A Hellion in Her Bed (7 page)

She wouldn’t be insane enough to accept his wager, though. And when he escorted her back to wherever she was staying, he’d tell her companions to keep a better eye on her.

She tipped up her chin. “I accept your offer.”

“The hell you do!”

Her lips thinned into a stubborn line. “So you were lying
again
? You weren’t serious about the wager?”

“I wasn’t lying the
first
time!” he practically shouted.

“But you were just now?”

The prim tilt of her head set her curls bouncing. For some reason, that maddened him even further. He had to stop
letting her get under his skin, damn it. “
You
, madam, need a keeper.”

“And I suppose you’re volunteering for the position,” she said archly. “But you don’t own a cage large enough to hold
me
, my lord.”

He thrust his face into hers. “You’re willing to risk ruin, the loss of your reputation and virtue, the hope of ever marrying, on the off chance that you’ll beat me at cards and win my help with Lake Ale?”

An odd look came over her face. “Desperate times call for desperate measures.”

Sucking in a heavy breath, he glanced away from her. He understood desperation. He’d felt it quite a bit as a boy. And he’d spent many a long night playing cards with men who, down to their last sixpence, prayed that the next turn of the card would recoup their fortunes.

But he’d never seen desperation in any woman but his mother. It unsettled him.

“Besides,” she added, “I happen to think it’s not an ‘off chance.’ I’m quite a good whist player, if I do say so myself.”

He snorted. Right. Some provincial brewster was going to best him at cards. That would be the day.

Still, he shouldn’t risk it, not with Plumtree in its present state. He would never even have suggested the wager if he’d thought she would accept. He had no right to wager the brewery’s very future.

“Of course,” she went on, “if you’re afraid you’ll lose—”

“There’s no chance in hell you’ll beat me,” he retorted.

Why was he even worrying? He could win a game of two-handed whist blindfolded. Then Miss Lake would trot back home to Burton a wiser woman.

A ruined woman.

He ignored the twinge of his conscience. If she wanted to throw everything away for this, what did he care? It would serve her right. Then she wouldn’t continue to do foolish things like accost men in their offices or follow them to taverns.

And God knows
he
would enjoy it.

“Very well,” he said. “We’ll play for the stakes agreed upon.”

To his surprise, relief crossed her pretty features. “Thank you.” Sudden mischief glinted in her eyes. “I promise not to beat you too badly. I wouldn’t wish to embarrass you before your friends.”

A laugh erupted from him despite everything. God, she was a piece of work.

When they reentered the tavern main room, it was to find Masters taking money from other fellows, while Pinter lounged against a post, scowling at the proceedings. Word must have already traveled down the street that a woman had challenged Hetty Plumtree’s grandson to a card game, for the place was busier now.

“What’s all this?” Jarret asked as he held out Pinter’s empty chair for Miss Lake, then took Masters’s seat across from her.

“Masters bet that you would agree to let Miss Lake play,” Gabe remarked. “Pinter and I said you wouldn’t. Odds are five to one against.”

“Well,” Jarret said dryly, “for once Masters is right.”

Several men around the tavern groaned. Masters pulled up another chair and began to count his winnings.

“Do I get a cut of your profits, Masters, since they depended on me?”

“Actually, they depended on my knowledge of you, and clearly I know you very well.” Masters cut a sly glance at Miss Lake. “You can’t turn down the chance to spend time with a
pretty woman, no matter what the reason. Aren’t you going to introduce us?”

With a sigh, Jarret performed introductions all around.

“Enchanted to meet you, Miss Lake.” Masters flashed her a seductive smile. “We’re delighted to have such a fetching addition to our gaming table.”

Miss Lake rolled her eyes. “I see that you possess the same manners as Lord Jarret. It must make your mother so proud.”

“He doesn’t practice them on his mother,” Jarret drawled, fighting a laugh. Women were usually easy prey for Masters. Nice to find one who wasn’t. “She’d give him the sharp side of her tongue.”

“Mother’s tongue doesn’t have any other side,” Masters grumbled. “And now that my brother is happily married, she’s been sharpening it on me much too often.”

“Enough chitchat,” Gabe said. “What are we playing?”

“I suspect that Jarret wants to play Irish whist,” Masters drawled, using a vulgar euphemism for swiving.

“What’s that?” Miss Lake asked.

