A Hellion in Her Bed (33 page)

“Enough,” he said, suitably chastened. “You have a point.”

Her anger faded rapidly, twisting into anguish. It tugged at his conscience, and something deeper: the urge to protect her, to shield her from harm. When had that urge become so much a part of him?

A troubled expression crossed her face. “I’ve spent Geordie’s entire life protecting him from being proclaimed a bastard, of hearing his mother called a whore behind her back.” Tears welled up in her eyes. “I h-have watched him call another woman ‘Mother,’ with my heart b-breaking a little more every time. I wasn’t a-about to risk his very f-future by telling the secret to a man who won’t even s-speak to me about his own life.”

The tears fell freely down her cheeks now, a torment Jarret could hardly bear. “Shh, dearling,” he murmured, pulling her into his arms. He’d opened the floodgates of her pain, and he didn’t know how to close them.

No wonder her temper had always flared over anything regarding young George. And no wonder Mrs. Lake bowed to her decisions regarding the boy. It all made perfect sense now.

Why hadn’t he seen it sooner? Because she’d had twelve years to learn how to hide it. And because he’d been too busy
lusting after her to look beneath the temptress for the heartbroken mother.

He waited until her sobs had subsided a little before venturing another question. “Does George know?”

She shook her head. “I … I don’t know how to tell him. I’m afraid he’ll hate me, that he won’t understand.” She lifted her teary face to him. “I couldn’t bear it if he shut me out of his life. I’d die if he did.”

Her pain was palpable, demanding his sympathy. Demanding that he care. He didn’t want to care, but he couldn’t help himself. She hurt too much, and it hurt him to watch her. “How could he hate you?” he said, feeling a stab of envy for the boy who had not one, but two mothers willing to lavish all their affection on him. “You’ve given up your whole life for him. He has to understand what an amazing thing that is.”

“I hope you’re right.” Her voice was an aching whisper that made him wish he could banish all the heartache from her life. “I have to tell him soon. The longer I put it off, the worse it gets.”

He had no answer for that. What would he have done if his mother had come to him with the news that his entire life had been a lie? Could he have borne that without being angry at
her
?

She drew back to steady her shoulders. “At least now you understand why my marrying you is impossible.”

The bleak word
impossible
arrested him. “I don’t see what one has to do with the other.”

“If I marry you, I either have to claim Geordie as my own and brand him a bastard, subjecting him to gossip and cruelty, or leave him with Sissy and Hugh. It’s an impossible choice.”

He wished she’d stop using that word. “Not as impossible as you think. He would be part of the Sharpe family, and we’re used to scandal. One more would scarcely matter. We could shield him from the worst of it.”

She eyed him askance. “I’m sure your grandmother would be
delighted
to open her arms to your new wife, the brewer’s daughter, with her bastard son.”

“My grandmother is a tavern keeper’s daughter, dearling. And if I can accept your son, then she damned well better, too—or to hell with her.”

“You can’t afford to say ‘to hell with her.’ She could take the brewery away from you at a moment’s notice.”

He stiffened. “She and I made a bargain, and she won’t go back on it. Even if she did, I’m not going to let you and George starve, so don’t worry about that.”

“I’m worried about hurting him. I’m worried about taking him from the only life he’s ever known. And I can’t leave him behind—I just can’t.”

“I wouldn’t ask you to.” He cupped her damp cheek. “But perhaps you could leave that decision up to him. Tell him the truth, then see what he would prefer—to risk some scandal by living with his natural mother, or to stay here at least until he’s old enough that it doesn’t matter so much to him.”

“If he chooses the latter, then I can’t leave. I won’t leave.”

He tensed. “And I can’t leave London. Not while I’m running Plumtree Brewery.”

“You see?” She backed away from him. “As I said—impossible.”

“Stop saying that! Do you really think he’d want you to give up your
life
for him? Give up any hope of having a husband, your own household, other children—”

Her eyes went round. “You … you want children?”

