”

Her breath came quickly, and now that he’d stripped her down to her shift, he could see the buds of her nipples, pink and hard beneath the sheer fabric.

“More than a little, I’ll warrant,” he rasped. “Admit it, you minx. You thought of me at night alone in your bed. You thought of me alone in mine, aching with need for you.” He slipped his hand between her legs to find her so damned wet and hot that it made him insane. “Perhaps you even touched yourself here, remembering.”

“Jarret!” she cried, her cheeks going pink. “I would never—”

“Never?” he prodded. “Not once?”

Dropping her gaze from his, she removed his waistcoat,
cravat, and shirt, then went to work on his trouser buttons. “Well, perhaps … once or twice.”

Instantly, his imagination conjured up an image of her caressing herself. His cock stiffened painfully. “Show me.”

She gaped at him. “What?”

He kicked off his shoes, removed his trousers and drawers, then sat on the bed. “Show me how you touched yourself. I want to watch you touching yourself.”

Her blush deepened. “That sounds … wicked.”

“I’m a wicked man, dearling, something you’ve pointed out often enough. I’m a rogue, an irresponsible scapegrace, a hellion—”

“I never called you a hellion,” she protested. “You called yourself that.”

Grabbing the hem of her shift, he lifted it to bare her sweet, fragrant flesh. “All the same, indulge me.” He stripped off her shift and tossed it aside, then settled back on the bed to enjoy the view. “Let me see you touch yourself. So I’ll have something to remember during my lonely nights in bed in London.”

When she paled, his pulse gave a leap. She wasn’t as easy about their impending separation as she pretended. Perhaps she wouldn’t be as opposed to a marriage, either.

“I doubt that you’ll be lonely for long in London,” she said tartly.

“Ah, but you’ve spoiled me for anyone else,” he said. “I’ve become decidedly fond of a certain brewster with the body of Venus and the will of a lioness.” He lowered his voice to a coaxing murmur. “Did you caress your breasts while you lay alone in your room?”

Her lashes dipped down demurely to shield her pretty eyes, and she nodded.

“Show me.”

Finally, she did. She teased her nipples erect, her breath coming in throaty little gasps that set his blood afire.

“And what about your … ace of spades?” he said hoarsely, enthralled by the sight of her hands fondling her breasts. “Did you touch yourself there, too?”

Her gaze met his, turning coy. “Did you touch your jack?”

“God, yes.”

A smile curled up her lips. “Show me.”

Closing his hand around his cock, he began to work it slowly, afraid that if he did any more, he wouldn’t last until he could be inside her. In response, she dropped one hand between her legs to stroke her slick and swollen flesh.

He dragged in a harsh breath. God help him. She looked so damned tempting with her hands caressing herself and her eyes glazing over with her arousal. She was the very picture of femininity—all rosy and flushed, her lips parting with her heavy breaths. His cock felt ready to explode with his need. Much more of this, and he would embarrass himself.

“Enough,” he murmured, releasing his erection so he could tug her astride him. “I want to be inside you. Ride me, sweet Venus. Take me to the heavens.”

Curiosity lit her face. “Ride you?”

He scooted back on the bed and pulled her knees to rest on either side of his thighs. “Rise up and take me inside you. Come down on my … jack. Ever since you sat astride my lap the other night, I’ve imagined you impaled on me, a goddess taking her pleasure.”

Awareness dawned on her face, but still she hesitated. “Do you have one of those things you put on your … jack?”

“The cundum.” He had half a mind to tell her it didn’t matter, that they were going to marry, but he didn’t want to
ruin the mood in case she wasn’t as keen on it as he hoped. So he jerked his trousers up from the floor and removed his only remaining cundum from his pocket.

He handed it to her. “Want to put it on?”

She smiled shyly, tugged the sheaf onto his rigid cock and tied it in place. Then she rose up and slid down onto him to engulf him in her silky feminine heat.

With a heartfelt moan, he thrust up into her. “That’s it, dearling. Like that. Now you’re in charge.”

Her face lit up. “Am I?”

He groaned. She was just temptress enough to use her power over him to torment him.

