A Hellion in Her Bed

by Sabrina Jeffries

  “It’s not that. You’re so cold, so angry.”

  Hurt bled through her words, driving a stake in his righteous anger. Yet he couldn’t let it go. “Can you blame me? You lied to me.”

  “If I hadn’t, you wouldn’t have come here. I did what I had to.”

  “Just as you’re doing now,” he said icily.

  She folded her arms over her stomach. “Yes.”

  “That’s why I’m angry. I thought you were—”

  “An innocent, chaste country girl?” she said bitterly.

  “Honorable.”

  She glared at him. “I am honorable, curse you.”

  “Is that what you call wagering your body to save your brother’s brewery?”

  Her eyes spit fire. “You suggested that wager, not I.”

  “But you accepted it. And you were the one to suggest this wager tonight.” He stepped closer. “Which makes me wonder if all those kisses and caresses between us were ever anything but a way to reel me in.”

  She jerked back with a horrified expression. “You think that I … You actually believe I would … You’re daft! Surely you could tell I honestly desired you. It’s not something a woman can pretend.”

  Satisfaction rose in him, despite his efforts to quell it. “Actually, it is something a woman can pretend.”

  Confusion spread over her face. “How?”

  She was either the most accomplished actress he’d ever met, or she was inexperienced in matters of the bedchamber, despite her encounter with the heroic Rupert. He began to wonder if it might be the latter. And if it were … “You really don’t know?”

  “What I know is that you initiated every one of our kisses. For someone who was attempting to ‘reel you in,’ I was rather clumsy at it.”

  Her unflappable logic drove a wedge in his defenses that none of her protests had been able to do. Because in truth, she hadn’t pursued him; he’d pursued her. And if she’d been using her body to manipulate him, she’d have been better off tempting him to bed her so she could trap him into marriage. A little pig’s blood, some feigned discomfort, and he wouldn’t have known she was unchaste.

  Instead, she’d tried to put him off after the barn.

  “As for honor,” she went on, her dander now fully up, “that is a luxury some people can’t afford, my lord. But you wouldn’t know that, down in London where you can spend your days gambling and drinking without a thought for anyone you harm.”

  “Harm?” His anger surged again. “Unlike your brother, I control my appetites.”

  “Do you? Then why are we here?”

  The words were a punch to his gut. Why was he here? If he’d really thought her a coldhearted schemer, then why did he want to bed her?

  Because he didn’t want to believe that everything had been part of her scheming. Because it had mattered to him more than he cared to admit. But it hadn’t mattered to her. Not enough to be truthful with him, anyway.

  And that rubbed him raw.

  “Touché, Annabel,” he said softly. “I’m here because I want you. Because wanting you has clouded my judgment. The question is, why are you here?”

  Her eyes went wide. “Because I want you to help us.”

  “And that is so important to you that you’d sell your body for it?”

  She paled. “I’m not selling my body. It’s a wager. I hope to win.”

  “Ah. And the fact that you might not?”

  “Is a calculated risk.”

  Spoken like a worthy adversary. She found more candles and lit them from the first one. Walking over to the large desk, she placed the candles in holders, then sat down behind it, opposite the only other chair—the one with its back to the window.

  He scowled. “Very clever of you, Annabel.” He dragged the chair from in front of the desk around to the side. “But since that window is as good as a mirror, with no light behind it, I hope you don’t mind if I alter the arrangements a bit.”

  She looked with bewilderment at the window. “Lord, I hadn’t even noticed that.”

  “Right.” He removed a pack of cards from his pocket and took his seat.

  “I didn’t! I would never cheat.” As he raised an eyebrow and began to shuffle, she grumbled, “And it’s not as if I could see anything in the glass behind you, with that thick head of yours blocking your cards.”

  He stifled a laugh. Damn, it was hard to stay mad at her when she was being so typically … Annabel. And could he blame her if she really had thought to cheat? She might see it as the only way to get what she wanted. The only way to escape his bed.

  That roused his anger all over again, but this time not at her. “Tell me, my dear, how long have you been doing whatever was necessary to save Lake Ale?”

  She shot him a wary glance. “What do you mean?”

  “Your brother inherited the company three years ago. Have you been hiding his incompetence ever since? Or did it start even before that?”

  “Actually …” She hesitated, then steadied her shoulders. “Actually, Hugh didn’t inherit the brewery three years ago. Father left Lake Ale to his bachelor brother. His will left half the proceeds to us and the other half to our uncle, but Uncle actually owned it.”

  Jarret stopped shuffling. Such a thing just wasn’t done in England. The rule of primogeniture was nearly absolute. A man left his property to his eldest son. If he didn’t, there was something very, very wrong. “Why in God’s name would your father do that?”

  “A number of reasons. Hugh was never like Papa—he’s a quiet man who prefers gentler pursuits. They clashed over everything. Hugh has a good mind for business, but he doesn’t trust his own instincts, and Papa was a … rather forceful personality. He was always berating Hugh for his lack of boldness. I suppose Papa thought we’d all be better off if Uncle ran the place and we reaped the benefits.”

  Setting the pack in front of her, Jarret asked, “Did Hugh see it that way?”

