A Hellion in Her Bed (16 page)

“Aye, my lord, booths selling all sorts of goods. And there’s a man what brings an alligator around sometimes to show.”

Geordie’s curiosity was clearly piqued. “What’s an alligator?”

“It’s an exotic creature that lives in parts of America—rather like a large, scaly lizard.” Jarret lowered his voice mysteriously. “They’re very dangerous. I don’t know if we should risk it.”

“Oh, but we must! Aunt Annabel, can we go see the alligator? Please?”

“Why not?” Now that Jarret had raised the boy’s hopes, there had better be one of these alligator creatures at the market, or they’d never hear the end of it.

As soon as they finished breakfast, they headed out to High Street. The weekly market there had stalls of every description—lace makers with their intricate wares, whip makers and other purveyors of fine leather, a poulterer, a farmer with fat piglets to sell.

Geordie had to stop at every booth. He never left her and Jarret alone, either, which gave her pause. He certainly was being quite the diligent little chaperone.

Meanwhile, Jarret was subdued. She caught his sharp, assessing gaze on her several times. It worried her exceedingly. What exactly
had
those two discussed yesterday?

It took them some time to find the man with the alligator,
and Annabel discovered that Jarret’s description was apt. Looking like a dragon, the creature was over eight feet long and bore a nasty set of sharp teeth, though his snout was bound with a rope.

The soldier with a wooden leg, who was leading the creature about by a chain, told them that he’d acquired the unusual pet when he was fighting in the Battle of New Orleans. “It was only a wee thing, then,” he said. “Lost its mother to cannon fire, so I took it home with me. Been with me for ten years.”

He bent to give Geordie a toothy grin. “Would you want to pet it, lad? Cost you only a shilling.”

“I’ll pay you a shilling to keep it away from him,” Annabel said.

“He can’t hurt him, miss,” the soldier said. “I fed him before we came to market, so he ain’t looking to eat, and anyway, his mouth is tied real tight.”

“Oh, please can I pet him, Aunt Annabel?” Geordie begged.
“Please?”

“How about if I pet him first?” Jarret said as he handed the man a shilling. “Then your aunt can decide if she wants to take the chance.”

Jarret bent to run his hand over the creature’s head. When the only response he got from the alligator was a blink, Geordie turned to her. “Can I pet him? Can I, can I?”

“I suppose.” The thing did look harmless, trussed as he was.

Instantly, they drew a crowd of people eager to watch. Geordie made the most of it, showing how brave he was by stroking the beast’s head gingerly, then repeating it more boldly after Jarret dropped another shilling into the owner’s hand.

Annabel tensed. Only three days together, and Geordie
and Jarret had become great chums. Bad enough that Geordie’s “father” had turned into an unreliable and melancholy drunk. Now a charming rogue was wriggling his way into the boy’s heart without a care for what would happen when he returned to London.

Jarret shot her a glance full of mischief and gave the owner another shilling. “So the lady can pet him, too.”

She frowned. “You’re daft if you think I’m going to touch that creature.”

“Come now, where’s your sense of adventure?” Jarret taunted her.

The words brought her up short. She’d said that very thing to Rupert long ago, when he’d scoffed at her suggestion that she go with him to war.

Geordie snorted. “You’ll never get Aunt Annabel to pet him. Girls are too scared to do things like that.”

“Nonsense,” Annabel said hotly, then leaned down to place her hand on the creature’s back.

To her surprise, it felt as smooth as kid leather. As she stroked, Geordie looked at her in surprise. Feeling rather pleased with herself, she smirked at him.

Then the creature turned his head, and with a squeal, both she and Geordie jumped back.

“He must like you, miss,” the old soldier said, chuckling. “He don’t usually pay anybody much mind when they pet him.”

Several in the crowd clamored to pet it, too, so they continued through the market.

As Geordie darted ahead in search of more excitement, Jarret lowered his voice. “Do you always do that?”

“What?”

His hand covered hers, warm and firm. “Rise to any challenge a man offers you.”

“I couldn’t have Geordie calling me a coward, could I?”

“No, indeed,” he mocked her. “To be shown up by a twelve-year-old boy—however would you hold your head up?”

She sniffed. “Shows what you know. If you don’t rise to his challenges from time to time, he gets too full of himself and becomes bossy and insufferable. Rather like you, actually.”

