A Hellion in Her Bed (34 page)

“I’m sorry to have shamed you—”

“It’s not about that, blast it!” To her relief, he set the glass down. “It’s the fact that your desperation to save Lake Ale made you willing to … You felt compelled to …” He crumpled, burying his head in his hands. “Oh, God, I can’t believe I drove you to that.”

With her heart in her throat, she walked over to lay her hand on his shoulder. “He wouldn’t have gone through with it. He’s a good man at heart.”

His head shot up. “A good man doesn’t take advantage of a desperate woman. A good man doesn’t allow a woman to risk her reputation, then let her weather the gossip alone. Thanks to him, you’ll be painted as a whore by half the wagging tongues in town. I ought to ride up to London and call him out just for that, damn it!”

“You can’t,” she said firmly.

“He deserves it!”

“No, he doesn’t.” She hesitated, but if he was talking about foolish things like dueling, she’d better tell him the truth. “As soon as he heard about the gossip, he offered to marry me. I turned him down.”

Hugh stared at her, then rose slowly from his chair. “Why, for God’s sake?”

“You know why: because of Geordie.”

“You
told
him Geordie is your son?”

“I had to. He was offering for me—he deserved to know.”

Hugh leaned back in his chair to scowl at her. “You never told any of those other fellows who offered for you.”

“I didn’t care about any of them.”

“But you care about Lord Jarret.”

She hesitated, then nodded.

“Aren’t you worried he’ll reveal the truth to someone else?”

“No, he’s very discreet,” she said firmly.

“I saw how discreet he was. He must have boasted to half of London about that damned wager.”

“The gossip didn’t come from him. He’s not like that.”

“Really?” Anger flooded Hugh’s features. “Then why did you refuse him? I have to assume it was because he didn’t react well to your revelation.”

“Actually, no. He was very understanding about that.”

Hugh blinked. “Now I’m confused.” He stabbed his fingers through his hair. “If he had no issue with the fact that Geordie is your son, why didn’t you accept his offer?”

“I won’t make Geordie leave the only home he knows. And I can’t bear to leave him here, so I can live in London with Lord Jarret. It’s as simple as that.”

“Perhaps you should let Geordie make that choice.”

She snorted. “You and Lord Jarret. How can a boy his age make that choice? He has no idea how cruel people can be. If I claim him—which I’d have to do to take him to London without people finding it odd—the gossips will run wild with the tale. It will embarrass everyone, not just him. And if he chooses to stay here without me—” She broke off with a sob.

“Oh, sweetheart.” Hugh took her in his arms. “You must tell the lad the truth someday.”

“I know. And I-I will.”

He fished out a handkerchief. “I wish I could have throttled Rupert for putting a babe in your belly when he had no intention of taking care of it. That little weasel—”

“It’s all in the past now.” She took the handkerchief and blew her nose. “I made a mistake, and calling Rupert names won’t change that.”

“Your only mistake was in trusting a young man who was too stupid to see how precious you are.” He reached up to rub a tear from her cheek. “That’s what worries me, Annie. That you’ve found another just like him. So you have to tell me the truth now. Is there any reason I should be concerned that Lord Jarret might have …” His ears pinkened, but he soldiered on. “Could he have put a babe in your belly, too?”

Lord, could this get any worse? “That’s not possible.” Jarret had made sure of it.

“I won’t judge you, mind, but if there’s any chance—”

“There’s nothing between me and Lord Jarret but that stupid wager, I assure you,” she said firmly.
Not anymore, anyway.
“And I won that wager, so you needn’t worry.”

He pulled her close again to rest his chin on the top of her head. “There’s still the gossip. I hate to see you maligned by our friends and neighbors.”

She swallowed. “Do you want me to accept his proposal? He gave me his address to write to if I changed my mind. I don’t want to cause you and Sissy any more embarrassment.”

“Oh, sweetheart,” he said, brushing the hair from her eyes, “I don’t care about that, and Sissy doesn’t either. You’ve always been a joy to us. Besides, you’ll be the one to suffer the brunt of the rumors. I only wish I could spare you that.”