  She stared down at the cards. “Hardly. He felt betrayed.”

  Of course he did. What would it do to a man, to know that his father couldn’t even trust him with the family business?

  The same thing it did to you as a child to know that Gran didn’t want you running the brewery.

  That old pain rose up to haunt him. Even now, Gran hadn’t considered getting him to run the brewery until she’d fallen ill.

  He scowled, angry at himself for even empathizing with Hugh Lake. The man was a drunk. Jarret was not.

  No, he was a rootless gambler. So much better for running the family business.

  A surge of irritation made him say flippantly, “Well, your brother clearly owns it now.”

  She cut the cards, showed him her card, then handed them back. “Yes, because my uncle died a bachelor, and he had made Hugh his heir. So Hugh got it anyway.”

  Jarret cut the cards and won the cut. He let her deal, since there was some advantage in having his opponent deal first. “Is that when he started drinking?”

  “No. He managed fairly well until the Russian market dried up.” With an economy of motion he seldom saw in women players, she dealt the cards. “And the more he tried to wrest Lake Ale—unsuccessfully—from financial disaster, the more he felt like a failure. That’s when he began to drink.”

  Jarret had to wonder how he would have reacted in such a situation. And the very fact that he wondered angered him. “Are you saying all this to garner my sympathy for your brother?” And for you?

  “I’m merely answering your question.” She picked up her cards. “Besides, I thought you should know that Hugh isn’t at fault for my lies. He believed we’d gone to London to look at schools for Geordie.”

  That bit of information startled him. “He didn’t know anything about your plan?”

  “He suggested pursuing the India market, but the only time he met with the East India Company captains, it ended badly. He never pursued it again, sure that he would fail. Sissy and I hoped that if we could get Plumtree Brewery involved, it would give
him the confidence to pursue it further.”

  “That’s a great deal to hope for from a business arrangement,” he pointed out.

  A heavy sigh escaped her. “I know. But we had to try something.” She met his gaze over her cards. “My point is, he had no idea I was telling you he was ill. He still doesn’t know about the first wager, and he certainly doesn’t know about the second. If he did, he would toss you out of town on your ear.” Her voice sharpened. “He would certainly not try to wrangle you to the altar, as you suggested. So you needn’t worry on that score.”

  “I’m not.” He stared her down. “No one wrangles me into doing anything I don’t want to do.”

  “Oh, I’m well aware of that,” she said acidly. “You do exactly what you please, no matter what anyone else wants or needs. I surmised that from the beginning.”

  The fact that she was right didn’t make her words any easier to stomach. “Don’t fancy that you know anything about me after our short acquaintance.” He picked up his cards. “You know nothing of my life except what the gossips have told you.”

  “And whose fault is that?” she asked in a soft voice. “What have you told me about yourself? Hardly enough for me to make even a sketch of you, much less a full picture. You can’t blame me for judging you based on the little you’ve said.”

  That flummoxed him. She was right. She’d told him more about her and her fiancé than he’d told her about his whole life.

  But the more someone knew about you, the more they could make you care. And he didn’t want to. So why was her insidious tale of woe about her brother having exactly the effect she probably intended?

  Because he was an idiot. And because he understood the way her brother must have felt. How could he not?

  It didn’t matter. He couldn’t let it matter. Her proposition had been foolish in the beginning, and it was even more so now that he knew the truth.

  Sissy and I hoped that if we could get Plumtree Brewery involved, it would give him the confidence to pursue it further.

  He cursed under his breath. Hugh Lake’s lack of confidence wasn’t his problem, damn it!

  “Bad cards?” she asked.

  “No,” he said, though in truth he hardly saw the cards at all. Something else was nagging at him, something he just had to know. He set down his cards. “Why do you care so much what happens to your brother? You said he wouldn’t want you to make sacrifices for him. So why are you?”

  Swallowing hard, she gazed down at her hand. “Because we all depend upon him.”

  “You could marry,” he pointed out. “The men at the dinner said you’d turned down several offers. You could have found a husband and washed your hands of your brother, forced him to fend for himself, even taken in his family if you had to.”

  “I couldn’t marry. I’m not chaste.”

  The shame in her voice twisted something inside him. “A decent man wouldn’t care about that, knowing the circumstances. It’s not uncommon for betrothed couples to … get carried away before the wedding.” He noted her heightened color, her shaking hands. There was something else she wasn’t saying. “No, it’s more than that. Why are you doing this for him?”

  “Because what happened between him and Papa is partly my fault, all right?” Pain slashed across her face. “I owe him.”

  He stared at her. “How could that possibly be your fault?”

  She arranged her cards with quick motions that betrayed her agitation. “I was visiting him and Sissy when Rupert and I … well, you know. By the time Hugh caught me sneaking back into the house, it was too late. He set out to collar Rupert and make him marry me right away, but the transport had already left for the Continent.” Her voice dropped to an aching whisper. “Papa never forgave Hugh for not watching over me more carefully. It changed everything between them. Father rode Hugh so much harder after that.”