“When have I ever been bossy and insufferable?”

“In the brewery office. And at the tavern, before I accepted the wager. Admit it: if I hadn’t, you would have packed me off back to the inn and told me to be a good girl and trot on home to Burton.”

He frowned. “That’s what I should have done.”

“Then I wouldn’t have gained anything I wanted.”

“But you wouldn’t have risked your reputation.”

“Sometimes a woman has to take risks to get what she wants.” She glanced to where Geordie seemed preoccupied with a saddle salesman’s wares, then lowered her voice. “Speaking of risks, what did Geordie say to you after he found us?”

“It was nothing of consequence.” His too-casual tone said otherwise.

“I can’t believe he said
nothing
—”

“Ah, look, there’s a woman selling ale by the barrel. George, come with us,” he called out, bringing Geordie running back to his side. “We’re going to see if that alewife makes her own ale.”

Curse the rascal. Now she
knew
they’d talked about something. “Why should I care about some other brewster’s ale?” Annabel grumbled.

“Because it’s research. If ale is this lady’s business, she’ll know what sells hereabouts. Could be good information for the future.”

Acknowledging the logic in that, she let Jarret lead her to the ale booth.

It turned out that the alewife not only sold her wares at Daventry’s market, but traveled to the other markets in Staffordshire. As Jarret quizzed her at length about ale-buying habits in the country, Annabel could only listen in surprise. For a man who had only “dipped his toe” in the business, he knew a great deal about the marketing part, which wasn’t her strong suit. It made her uneasy. What if he took stock of Lake Ale and decided that her and Hugh’s plan wasn’t viable?

What if he was right?

Geordie asked her for some coins and she handed them to him, distracted by the discussion with the alewife. After a few moments, however, she realized that Geordie had wandered away. She turned around just in time to see him hand the coins to a man at a table with three thimbles atop it. The man put a pea under one of the thimbles and started moving them around.

“What on earth is that boy doing?” she mused.

Jarret followed her gaze, then scowled. Before she could even react, he was striding over to the table where a small crowd had gathered. To her shock, he seemed to stumble and knock over the table.

As she hurried up, she heard him say, “Beg pardon, sir. Didn’t mean to be so clumsy.”

The man growled something about watching his step, as Geordie bent to help right the table.

“I was about to win, Lord Jarret!” Geordie complained.

The mention of Jarret’s title made the vendor look suddenly uneasy.

“Ah well, what a shame,” Jarret said. “I suppose I ruined it for you.” His gaze turned to ice as he stared down at the vendor. “Give him back his money, will you, old chap? You can hardly honor his bet now.”

The man who owned the table paled, then handed Geordie his coins without a word.

Geordie told the vendor, “If you’ll set it up again, I can place another—”

“I don’t think so, lad.” Jarret grabbed his arm. “Your aunt is ready to leave. Aren’t you, Miss Lake?”

Bewildered by the strange incident, Annabel stammered, “Y-Yes, of course. We should go.”

Dragging a protesting Geordie from the group, Jarret walked down the lane so fast that Annabel had to run to keep up with him.

“Let
go
of me!” Geordie cried. “I can win!”

“Not at thimblerig, lad. It’s a swindle meant to separate you from your money.”

As Geordie stopped squirming, Annabel halted. “That’s awful! We should go warn the others!”

“I wouldn’t advise it,” Jarret said.

“Why not?”

“Anyone running that particular cheat keeps accomplices nearby to prevent anyone from mucking with their scheme. They’ll stick a knife in one’s back if it serves their purpose. We’re better off reporting them to those who run the market.”

“Are you sure it was a cheat?” Geordie asked plaintively.

“Absolutely. They run it in the streets of London all the time. No matter how much you watch the thimble, the pea that’s supposedly under it ends up wherever the man wants it to be. He palms it so he can place it where he likes.”

George stared at him wide-eyed. “Like you were doing with the cards last night?”

Jarret muttered a curse under his breath. “Exactly. Let’s go find a milliner’s booth, shall we? I want to purchase something for Mrs. Lake.”

“Wait a minute,” Annabel said, “what’s this about palming cards?”