She pulled back and forced a smile. “It’ll blow over in
time.” She gazed beyond him to the glass of whisky. “You’re not going to drink that, are you?”

“After all you’ve sacrificed because of it? No. I’m done with that.”

She let out a long breath. “Thank God.”

At least one good thing had come out of her encounter with Jarret. That made it almost worth the pain to her battered heart.

G
EORGE STOOD FROZEN
in the hall, unable to believe his ears. He was a bastard. And Aunt Annabel was his mother. His
mother
! And his real father was dead in the war. So he had no father, because the man he’d thought was his father was really his uncle.

Oh, God! How could that be? Mother treated him the same as all the other children. Surely if he weren’t really her son, she would have given some hint. Surely she wouldn’t have
lied
to him—

They’d
all
lied to him! Tears clogged his throat, and he choked them down with an effort. How
could
they? They’d hidden the fact that he was a … a bastard.

Bastard.
The nasty word banged around in his head, making him ill. He stumbled to the stairs and hurried up to his room where he could be alone, where he could think.
A bastard.
One of those children people whispered about, like Toby Mawer. Toby’s mother had never married either, just like Aunt Annabel.

No, not
Aunt
Annabel. Mother. He curled up into a ball on his bed. She was his
mother.
And she couldn’t claim him as her son, because it would
embarrass everyone.
Because his
very existence embarrassed everyone. Oh, God, he was going to be sick.

He ran to the chamber pot and heaved up his accounts, then dropped onto the floor and clasped his knees to his chest. His heart hurt so bad. They were all liars. All they cared about was making sure nobody knew the truth, even
him.

Something suddenly occurred to him. Did Grandmother and Grandfather know? No, wait—they weren’t even his real grandmother and grandfather, were they?

Tears stung his eyes. He didn’t have grandparents, because they were all dead. Aunt Annabel’s—
Mother’s
—fiancé had been an orphan. And his brother and sisters weren’t his, either—they were cousins. So he had no father or grandparents or brothers or sisters. He had a mother who lied to him and couldn’t claim him.

Because he was a
bastard.

It wasn’t his fault! It was that horrible Rupert’s fault. George didn’t care if the man had been his father and a war hero. He’d put a babe in Aunt Annabel’s belly—in
Mother’s
belly—when he wasn’t supposed to. Father had said so. No, not
Father.
He didn’t
have
a father!

He buried his head between his knees, fighting back tears. He just wanted everything to go back to how it was before. When he didn’t know. When he had a father and mother and grandparents and sisters and a brother …

His head shot up. Why couldn’t it? No one knew what he’d heard. If he and Aunt Annabel never said anything, it could all be like before. He thrust out his chin. He didn’t want a different mother. He wanted everything to stay the same. And it could, if he chose it. Nobody else knew the truth.

Except Lord Jarret.

He scowled. Lord Jarret, who’d made a naughty wager with Aunt Annabel and told everybody about it. Lord Jarret, who’d said he had honorable intentions toward Aunt Annabel and hadn’t meant it. Aunt Annabel had told George that his lordship wasn’t interested in marrying.

Sometimes she lied, too. And now she was saying that his lordship had offered for her. Was that the truth? It might not be.

For one thing, she’d told Father that there was nothing other than that wager between her and Lord Jarret, but
that
was a lie. Lord Jarret had kissed her—he was fairly certain of that. And there’d been that other time, when the two of them had come back from walking in the rain near the Daventry market and they’d looked guilty, like they’d been doing something wrong. There was the way they looked at each other, too … the same way Mother and Father looked at each other sometimes.

Oh God, what if Lord Jarret
had
put another babe in Aunt Annabel’s belly? George wasn’t quite sure how that happened, but it had to do with kissing and being in a bed. And if the wager had been that Lord Jarret would get Aunt Annabel in his bed …

George punched the floor. If she got a babe in her belly, the whole family would be disgraced, all because Aunt Annabel wouldn’t marry on account of him. And if Lord Jarret told people about George’s being a bastard, the whole family would be disgraced. Again, on account of him.

If that happened, they’d blame him and everybody would
know
he was a bastard. That couldn’t happen.