  “That wasn’t fair to either of you,” he said sharply. “Did your father really think he could have done any better? I have two sisters, and I can assure you, if they wanted to meet with a man secretly, nothing I could do would stop them, short of imprisoning them in their rooms.” He thought of Masters and scowled. “Sometimes I wish I could. Your father had no right to blame your brother for that.”

  “I know. He should have blamed me.”

  “No, damn it! He should have blamed the man who ruined you without thinking what it would cost you.”

  An awareness of just how much it had cost her hit him like a mortal blow. She’d lived like a nun, caring for her family, unable to have a home or a family of her own. And all because of one stolen night with a man.

  He lowered his voice. “You should not be taking all the burden for Rupert’s sins. Or your father’s. Or even your brother’s.”

  “I’m not,” she said with a wan smile. “I’m taking it for my own.”

  “You have no sins,” he bit out.

  “That’s not what you said before,” she reminded him.

  He winced. Confound her to hell. With every new piece she revealed about her family, his image of her shifted. As did his anger. He was rapidly becoming more angry on her behalf than angry at her.

  Was he being a fool again? Or was she really justified in her actions?

  He stared at her, trying to make her out. But that was impossible with a woman like Annabel, who was a mass of contradictions—innocent and worldly, forthright and secretive. All of it fascinating.

  Damn her.

  Apparently growing uncomfortable with his hard stare, she gestured to the hand he’d laid on the desk. “Are we going to play piquet? Or do you plan to keep asking me questions all night?”

  He tapped his cards, suddenly wishing he hadn’t been so hasty to accept her wager. Short of telling her he would stay and help her, which he wasn’t willing to do, he had no choice but to finish it out. And that meant he had to beat her.

  But he was no longer sure he could stomach taking her to bed when she was essentially offering herself as a sacrifice for her foolish brother.

  He would cross that bridge when he came to it. “Let’s play,” he clipped out.

  And the game was on.

  He had to force himself to focus. Piquet was complicated, requiring a great deal of thought. It wasn’t conducive to chatting, something she clearly realized, for they spoke only during the declarations phase of the hand when the game required it.

  But he couldn’t quiet the muttering of his conscience.

  She is only doing what she has to in order to survive. And she deserves better than another man who will use her and leave her.

  He thrust that unsettling thought from his mind to concentrate on the cards. He’d stupidly agreed to her wager, and now he was bound as a gentleman to finish it, but he was not going to risk Plumtree Brewery simply because she’d told him some sad tale about her hapless brother and their godforsaken brewery.

  Fortunately he’d been dealt a stellar hand, and the draw only improved it. He stared with grim satisfaction at his cards. He was not going to lose this time, thank God.

  The die was cast the moment they made their respective declarations and he scored a repique, giving him ninety points. He knew that would be damned hard to beat, though she certainly tried. Her playing was good, even inspired. But no one bested him at piquet.

  So it was no surprise when he won every trick, scoring him a capot and forty extra points as well. No surprise that her face paled with each successive win. No surprise that when the hand was done, securing him the win in one brutal deal, despair flickered in her eyes, though she tried to hide it with a smile.

  “You won,” she said with feigned nonchalance.

  “I told you I would,” he retorted.

  “Yes, you did.” She wouldn’t meet his gaze. She gathered up the cards, her hands shaking, and she looked lost.

  So it was also no surprise when he heard himself say, “I won’t hold you to your part of the wager. As far as I’m concerned, the matter is now settled.”

  A str
ange calmness stole over him. This was the right thing to do, and they both knew it. “I only wanted to be free of this cursed deal with your brother, and now I am. So you need not share my bed. Go home.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  Annabel stared at him, hardly able to believe her ears. An hour ago, she would have leaped at the offer and considered herself lucky to be spared a night with a man who was so clearly furious at her.

  But over the course of the evening, something had changed. He had changed. And after all he’d said, after how he’d softened …

  “You don’t have to do that,” she said. “I pay my debts.” When he flinched at the word debts, she added hastily, “You may not think me honorable, but—”

  “It’s got nothing to do with honor, Annabel.” Every line of his body was tense, every feature looked carved in stone. “I’m absolving you of any responsibility for your debts. As the winner, I can do that, you know.”

  “I don’t want you to do it!” she protested. “I chose to make that wager, and I won’t have you ‘absolving’ me of responsibility for it simply because you pity me.”

  “And I won’t have you sharing my bed as part of some foolish bargain.” He rose to lean over the desk, his eyes stormy. “If I ever take you to bed, it will be because you choose it—not because it was some fruitless ploy to save your family or your brother or your damned brewery.”

  In a flash, she understood. She’d hurt his pride. She should have realized it when he’d said those cutting words about her using kisses and caresses to “reel him in.” He might not want to marry her, but clearly he didn’t like thinking that she saw him only as a means to an end.

  Inexplicably, that warmed her. If he cared even that much … “What if I’m not doing it as part of a bargain?”

  He froze, and for a moment she wasn’t sure if he’d understood. Then she saw the muscle ticking in his jaw. Oh yes, he understood.

  “What other reason would you have?” he asked in a deceptively soft voice.

  Heat rose in her cheeks. “Must you … make me say it?”

  His expression was steady, but his eyes flared with hunger. “Yes. I’m afraid I must.”