She rose up and came down on him again, with slow, fluid movements that had him gasping. Her hair frothed over her shoulders like foaming porter—he’d never seen anything more erotic in his life. And her breasts, oh God, they were displayed so prettily that he couldn’t resist filling his hands with them, kneading them, thumbing the nipples while she rode him.

“My sweet goddess …” he rasped as she increased her pace, maddening him, dragging him rapidly toward release.

Her soft gasps told him she was nearing her own release, and that triggered his, sending him over the edge into insanity just as she cried out and collapsed against him, milking him. And in that moment of intimacy, he knew he would do anything to keep her. Anything within his power.

As he held her to him, stroking her hair, brushing kisses over her brow, he whispered, “Marry me, Annabel.”

A
NNABEL DREW BACK
to stare at him. Had he really just asked her … No, surely she’d imagined it. Or perhaps he’d
been caught up in the moment when he said it. Lord knew they’d both been carried away. Having him watch her touch herself had roused her in ways she hadn’t expected.

“Well?” he prodded. “What do you say?”

She swallowed hard. “I-I’m not sure I heard what you—”

“I asked you to marry me.” Tenderly, he brushed the hair from her face. “To become my wife.”

It made no sense, given what she knew of him. “As I recall, a week ago you were firmly opposed to marrying anyone.”

A smile played about his lips. He wrapped her hair about his hand and kissed it so tenderly it made her heart hurt. “That was before I became so inordinately fond of you.”

Well, that implied a certain amount of affection, but still …

He thrust up against her. “Fond of
this.
”

She frowned and pulled free of him, leaving his lap to find her shift and pull it over her head. She couldn’t think when he was touching her. And as long as she was naked, he would keep touching her.

When she could trust herself to speak evenly, she said, “So you want to marry me because you like bedding me.”

“Because I like
you
,” he said hastily. “You have a sharp mind and an even temperament. You’re loyal to your family. And we suit each other.”

She gaped at him. “Suit each other! You’re a marquess’s son, and I’m a brewer’s daughter.”

“I don’t care about that, and you don’t either. Admit it.”

“Your family will care.”

He arched one eyebrow. “Yes, they will. My grandmother will be so ecstatic to see me marry someone respectable, with good connections to brewing, that she’ll probably dance a jig on the roofs of London.” His tone held an edge. “If she doesn’t hand the brewery over to you outright.”

“Do be serious, Jarret.”

“Sadly, I am.” He rose to toss the cundum in the fire, then pulled on his drawers. “You’re exactly what my grandmother would want for me.”

“That bothers you, doesn’t it?”

He shrugged. “A little. I hate letting Gran win.”

“Then why—”

“Because there are several advantages to our marrying. For one thing, it would squelch the rumors entirely.”

Her blood ran cold. “Rumors?”

A groan escaped him. “Right. I haven’t told you about those yet.” Sudden anger glinted in his eyes. “It seems that Gran’s bastard of a nephew got wind of the gossip about our wager and is telling everyone about it, presenting it in the worst possible light.”

Just what she and Lake Ale needed—more gossip. “You mean that he’s telling the truth.”

“What he
guesses
is the truth.”

“Which just happens to
be
the truth.”

“Does it matter? The point is, it won’t be long before the tale reaches Burton. I don’t care about it for myself, but I don’t want to see you suffer more. Or your family.”

She stiffened. “So you’re marrying me because you pity me?”

“No, damn it! That’s not—” He paced before her, clearly agitated. “I’m just pointing out the many advantages to our union.” Stopping in front of her, he seized her hands. “The best way to settle this situation is for us to have a legitimate connection.”

“A legitimate connection,” she repeated dully. Amazing how he managed to make a marriage sound like a business arrangement.

“It would be great for Lake Ale,” he said, as if he thought
that
was her only objection. “People would see our association as a family thing, which would give more weight to our new project. The East India captains would be assured that I could follow through. Or make your brother follow through.”

He was right. And with every word, he drove another nail in her heart.

“As Pinter pointed out—”

She jerked her hands from his. “You’re proposing marriage because Mr.
Pinter
said you should?”

