A Hellion in Her Bed (37 page)

First confusion, then anger crossed George’s face, but Jarret could see a tiny bit of relief there, too. George
was
a clever boy, after all. And clever boys wanted someone to rein them in when they did something wrong.

He took George’s silence for consent. “Well then, we’ll have to come up with something suitable. Perhaps a day helping to muck out the brewery stables might work.”

“Yes, sir,” George said with a bit more enthusiasm than was warranted.

Jarrett hid a smile. George was in for a surprise if he thought he’d find any thoroughbreds in Plumtree’s stables. There were only very large, very dull cart horses who produced a prodigious amount of manure. It would definitely be a punishment George would remember.

“I have a question, sir.”

“Ask away.”

“How do you plan to convince Aunt Annabel … my mother, I mean … to marry you?”

“I have no idea. Any suggestions?”

George frowned, clearly giving the idea serious thought. “You should start by telling her how pretty she looks. Father, I mean, my uncle, always does that when he wants to get around my … my …”

“That’s an excellent idea,” Jarret said gently.

“Tell her she’s clever, too,” Geordie offered. “She’s not like other ladies, you know—she fancies herself as clever, and she gets insulted if you say otherwise.”

That’s because she
was
clever. Jarret loved that about her.

Loved?

He rolled the idea about in his mind and realized that he meant it. He’d been so busy holding on to an old way of life that didn’t work—had
never
really worked—that he’d missed the truth staring him in the face.

He loved her. He didn’t want to be without her. It hurt too much to be without her.

He didn’t care about protecting his heart any longer. She was right—some risks
were
worth taking.

“I suppose it would help to tell her that I love her,” Jarret said.

George screwed up his face. “If you
have
to. That’s awfully mushy. But I guess ladies like that sort of thing.”

Jarret bit back a smile. “In my experience, they pretty much expect it in a marriage proposal.”

George sighed. “Women are a lot of trouble, aren’t they?”

“Yes.” He stared at the boy he hoped to be raising soon. Funny how the thought didn’t panic him anymore. “But trust me, lad, they’re worth it. They’re definitely worth it.”

T
he trip to London seemed endless. They made it in seventeen hours, which was nothing short of miraculous. Hugh had spared no expense. With Geordie having several hours’ start on them aboard a mail coach that could go much faster than Hugh’s rig, they’d worried about the amount of time he would be left to his own devices in London.

She nearly wept with relief when their first stop, at the brewery—the only place they knew of that he might go to—yielded the information that Geordie was safe at Mrs. Plumtree’s town house. Mr. Croft even accompanied them there in order to direct them, a kindness for which Annabel couldn’t stop thanking him.

But as they approached the house in fashionable Mayfair, her thoughts turned to another problem. If Geordie knew the truth now, he was bound to be angry. How were they to handle that? What was she to say?

It occurred to her that Jarret might be there, too, that she might get to see him again, but she shoved that thought far down in her mind. She could handle only one looming
disaster at a time.

They arrived at Mrs. Plumtree’s town house shortly after ten in the morning, where they were immediately shown into an elegant dining room. There they found Geordie surrounded by Jarret’s family, being pampered and coddled, fed with kippers and eggs and every delicacy the boy loved for breakfast. She recognized Lady Minerva and Lord Gabriel, and assumed that the other young woman was Lady Celia and the elderly woman was Jarret’s grandmother.

Jarret sat beside Geordie, joking about something to do with horses.

Geordie spotted them, and for a moment, joy leaped into his face. Then it faded to a troubled expression that cut her to the heart. Especially when he jerked his gaze to his plate, refusing to look at her.

He knew the truth, all right. She’d lost his trust, and she didn’t know how to get it back.

Jarret rose, his eyes kind as he laid a hand on Geordie’s shoulder. “You see, George, it’s just as I told you. They probably didn’t even see the express I sent. They must have left there long before it arrived. They were worried about you.”

“Terrified, more like,” Annabel choked out.

Geordie just continued to stare into his plate.

She wanted to rush over and haul him into her arms for a bone-crushing hug, but she was afraid that would only make matters worse.

