A Hellion in Her Bed

by Sabrina Jeffries

  For some reason, Jarret didn’t like being regarded as a dabbler. “Why play whist when we lack a fourth?” he said sourly. “And I hate to upset your apple cart, but even after Oliver returns from America, he may not join us at the tables very often. He’s turned into a sober married man, more’s the pity.”

  Masters sighed. “Your brother and mine both. A good bachelor is hard to find. That’s why the rest of us must stick together.” He grinned. “Besides, we have a fourth. Gabe convinced Pinter to join us.”

  “Pinter! You mean the bloody fellow didn’t scowl and protest that cards are a frivolous pastime?”

  “He’s not so bad, you know. He’s a good sport, and once in a while he even has a sense of humor. Come along, and you’ll see that for yourself.”

  Jarret glanced at the piles of papers on the desk. He’d been poring over the books for days, and no great solution to the brewery’s problems had presented itself. Perhaps he could think better if he cleared his head. And how better than with a good game of cards, a few tankards of Plumtree’s best porter, and a tumble with a tavern maid?

  Miss Lake swam into his mind, her pretty eyes beseeching him for help, and he cursed under his breath. He could talk to Gran in the morning.

  Besides, he’d been planning to speak to the Bow Street Runner about tracking down the former Halstead Hall grooms. Might as well do it tonight. “All right. Lead on.”

  ANNABEL FOLLOWED LORD Jarret and his dark-haired companion from the brewery. Was the other fellow Lord Jarret’s brother, joining him to visit their grandmother? She was having a hard time keeping up with their long-legged strides without breaking into a run. Sometimes being short could be terribly inconvenient.

  It didn’t help that there were men and boys with advertising boards everywhere, blocking her view. And she kept having to resist the urge to gaze at the wonders she was rushing past—the enticing millineries filled with the latest fashions in bonnets, the print shops with their outrageous and colorful displays, and the vendors hawking mouthwatering sausages or ornaments for fire stoves or even cures for syphilis.

  She blushed as she passed the latter. That wasn’t something she saw on the streets of Burton.

  It took the gentlemen fifteen minutes to reach their destination. When it turned out to be a tavern, she halted in front of it, incensed. So much for Lord Jarret’s promise! She should have known a man like that wouldn’t do as he said.

  Unless they were just stopping in for a drink before they visited their grandmother? That was possible. The tavern bore a sign that read, “We sell Plumtree Brewery’s best,” and a company tavern would be a logical choice for the grandsons of the owner to have a drink, would it not?

  Now she had to decide: Wait out here until they came back out? Or go in?

  Waiting wasn’t a good plan. Night was falling, and London was notorious for its footpads. But she couldn’t give up her chance to learn Mrs. Plumtree’s whereabouts.

  Fortunately, it was early enough that the people entering the tavern tended to be workmen and couples seeking a quick supper. She’d be less noticeable now than at any other time. So she walked in and took a table near Lord Jarret’s. She kept her head down and ordered a meal, figuring that would allow her more time to linger.

  But before the food came, two more gentlemen joined Lord Jarret’s party. Clearly this wasn’t a casual drink between brothers. When they called for a pitcher and broke out the cards, she knew precisely what it was. A night on the town.

  God rot Lord Jarret! He clearly had no intention whatsoever of speaking to his grandmother about her proposal. Now what should she do?

  An hour, a kidney pie, and a pint later, she still hadn’t decided what to do. But she’d gleaned some information.

  The dark-haired man wasn’t Lord Jarret’s brother, but an old friend named Masters, who was apparently also a man of rank. Lord Jarret’s actual brother was the man with the golden-brown hair, Lord Gabriel, who enjoyed tormenting the other two with frequent allusions to their advanced age.

  The fourth man, whom they called Pinter, was a black-haired, raspy-voiced fellow with a quiet, almost somber manner. Though he didn’t share their joviality, he occasionally made a dry remark that appeared to startle them. She couldn’t tell if he was their friend or just along for the ride. He didn’t seem to have any sort of rank. He was also the only one who didn’t flirt outrageously with the tavern maids.

  As best she could tell, Lord Jarret and his brother had been winning fairly steadily. The other two men were grumbling about it.

  Curious to see what their game was, she rose and passed as close to the table as she dared. They were playing whist. She lingered near Lord Jarret long enough to see that he was quite good, which was probably why he and his brother were winning.

  The man named Masters called for another pitcher of ale. “What happened to your losing streak, Jarret?” he complained as he threw down his cards.

  A smug smile touched the lord’s lips. “You and Pinter don’t present much of a contest.”

  “I beg your pardon,” Pinter said, “but I’ve had the devil’s worst hands. Even skill can’t trump bad luck.”

  “That’s as good an excuse as any,” Lord Jarret taunted him. “What’s yours, Masters? Shall we up the stakes, give you a chance to win your money back? I need a good challenge.”

  “Oh, yes, let’s up the stakes, big brother,” Lord Gabriel said cheerily. “Seeing as how you’ve regained your touch and all.”