Jarret glared at Masters. “Nothing. My friend is merely being an idiot.” He shifted his gaze to Gabe. “And
we
aren’t playing anything.” Jarret shuffled the cards. “Miss Lake and I are playing two-handed whist.”

“With what stakes?” Gabe asked.

“That’s private,” Jarret answered.

“Ah, a
private
wager.” Masters smirked as he leaned back in his chair. “The best kind.”

“Get your mind out of the gutter,” Jarret snapped. “Miss Lake is a lady.”

“And sitting right in the room—fancy that,” Miss Lake said. “If you have an insinuation to make, Mr. Masters, perhaps you should say it to my face.”

Jarret glanced at her, surprised by her unruffled tone. Then he noticed that her hands, clasped together on the table, were trembling ever so slightly.

Good. She wasn’t as self-composed as she seemed. Perhaps next time she’d think twice before agreeing to something as mad as this.

“No insinuation.” Masters’s gaze flicked between her and Jarret. “Just an observation.”

“Perhaps you should take your observations off elsewhere,” Jarret said. “Since it’s private, there’s really no reason for you lot to hang about.”

Gabe laughed. “I’m not leaving, old boy. The night is young.”

“And I wouldn’t miss this for the world,” Masters said.

“Suit yourself.” At least he’d tried to get rid of their audience.

Jarret laid out the deck for her to cut. Then they both drew. When he lost, he handed her the deck to deal.

“Masters leaned back to address the men crowding round the table. “I’ll offer five-to-one odds that the lady beats Lord Jarret.”

He was mobbed by takers; clearly no one expected Miss Lake to win.

“You’re betting against me, Masters?” Jarret asked, surprised.

“You’ve been winning all night. Surely it’s time for your streak to end.”

“Your loss, then.” Jarret noticed that Pinter remained as well, leaning against the post with his arms crossed over his chest. “No reason for
you
to stay, Pinter,” he said irritably. “Since we annoy you so much.”

“As I recall, my lord, when you came in you said there was something you wished to discuss with me later.”

Damn, he’d forgotten about that.

“So I’m happy to wait.” Pinter cast a glance at Miss Lake. “And watch.”

“Ah yes,” Gabe said, “Pinter is ever the gallant when it comes to the ladies. He wouldn’t risk leaving us alone with poor Miss Lake, for fear one of us might spirit her off to our lair.”

“Why?” Miss Lake asked, with a lift of her brow. “Do you three make a
habit
of spiriting women off?”

“Only on Tuesdays and Fridays,” Masters said. “Seeing as how it’s Wednesday, you’re safe.”

“Unless you’re wearing a blue garter, madam,” Gabe quipped. “On Wednesdays, Masters and I have a great fondness for blue garters. Are your garters blue, Miss Lake?”

“Only on Mondays and Thursdays.” She dealt thirteen cards apiece to the two of them, then put the rest aside as the stock, turning the top card faceup. “Sorry, gentlemen. I guess you’ll have to spirit off some other woman.”

“Miss Lake’s garters are none of your concern,” Jarret said in a warning tone. “I suggest you remember that, or I’ll show you the door myself.”

He caught Masters’s gaze on him and stiffened. Masters was reading too much into this, damn him, probably because Jarret was rarely seen protecting any woman but his sisters. For that matter, he was rarely seen with any respectable woman at all.

Ignoring his friend, Jarret concentrated on his hand, which was abysmal. If he didn’t know better, he’d think she’d dealt from the bottom. But he could spot a cardsharp a mile away—and Miss Lake was no cardsharp.

“I wonder if this ‘private wager’ has anything to do with Mrs. Plumtree’s ultimatum,” Masters mused aloud.

“Ultimatum?” Miss Lake asked.

Jarret cursed Masters under his breath as he and Miss Lake began to play, taking cards from the stock to replace the ones played.

“Mrs. Plumtree informed her grandchildren that they must all marry before the end of next January, or she will cut them off,” Masters explained. “Did you agree to marry Lord Jarret if he won, Miss Lake?”

“Certainly not,” Miss Lake remarked.

She didn’t have to sound so firm about it, for God’s sake.

Masters’s eyes gleamed with amusement. “Now
that’s
a twist. Women generally fawn over our friend there. Pray tell us, what is it about Lord Jarret that you dislike?”