There was only one way out of it. Somehow he had to
make
Lord Jarret marry Aunt Annabel and take her away. Then everything could go back to how it was before.

Except that then there’d be no Aunt Annabel looking after him. No hot chocolate that she snuck into the nursery for him when Father was being an ass. No songs when he had a nightmare. No trips to the market to see the horses for auction.

It dawned on him that she’d done those things because she was his
mother.

His throat felt raw. She
couldn’t
be—he wouldn’t let her! He would get Lord Jarret to take her away. Lord Jarret ought to do it anyway, because of the gossip. That’s what Father had said. George would
make
him come back and marry her, whether she wanted it or not.

But how?

Writing to Lord Jarret wasn’t good enough. He might just ignore the letter. No, George had to go in person.

The churning began in his belly again. Go to London? Alone? Even if he could do it, his parents would kill him. He scowled. He didn’t really have parents, did he? Just a mother who was embarrassed by him.

Come on, you know they would worry
, his conscience nagged him.

So what if they did? They deserved to suffer.
He
wasn’t the one who’d been lying.

Or they might not even care. He blinked back tears. He was a bastard, an embarrassment. But only if he didn’t fix this. If he fixed this, everything would be fine.

He imagined himself arriving with Lord Jarret to save the day. Lord Jarret would sweep Aunt Annabel off her feet and make her marry him, and George would be the hero who’d
brought him back. Then everyone would forget he was a bastard. And things would go back to how they were before. That was the important part.

So how was he to get to London? He and Mother and Aunt Annabel had ridden the mail coach the first time. It left the inn at midnight, so he shouldn’t have trouble sneaking out without anyone knowing he’d gone until morning. Once in London, he’d have to hire a hackney to get to the brewery, so he could find his lordship.

Now all he had to figure out was how to get on the mail coach. He was pretty sure he had enough money for a ticket from the money his grandparents gave him for Christmas. Since he’d only been to the coaching inn once, he didn’t think anyone would remember him or know who he was.

But the coachman might not let a boy his age on by himself. He’d ask all sorts of questions about his parents and why he was traveling alone.

George sat on the bed to think. Perhaps he could get one of the servants to put him on the mail coach and pretend to be sending him off to his family in London. No, that wouldn’t work. They’d tell on him. But who else could he get?

He sprang from the bed. Toby Mawer! He was seventeen—the coachman would listen to
him
. And ever since George had come back in a marquess’s carriage, Toby and his friends had been nicer to him. Not friendly, but not as mean as before.

Besides, George had something Toby wanted—the watch Father had given him.

George pulled it out of the drawer. It was a real gold watch, with an inscription inside that said, “To George Lake, On His Twelfth Birthday, January 9, 1825.” It was his first watch. A lump caught in his throat. Did he really want to give it up?

He had to. He needed all his money for London and the trip. Besides, he had nothing else that Toby would want.

Feeling a tightness in his chest, he slid it in his pocket. He’d ask Toby to help him, and they’d plan where to meet near midnight. After everyone was asleep, he’d sneak out and take the coach to London. And once it was all done, everything would be right again.

A
nnabel hesitated before Geordie’s door. He hadn’t come down for breakfast, which worried her. He’d behaved strangely last night at supper, sunk in a sullen silence. Though he fell into these moods sometimes, this seemed different, as if anger boiled just beneath the surface and he was clamping it down.

Geordie never clamped anything down. When he was angry, everyone knew it.

Probably he was just growing up, learning to control his feelings, but that made it even more imperative that she tell him the truth. It was time.

If he got wind of the gossip about her and Lord Jarret, he’d be angry at both of them, and before that happened, she wanted him to know the reasons Jarret was allowing her to endure the rumors. Why she wasn’t marrying Jarret.

It had taken her all night to work up the courage.

She knocked on his door. He didn’t answer. Alarm spiked in her chest. She tried the door, but it was locked. He wasn’t allowed to lock his door.

“Geordie, you open this door this minute!” she cried.

No answer.

After repeating the command, she flew down the stairs to fetch Hugh, praying that he hadn’t left for the brewery. Moments later they were all standing outside Geordie’s door, and Hugh, his hands shaking, was unlocking it with the spare key.