“No! I mean, yes, he did suggest—” He broke off with a curse. “I’m mangling this badly, aren’t I?”

“Let me put it this way. I’ve never heard a more cold-blooded proposal of marriage in my life. Even the butcher at least pretended he had some affection for me.”

“I didn’t say I had no affection for you.” He rubbed the bridge of his nose, the very picture of frustrated male. “I just thought … I mean, you’ve always seemed a practical woman, and I figured that if you heard the advantages—”

“Forget the practical advantages. I need to know why
you
want to marry me. You, the person. Not you, the temporary head of Plumtree Brewery.”

“It isn’t temporary,” he corrected her. “Not anymore. I want to run the place for good. I want to give up the gambling.” He crossed his arms over his chest in a gesture of belligerence. “That was your objection to marrying me before, wasn’t it? I’m quitting it. So you needn’t worry about that.”

That revelation nearly knocked her off her feet. Giving up the gambling? To marry her? Incredible. It almost gave her hope.

“Jarret,” she said softly, “while I’m delighted beyond words
that you mean to continue running your family brewery, what I want to know—what I
need
to know—is how you feel about me. Why you think we should spend a lifetime together.”

The instant wariness in his gaze made her heart sink. Why couldn’t he give her anything of himself? Why was it so hard for him?

“I already told you how I feel about you,” he clipped out. “I like you. I like making love to you. And I should think you’d prefer a man who’s honest with you, considering that you were taken advantage of by a man who claimed to love you, but ran off to the war without caring that you would suffer for his neglect.”

She sucked in a breath, fighting not to show the pain his blunt words had inflicted.

A desperate look came over his face. “I’m promising to be your husband in every respect, to support you and do what I can to help your family. I’m promising to give up gambling, for God’s sake. If all of that isn’t enough for you, I don’t know what else to offer.”

You could offer your heart.
But he clearly didn’t have that in him.

While that hurt deeply, she might have been able to overlook it if she hadn’t lost her heart utterly to him. She’d fallen hard for him, harder than she’d ever fallen for Rupert.

She loved how he deftly managed her brother, making Hugh think he was guiding the negotiations when it was really Jarret doing so. She loved his ridiculously bad singing. She loved that he worried about her.

But it would kill her to marry him and not have his heart. Especially since she would have to give up the only other person who had her heart. Geordie.

“You’re right,” she said. “I do prefer your honesty to Rupert’s empty words of love. So I suppose that the least I can do is be equally honest with you.”

She dragged in a heavy breath. “There’s one more factor to consider in this … business merger you’re suggesting. Something I haven’t told you.” She fought for calm. “Something that will probably make you think twice about marrying me.”

He went on the alert, his eyes narrowing to slits. “Oh?”

There was no easy way to say it. She steadied her shoulders, looked him straight in the eye, and said, “I have a son.”

J
arret could only stare at her, slack-jawed. What the hell did she mean,
I have a son?

Out of nowhere came the memory of her words the first time they’d made love—
It’s been nearly thirteen years since I lay with a man.
Nearly thirteen years.

The truth hit him like a blow to the chest. “George is your son.”

She swallowed, then nodded.

“That’s why you’ve never married.”

“Yes.”

“And why you were so insistent about using precautions.” Things started falling into place like cards in the shuffle. “That’s why your brother feels such guilt over failing you with Rupert, and why
you
feel such guilt over his guilt. And that’s why you act as much like a mother to George as his own … as Mrs. Lake does.”

“Exactly,” she whispered.

The fact that she could keep so monumental a secret from him staggered him. “When were you planning to tell me? Ever?”

She narrowed her gaze on him. “Oh, I don’t know—when do
you
think I should have told you? After you made it clear you had no interest in marriage, and every intention of gambling yourself into the grave?” She stalked toward him, her eyes alight. “Or perhaps after you boasted of being every bit the scapegrace I accused you of being.”

“I didn’t boast—”

“Oh, I know! I should have told you when you offered to take me to London where I could serve as your sometime paramour whenever you—”