“I don’t know him well enough to like
or
dislike him,” she said primly. “Hence, marriage would be extremely premature.”

“Like most women,” Jarret said, “Miss Lake undoubtedly prefers a love match. She would never marry a man over a wager.”

“How odd that you presume to know my opinions on the subject, sir, considering that we only just met this morning.” She eyed him askance. “Perhaps
you
are the reader of minds, and not your friend there.”

Cheeky wench. “You’d best hope I’m not.” He laid down his jack of clubs. “Or you’ll be losing this game—and this wager—in short order.”

“I already know you aren’t.” She flashed him a smug smile as she topped his card with a king of clubs. “Because I’ve just won this hand.”

Of course she had; no one could have won with his cards. But her luck couldn’t last.

As he gathered up the cards and began to shuffle, Masters said, “Does this mean she’s won everything?”

“It’s the best two hands out of three, so no, she has not,” Jarret said.

“And your wager really has nothing to do with Mrs. Plumtree’s ultimatum?”

“If you’d given me the chance,” Gabe said, “I would have told you it didn’t. Jarret already talked his way out of that. Gran agreed to exempt him from it in exchange for running the brewery for a year. Then he gets to go back to being king of the tables again, without having to marry.”

Jarret frowned. It suddenly sounded very irresponsible. Not that he cared. He didn’t. Responsibility meant pain and loss. Better not to have it at all than to suffer with it.

“So running the brewery is just a lark for you,” Miss Lake said, disapproval weighting her voice.

“Not a lark.” He could feel her eyes on him as he examined his cards. “A temporary position. Getting the place in shape for when Gran returns, so to speak.”

“But you have no vested interest in seeing the company succeed.”

Her disparaging tone told him what she thought of
that
. His gaze locked with hers. “It’s
because
I want it to succeed that your risky proposal doesn’t appeal to me.”

They began to play, and he took three tricks right off.

“What risky proposal?” Gabe asked.

Miss Lake arranged her cards. “My brother owns a brewery in Burton. We hope to join with your family’s concern in a venture that will benefit both parties.”

“Or so she claims,” Jarret retorted.

“So this is a damned business wager?” Masters said. “God,
that’s boring. So if Miss Lake is playing for Jarret’s cooperation in a venture, then what is Jarret playing for?”

“Her brother’s brewery!” Gabe said. “That has to be it!”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” she retorted. “If I owned the brewery, I wouldn’t need Lord Jarret’s help. And I would certainly never wager it in some card game. What sort of fool does that?”

“You’d be surprised,” Jarret said. “Some men will wager anything.”

“Some women, as well.” Masters eyed her speculatively.

“If it’s not her brother’s brewery she’s offering, what else can it be?” Gabe asked. When Jarret cast him a quelling glance, he stiffened, then shot a glance at Miss Lake.

Her cheeks were the color of poppies. The woman was transparent as a sheet of glass. And Jarret loathed the idea of her character being speculated about among the men in the room.

“Miss Lake wagered her ring,” Jarret lied.

She cast him a grateful glance. “It’s very valuable. Worth a lot of money.”

“Ah.” Masters exchanged a telling look with Gabe. “A ring. Of course.”

They both knew Jarret preferred cold, hard cash in his wagers. He never accepted jewelry as payment. And it was clear from how they eyed Miss Lake with new interest that they’d guessed what he was really willing to accept.

Jarret gritted his teeth. He should never have taken her wager. After some stern words, he should have escorted her back to wherever she was staying.

So why hadn’t he?

Because he’d truly expected her to turn him down. Because the woman had an amazing power to annoy him. And because her earthy charms roused him as no woman ever had.

It was insane and could lead to no good. But before it did, he would have her in his bed. Just see if he didn’t.

Gabe shot her an assessing look. “So, Miss Lake, did you come to London alone?”

“Of course not.” She took a trick. “I came with my sister-in-law and my … nephew.”

Had he imagined it, or had she paused before the word “nephew”? The reason for that suddenly occurred to him. “How old is this nephew?”

She concentrated on her cards. “What has that to do with anything?”

“If he’s supposed to be your male escort,” Jarret said, “it has a great deal to do with it. What is he, five?”

She swallowed tellingly. “If you must know, he’s twelve.”

“Twelve!” Masters exclaimed. “My God, woman, you can’t gallivant about the city with only a boy as a protector. How can your brother allow it?”