Jarret smoothed over the moment by making introductions. Then he turned to his grandmother and said, “I think we should let the Lakes have a moment alone.”

“I want
you
to stay, Lord Jarret,” Geordie protested. “If that’s all right with you.”

When Jarret looked to Annabel she nodded. Geordie had
always idolized him, and though it hurt that her son would run to Jarret instead of her after hearing the truth, she would accept anything that might make this encounter easier.

Jarret resumed his seat while his family rose and left the room, their eyes full of curiosity as they passed her and Hugh. Hugh squeezed her arm encouragingly as they walked over to sit across from Geordie.

“How did you know I was here?” Geordie asked in a small voice, still not looking at them.

Annabel fought to remain calm. “Toby Mawer tried to sell the watch you gave him, and the shop owner saw the inscription. When Hugh threatened to have Toby arrested, he admitted that you’d gone to London to see ‘some fancy gent.’”

Geordie looked up at Jarret. “You were right, sir. Never trust an archenemy.”

“I don’t think you realize the enormity of what you did, lad,” Hugh said sharply. “You scared your mother and me to death!”

Geordie’s angry gaze shot to Hugh. “Which mother? The one who pretended to be my mother while all of you lied to me? Or the one who actually gave birth to me?”

As Annabel flinched at Geordie’s sharp tone, Hugh let out a low curse, but when he started to speak, she put a hand on his arm.

“Both,” Annabel said. “We were all petrified with fear. I kept imagining you lying in a ditch somewhere, beaten and bleeding and all alone—”

When she broke off with a sob, Geordie looked at her for the first time. “I’m sorry. I-I shouldn’t have run away.”

She reached across the table for his hand, but he jerked it back. Her heart sank. “I know I’ve hurt you deeply by keeping the truth from you. I should have told you that I was your
mother a long time ago. But I was so afraid you—”

Her breath caught in her throat, and she had to swallow before she could go on. “I was afraid you would hate me. That you’d never forgive me for lying to you. And I love you so much that I couldn’t bear to have you hate me.”

His chin began to tremble, and he dropped his gaze to his plate again. “You’re embarrassed by me—all of you. I heard you tell Fa—your brother—that if you married Lord Jarret and took me to London, it would embarrass everyone.”

She vaguely remembered saying something like that, but he was taking it all wrong. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean that how it sounded. I was thinking that I had no right to expose Hugh and Sissy to public slander by claiming you as my son.” Her voice shook. “But it wasn’t
you
whom I was worried would embarrass them. It was me.”

Geordie lifted his gaze to her, looking truly perplexed. “Why?”

“In a situation like this, it’s not the illegitimate child whom people blame; it’s the mother. They see her as … wicked. They see her family as wicked for covering up her indiscretion. I don’t mind if they call me a whore behind my back, but they would also malign Hugh and Sissy. I didn’t feel I had the right to put them through that.”

She took Hugh’s hand. “My dear brother assures me that they don’t care one whit what people say. But it wasn’t just them I worried about. I worried about how you would feel, too.” She lowered her voice. “I thought you might resent me. Hate me for making you the brunt of people’s cruel comments.”

“I don’t hate you,” Geordie said in a small voice. “I could never hate you.”

Relief rushed through her.

“What I don’t understand, boy,” Hugh said, “is why you came here. What in God’s name did you think Lord Jarret could do?”

Jarret met Annabel’s gaze with one so kind, it made her throat close up. “He had some idea that if I married you and took you away to London, then everything could go back to how it was before. I believe young George is particularly upset about the fact that, as he sees it, he no longer has sisters and a brother or grandparents. Or a father.”

Annabel’s heart broke. She hadn’t even considered that he might feel he’d lost most of his family in one fell swoop. Still, it hurt that he would want to be rid of her rather than lose them. It was exactly what she’d been afraid of.

“You will always be my son in my heart, boy,” Hugh said fiercely. “I don’t care what happens. And I know Sissy feels the same.”

“Geordie,” Annabel said, forcing herself to speak the words, “we can still go back to how things were.” She swallowed her tears, determined not to let him see them. This was hard enough for him as it was. “You’ll call me Aunt Annabel and they’ll be your parents, and everything will be as it was.”