He hadn’t meant to blurt that out. The ground was shifting beneath his feet, changing with her every word. If George came to live with him, he would have a son to take care of. He would be responsible for two other people, when until now he’d only been responsible for himself. What if he disappointed them both? What if, God forbid, Plumtree Brewery went under?

“Do you?” she prodded.

“I’m sure that someday I would … want children.”

Pity filled her face. “Jarret, admit it. This isn’t what you were thinking of when you proposed. I understand; really, I do. No man wants to take on a wife and a half-grown son in one fell swoop—especially a man who only a short while ago didn’t even want to marry.”

Angry that she’d put her finger right on his problem, he stalked up to her. “Stop putting words in my mouth! You’ve had over twelve years to get used to the reality of George. You’ve given me five minutes. That doesn’t mean I can’t handle it. Or that I don’t want to handle it.”

“Come now, Jarret—” she began in that placating voice of hers, and it pushed him right over the edge.

“You know what the trouble with you is? You’re afraid to take any risk. You take the safe way every time. You only agreed to that wager because you were sure that you could win—if you’d had any inkling you might lose, you wouldn’t even have done that.”

“That’s not true!”

“No?
I’m
not the one who’s avoiding telling my son the truth about who he is because I’m afraid it will change everything—afraid that it will force me to live for myself, instead of living for everyone else around me. You would rather embrace the devil you know than risk trusting—”

“The devil I don’t know?” she said bitterly. “You’re right. And that’s the rub—you
are
the devil I don’t know. If you ever told me anything about yourself, I might take the chance. But you haven’t offered me that. You stated all the practical reasons for our marrying, yet you said nothing of your heart.”

God help him, he was in trouble if she’d started talking about hearts. “I don’t have a heart. Haven’t you figured that out by now?”

“I know you don’t
want
to have one. That’s the easiest way to keep it from being broken—pretending it’s not there.” She stepped up to place her hand on his chest. “But I don’t believe that. I couldn’t possibly have fallen in love with a man with no heart.”

He froze. In love? No, that couldn’t be. Love was the trap that ruined a man. “Don’t say that.” Feeling panic rise in his chest, he pushed her hand aside. “I want you in my bed. I want to marry you. I truly believe we can have a good marriage and work out any difficulties with George. But don’t ask for more than that. I don’t have it to give.”

The flash of pain across her face roused a similar pain in him. Damn it, he didn’t want this! He didn’t want to care that much!

“Who’s afraid of risk now?” she said softly. “I guess I should expect a gambler to hold his cards close to his chest. But eventually you have to play them, Jarret. You have to risk losing, even in life. I’m willing to risk losing a great deal—perhaps even George—if I have your heart. But I won’t settle for anything less. Neither should you.”

He turned toward the bed to gather his clothes. “Then you’re right. It’s impossible, the two of us.”

A long silence fell between them. Part of him wanted her to protest, to say that she’d changed her mind: that it wasn’t
impossible, that she could marry him and share his bed, even if she didn’t have his heart.

Part of him knew, soul-deep, that she wouldn’t. Because Annabel was like that. When she made up her mind about something, she didn’t waver. He loved that about her.
Liked
that about her, he corrected himself.

God, she was infecting him with this talk of hearts and love. He wouldn’t let her.

They dressed in silence. He finished first, then helped her with her corset and gown, though it pierced him to be so close to her, yet so very far away. He couldn’t help thinking this would be the last time he smelled her honey-sweet scent, the last time he touched the rumpled satin of her hair, the last time he was with her, alone.

He thought about kissing her, trying to seduce her into agreeing to marry him. But how could he, when she’d said she’d fallen in love? How could he take her, knowing that it meant something so precious to her?

Swiftly finishing with her buttons, he left her side as quickly as he could. The bittersweet pleasure of being near her was too intense.

Then a worrisome thought occurred to him. He walked over to the writing table and scribbled down a few addresses. As she was pinning up her hair, that splendid mane of hair that he loved—
liked
—so much, he went back to her.