“His lordship showed me how to palm cards and deal from the bottom and—”

“You taught him how to
cheat
at cards?” Annabel cried.

“Only so he could recognize a cardsharp when he played with one.”

“And where is he supposed to play with one, pray tell? In a gambling hell?”

Jarret shrugged. “Card cheats are everywhere. You never know when the lad will come across one. Like with the thimblerig operator. It can’t hurt George to be prepared.”

The thought that Jarret was the one trying to prepare Geordie inflamed her. She knew her anger was irrational, but she couldn’t help it. She’d spent twelve years trying to see that Geordie had every advantage of a genteel upbringing, yet who was Geordie turning to for advice?

“I suppose you taught him a few gambling tricks as well,” she retorted as they neared the edge of the market. “So he can spend his nights in the same empty pursuits that you spend yours in.”

“And what if he did?” Geordie cried, leaping to his hero’s defense. “Nobody else teaches me such things. You and Mother treat me like a baby who can’t do
anything.
Perhaps I
want
to know about gambling. Perhaps I’d like it if I tried it.”

“Oh, God,” Jarret muttered.

“See what you started?” she accused Jarret. “You made it so very attractive—”

“It appears I arrived in the nick of time,” cried a voice from behind them.

They turned to see Sissy, looking markedly improved, hurrying after them.

“What are you doing here, Sissy?” Annabel asked.

Sissy shrugged. “I got tired of being cooped up in that inn room, so I thought I’d join you. I’m feeling much better now.” She glanced from Annabel to Jarret. “Though it looks like I’m the only one. I could hear you arguing from three booths away.”

“Aunt Annabel is being mean to Lord Jarret,” Geordie complained.

Sissy smothered a smile. “Well then, we shall have to make her sit in the corner.”

Annabel rolled her eyes. “His lordship seems to think that the techniques of card cheating are suitable subjects for a twelve-year-old boy.”

“I’m sure he was just trying to help,” Sissy said, her eyes suspiciously bright.

“Yes, trying to help Geordie follow in his dubious footsteps,” Annabel snapped.

“Stop it!” Geordie cried. “If you keep being mean to him, he’ll change his mind about marrying you!”

J
arret barely stifled an oath. But truth was, it was a miracle the lad had kept his mouth shut this long. Twelve-year-old boys weren’t known for their discretion.

Mrs. Lake now regarded Jarret with that expression all matrons got when they thought they had a live one on the hook.

Annabel just looked dumbfounded.

So of course George had to make it worse. “I’m sorry, sir. I-I didn’t mean to let the cat out of the bag.”

Annabel’s eyes narrowed on Jarret.

Damn the boy to hell.

“I was just about to look for a tea booth, Geordie,” Mrs. Lake said smoothly, clamping her hand on the boy’s shoulder. “Why don’t you help me?”

“B-But I need to explain—”

“I think you’ve done quite enough. Now come along.” Turning a meaningful glance on Annabel, Mrs. Lake added, “Don’t stray too far, my dear. It looks like a storm is brewing.”

More than one kind, unfortunately. As Mrs. Lake hurried
the boy off, Annabel planted her hands on her hips. “What was Geordie talking about?”

Faced with no good choice, Jarret decided to do what his late father had always done whenever Mother was on the rampage. Run.

“I don’t know what you mean.” He headed for the nearest escape route, striding off blindly down a lane.

Hitching up her skirts, she hurried to keep up with his long strides. “Answer me! How did Geordie get the idea that you wish to marry me?”

“Why don’t you ask
him
?” he snapped, oddly reluctant to lie to her.

“I’m asking
you
! You said something to him, didn’t you? After he found us together?”

Damn, damn, and damn. Worse yet, the sky was darkening overhead.

Time for another of Father’s tactics—the counterattack. He halted to fix her with a cold glance. “I’ll answer your question if you answer mine. Is your brother dying?”

That did the trick. She blanched, then hurried off down the lane ahead of him. So
she
thought to escape now, did she? Not bloody likely.

He caught up to her in a couple of easy strides. “Well?” he pressed.

“What gave you the idea that Hugh is dying?” she asked in a strained tone.

“George seemed inordinately upset about his mother’s illness. And when I mentioned that his father might wish to be fetched, he said that you wouldn’t do so. He said your brother wouldn’t come even if you did.”