“No,” Geordie said firmly. His eyes misted over as he looked at her. “Lord Jarret said I can’t un-drink the water, and he’s right. I can’t go back.
We
can’t go back. We have to go on.” He glanced up at Jarret. “Are you going to ask her?”

The abrupt change of subject threw Annabel off, until it dawned on her what he must be talking about.

“Yes,” Jarret said, his gaze locking with hers, “but it’s not something I’m prepared to do before an audience, lad.” He looked at Hugh. “Mr. Lake, you and I had a discussion the night before I left Burton, and I told you I didn’t know what I wanted. I do now. So if you wouldn’t mind taking George for
a moment, and letting me speak to Annabel alone …”

“Of course,” Hugh said as he stood.

When Geordie came around the table to meet him, Annabel couldn’t stand it any longer. She rose to grab him and hold him close.

For a moment, he remained stiff in her arms. Then his arms came around her, and he pressed his head against her shoulder. “It’ll be all right, Mother,” he whispered. “Really, it will.”

Mother.
Tears rolled down her cheeks. She’d waited so long to hear him call her that, and it was the most beautiful thing she’d ever heard.

She watched him until he was out the door, trying not to make an absolute cake of herself. Then she felt Jarret press something into her hand. A handkerchief.

“You’re right,” he said softly. “You do cry a lot.”

His pity was almost as painful to her as Geordie’s distance had been. She knew what was coming, after all. Drying her tears, she turned to face him. “Jarret, I know you feel sorry for me now, and probably feel obligated to—”

“Don’t tell me what I feel,” he said, his voice firmer. He pulled out her chair. “Sit down, dearling. I need to tell you a story.”

She blinked but did as he asked. He took the chair next to hers and turned it so they were half facing each other, their knees touching.

“There was once a boy who loved going to his grandparents’ brewery more than anything in the world. He liked the fragrant smell of hops and the golden color of the barley as it roasted. He would have lived there if his grandparents had let him.”

He took her hands in his. “Then his parents died in a
terrible accident, and his widowed grandmother suddenly had five children to raise—something she hadn’t planned on while also running a brewery. She did her best with them, but the brewery had to be her first priority, since it was the source of most of the family income. The eldest—the heir to the estate—was already in school, the oldest girl had a governess, and the two young ones were still in the nursery, so they had their nursery maid. But the second son was a difficult matter.”

Annabel sucked in a breath as it dawned on her what he was doing.

He gazed beyond her to the window. “He was used to spending part of each day at the brewery, but his grandmother decided it would be best to pack him off to school with his older brother. She said he ought to be a barrister or a clergyman or a soldier, something befitting his rank. And no matter how much he begged to be allowed to stay at the brewery, she refused.”

“Oh, Jarret,” she said softly, feeling the pain he must have felt, to lose his family and his future in one stroke.

His voice grew thick with emotion. “He didn’t like school. The boys taunted him with vile rumors about the deaths of his parents, and he missed the estate that his grandmother closed up after the accident. Fortunately—or unfortunately, depending on how you look at it—he discovered he was good at gambling, that he could keep the bullies in their place with his prowess at cards. His father had taught him how to play. It was the only remnant left from his old life, and he desperately needed something to cling to from that.”

A long breath escaped him. “You asked me once how I became a gambler. That’s how it started. Perhaps it made sense for a boy of thirteen, who missed his family so much that he
suffered physical pain every time he thought of them.

“But I let it go on long beyond the time I was old enough to know better. I fully embraced Lady Luck, and because I already knew she was a fickle mistress, I was immune to the pain she could cause. Then I set out to make myself immune to the pain people could cause. That was easy. I just made sure they never got close enough to me to hurt me.”

He stared down at her hands, rubbing his thumbs gently over the knuckles. “Then I met you. You were stubborn and beautiful and clever as hell, and you entranced me from the moment you waltzed into the brewery office. I panicked, as men often do when they suddenly glimpse a future very different from the one they’ve imagined for themselves. I did a number of stupid things while trying to hold you at arm’s length and convince myself that I couldn’t care for you. That I didn’t care for you.”