  Too bad she couldn’t join them. She knew exactly what stakes she’d ask for. She’d been playing cards with her family all her life, starting with her parents and Hugh, then adding Geordie and Sissy after she’d left home and Geordie had grown old enough to grasp the rules. Although they hadn’t played much recently because of Hugh’s …

  Tears stung her eyes. Curse Hugh for his weakness. She missed her sweet big brother. He hadn’t been himself in some time. Though she suspected she knew why he’d begun drinking so heavily, it didn’t make it any better.

  Pinter tossed down his cards. “If you up the stakes, I’m out. The magistrate’s office doesn’t pay me enough to gamble like you lords.”

  “Do you think we barristers have money to burn?” Masters grumbled. “I assure you, we do not.”

  “But you have a rich brother to cover your losses,” Pinter pointed out.

  “Stop being a stick in the mud,” Masters said. “I told Jarret you were a good sport. Are you going to make a liar out of me? If you quit, I’ll have to quit, too, and I’ll have no chance to win my money back.”

  “Not my problem.” Pinter drained his tankard and set it down with every appearance of being done.

  Annabel quickly stepped forward and lowered the hood of the cloak. “I’m happy to take his place.”

  Did she imagine it, or had the entire room gone completely still?

  Lord Jarret’s eyes narrowed on her. “Miss Lake. Fancy seeing you here.”

  She hid her trembling hands in the pockets of her cloak. “I’d even be willing to up the stakes, if Lord Jarret would play for something that really matters.”

  Lord Gabriel glanced from her to his brother, then broke into a grin. “Do enlighten us, madam. What is it you’d like to play for?”

  With a scrape of his chair, Lord Jarret stood. “If you’ll excuse us for a moment, gentlemen …” Grabbing her by the arm, he hustled her out into the hall.

  As she jerked free of him, he said, “What in the hell do you think you’re up to now, Miss Lake?”

  She met his furious gaze steadily. “The same thing as earlier. I want your help. I’m willing to play cards to get it.”

  “Women like you don’t belong in a tavern.”

  “You know nothing about women like me. All you know is this frivolous life of gambling and drinking and wenching.” He was just like Hugh had become, selfish and irresponsible. “You couldn’t even stay away from it long enough to speak to your grandmother on Lake Ale’s behalf !”

 
“You were following me?” he said, his voice incredulous. “Have you lost your mind? This part of London is a dangerous place for—”

  “Oh, spare me your concern. It’s as insincere as your promises.”

  His expression grew stony as he crossed his arms over his chest. “For your information, I plan to speak to Gran in the morning.”

  “You told me to return in the morning, remember? And I daresay that after drinking with your friends all night, you’d have forgotten your promise. If you haven’t already.”

  A muscle ticked in his jaw. “So you decided to gain my compliance by gambling with me?”

  “Why not? I play cards very well. Your friend Pinter seems determined to leave, and you did say you wanted a challenge.”

  “I suppose you want to play for something having to do with your scheme regarding Lake Ale.”

  “Yes. I want your agreement that Plumtree Brewery will help us. That’s all.”

  He glared at her. “All? You have no idea what you’re asking.”

  “I’m asking you to help me save my brother’s brewery. Of course, you would probably rather see a competitor fail.”

  “Don’t be absurd. I don’t care about some half-pint brewery in Burton. Plumtree is five times the size of Lake Ale.”

  “Which means you have no reason to refuse us your help.”

  A grim smile crossed his lips. “What if I win? What do I get out of this little high-stakes game?”

  She slowly slipped her mother’s ring off her finger, fighting not to show how much it meant to her. “This. It’s solid gold with rubies and diamonds. It’s worth at least two hundred pounds. That should make it worth your while.”

  He uttered a mirthless laugh. “A ring. You think that’s equivalent.”

  “It’s a lucky ring,” she said, desperate to make him agree to the game. “Whatever brew I make while wearing it comes out splendid.”

  “I’m sure that adds to the ring’s value tenfold,” he said sarcastically.

  He was so annoying. “Fine, if you’re afraid to play whist with me …”

  His eyes turned the same cobalt blue that she’d noticed earlier when he was tasting her ale. “So you think you can best me at whist, do you?”

  “Absolutely,” she said, though she wasn’t at all sure. But she had to try.

  He stepped closer, until he loomed over her like some giant in a circus. “The only way I’ll agree to your wager is if we make it more personal.”

  She swallowed. “Personal?”

  “The match will be between us—two-handed whist. The first one to win two out of three games wins the match and the wager.”

  “Very well.”

  “I’m not finished. If you win, Plumtree Brewery will join Lake Ale in getting into the India market.” A sinful smile curved up his lips. “But if I win, you warm my bed tonight.”

  Chapter Four

  Jarret could tell he’d shocked her. Good. The woman needed some sense knocked into her. If his sisters had attempted something like this, he would have locked them up and thrown away the key.

  Follow him through the streets of London alone at night? Sit in a tavern with no protection? Challenge him to cards? The woman was too reckless for her own good. Fetching and desirable, but reckless as the very devil.

  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.”