“If the rumors do reach here and you change your mind about marrying me, you can reach me at one of these places. The first is my bachelor’s quarters, the second is Gran’s town house, and the last is Halstead Hall. But no one’s really at the estate right now.” He pressed the paper into her hand.

She lifted her expressionless gaze to him. “Thank you.”

“Will you be here at the brewery tomorrow?”

“There’s no need.”

No need for
her
, perhaps, but
he
needed to—

No, he didn’t need a damned thing. Hadn’t he just established that?

“Then I suppose this is good-bye,” he said.

A game smile touched her lips. “I suppose it is.”

He wanted to kiss her. He wanted to hold her. He did none of that. He just turned and headed for the door.

As he reached it, she called out, “Jarret?”

With a perverse hope hammering in his chest, he pivoted to look at her. “Yes?”

“Thank you.”

“For what?”

“For coming here and helping my brother. For brightening my life, even if it was only for a little while. For reminding me how good it is to be a woman.”

A lump lodged in his throat. “You’re welcome.”

But as he left the brewery and headed for the inn, he wondered if he was making a huge mistake by walking away from her. Was she right about him?
Was
he being a coward? Did he dare give her what she wanted and risk the pain that might come with it?

No, that was one thing he was certain of. He’d done the right thing. If he hurt
this
much just from leaving a woman who’d been only his lover, how much more would he hurt if he gave her his heart and something took her from him?

She’d claimed that he was afraid to take the risk. What she didn’t understand is that every gambler knew that some risks were too great to take. And he was fairly sure this was one of them.

A
nnabel felt numb in the days that followed. Every day she replayed their conversation and reaffirmed that she’d done what she had to. Every night she reversed that opinion, wishing she’d accepted his proposal.

Did it matter that he didn’t love her, that he’d conceived the idea of marriage as some way to
save
her? That was a sort of caring, wasn’t it?

But always the dawn came, and she remembered again that she’d done the right thing. How could she even be sure he would quit gambling? How could she be sure he wouldn’t regret taking a wife once they were married for all eternity? And she had only his word for it that his family would accept Geordie.

She sighed. Jarret had been right about one thing—she
had
to tell Geordie the truth. She
was
being a coward. The longer she put it off, the worse it would get. But she kept telling herself she should wait until after he’d finished his difficult week at their local grammar school, or until after Easter, since it was his favorite holiday or …

She was stalling. She knew it.

Especially since there was even less reason not to tell him these days. Everything was going well. Hugh had surprised her by taking up the reins of Lake Ale, seeming a new man. The hope Jarret had given them that they’d be able to sell their pale ale through the East India Company had bolstered Hugh’s confidence, and he went to the brewery every day with an air of excitement about him.

So it was with some surprise that she peeked into his study about a week after Jarret’s departure to find him sitting at his desk with a glass of whisky in his hand. It was the first time she’d seen him drinking spirits since the day they’d returned from London.

The blood froze in her veins until she realized that he wasn’t actually drinking it, just staring at it, turning it this way and that in the light. He must have sensed her there, for without looking at her, he said, “Come in, Annabel. I was just about to call for you.”

His tone held a deadly calm that frightened her. “What’s happened?”

“I just heard an interesting bit of gossip from Allsopp. It seems that there’s talk in London of my sister having made a certain unsavory wager with a certain lord.”

He lifted his gaze to her just in time to see her pale. “It’s true, isn’t it?”

She thrust out her chin and attempted to salvage the situation. “I wagered Mother’s ring in exchange for his help with Lake Ale.”

“That’s not what they’re saying.”

“I know, but—”

“And I don’t for one minute believe that Lord Jarret Sharpe would take a ring as a suitable stake.” His eyes searched her
face. “But I’m fairly certain that Lord Jarret would jump at having you in his bed, which is what they
are
saying was the wager.”

Heat rose in her cheeks. “It doesn’t matter what the wager was. I won.”

“So you’re not denying it.”

She let out a despairing breath. “Hugh, please …”

“I’m not surprised Lord Jarret would make such a wager, but I’m astonished that you would agree to it.”