Annabel Lake followed the men for nearly half an hour. They were both dark-haired, and she’d hoped the other fellow was Lord Jarret’s brother, joining him to visit their grandmother.
When they turned into a tavern, she just stood there, incensed. So much for Lord Jarret’s promise to speak to his grandmother on her behalf. She should have known that a rogue like him wouldn’t do as he said.
Unless . . . they were just stopping in for a drink first? The tavern did bear a sign that read, we sell plumtree brewery’s best. A company tavern would be a logical choice for the grandsons of the owner to frequent.
Waiting outside for him wasn’t a good option; night was falling, and London was notorious for its footpads. But she couldn’t give up her chance at learning Mrs. Plumtree’s address, so that she could speak to the great woman herself.
It was still early enough in the evening that the people entering the tavern tended to be workmen and the occasional couple seeking a quick meal. She wouldn’t be very noticeable inside.
She entered and took a table as near to Lord Jarret’s as she could manage. Then she kept her head down and ordered a meal, to give her more time to linger inside.
Two more gentlemen joined Lord Jarret’s party, and it became clear that this was not 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, with gambling and drinking, and probably loose women later.
God rot Lord Jarret! He clearly had no intention whatsoever of speaking to his grandmother about her proposal. Now what?
An hour, a kidney pie, and a half-pint tankard of ale later, she still hadn’t decided what to do. But she had managed to glean a few bits of information.
The dark-haired man was an old friend named Masters, who was apparently the younger brother of a viscount. Lord Jarret’s brother was the man with the golden-brown hair, Lord Gabriel, who enjoyed tormenting the other two by frequent allusions to their advanced age.
The fourth man, someone they called Pinter, was a black-haired, raspy-voiced fellow with a quiet, almost somber manner. Though he didn’t seem to share their joviality, he occasionally made a dry remark that seemed to surprise them all. She couldn’t tell if he was actually a friend of theirs or just along for the ride.
As best she could guage, Lord Jarret and his brother had been winning fairly steadily. The other two men were grumbling about it.
Curious to see what they were playing, she rose and passed as close to the table as she dared on the pretext of looking for the necessary. 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 grumbled as he picked up his cards.
“Hell if I know.” He smiled smugly. “I guess you and Pinter just 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 your excuse, 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.
Too bad she couldn’t join them in the game. She knew exactly what stakes she’d ask for, and she’d been playing cards all her life. It had been her parents’ favorite pastime and they’d all spent many a long evening at whist or loo or piquet.
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.
“Oh, 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 remarked as he drained his tankard and set it down, with every appearance of being done.
Before she could think about it, Annabel stepped forward and lowered the hood of her cloak. “I’m happy to take Mr. Pinter’s place.”
Did she imagine it, or had the entire room gone completely still?
Lord Jarret stared at her, eyes narrowing. “Miss Lake. Fancy seeing you here.”
She hid her trembling hands in the pockets of her cloak. “I’d be willing to up the stakes as well, if Lord Jarret would be willing to 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, he said, “What in hell do you think you’re up to now, Miss Lake?”
She met his furious gaze steadily. “The same thing as earlier. I want Plumtree Brewery’s help. I’m willing to play cards to get it.”
“A woman like you does not belong in a tavern.”
“You know nothing about a woman like me,” she hissed. “All you know is gambling and drinking and wenching.” He was just like her brother, a selfish, pleasure-seeking rogue. “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.”
With a hint of guilt on his face, he crossed his arms over his chest. “For your information, I was planning to speak to Gran in the morning.”
“You told me to return in the morning, remember? I daresay after a night of drinking with your friends, you would have quite 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? Your friend Pinter seems determined to leave, you said you wanted a challenge, and I play cards very well.”
“And 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 I want.”
He glared at her. “All? You have no idea what you’re asking.”
“I know that it would save my brother’s brewery. Of course, you probably would rather see a competitor fail.”
“Don’t be absurd. I don’t care about some half-pint brewery in Burton. Plumtree is four times the size of Lake Ale.”
“Which means you have no reason to refuse us your help.”
A grim smile crossed his lips. “And what if I win? What do I get out of this little game?”
She slipped her mother’s ring off her finger, fighting not to show how much it meant to her. “This is solid gold with rubies and diamonds. It’s worth at least two hundred pounds. That should be enough to make it worth your while.”
He laughed mirthlessly. “A ring. You think that’s equivalent.”
“It’s a lucky ring,” she said, desperate. “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 such an annoying fellow. “Fine. If you’re afraid to play cards with me . . .”
“Oh, for God’s sake—” His eyes turned the cobalt blue that she’d noticed earlier when he was tasting her ale. “So you think you can best me at cards, do you?”
“Absolutely,” she said, though she wasn’t at all sure. But she had to try.
He stepped closer, until he was looming 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?”
“If you win, I’ll join with Lake Ale in getting into the Indian market.” A sinful smile curved his lips. “But if I win, you share my bed tonight.”
Jarret could tell from the look on her face that he’d shocked her. Good. The woman needed some sense knocked into her. If his sisters had pulled a stunt 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 quite desirable, but reckless as the very devil.
Surely she wouldn’t be fool enough to accept his wager. When she turned him down, he would escort her back to wherever she was staying and tell her companions to keep a better eye on her.
“Leave it to a rogue to come up with such a wager,” she grumbled.
“Sticks and stones, Miss Lake,” he said coolly. “So I take it you’re refusing.”
“No,” she said.
He blinked. “What?”
She tipped up her chin. “I accept your offer.”
“The hell you do!”
Her lips thinned into a stubborn line. “So you weren’t serious about the wager? You were lying again?”
“I wasn’t lying the first time!” he practically shouted.
“But you were just now?” she asked, with a prim little tilt of her head.
For some reason, that maddened him even further. “You, madam, need a keeper.”
“Are you volunteering for the position?” she asked sweetly. “It’s a little sudden. You really must give me time to think about it.”
“Of course I’m not vol—” With a low oath, he said, “You’re willing to risk ruination, the loss of your reputation and your virtue, the hope of ever marrying, on the off chance that you’ll beat me at cards and win my help with your brother’s company?”
A funny look came over her face before she masked it. “Desperate times call for desperate measures, my lord.”
Sucking in a heavy breath, he glanced away. He under-stood desperation. He’d felt quite a bit of it at Eton. And he’d spent many a long night playing cards with men down to their last sixpence, who desperately prayed that the next turn of the cards would recoup their fortunes.
“Besides,” she added, “I don’t believe winning will be an ‘off chance.’ I’m quite good, 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, she clearly felt honor bound to help her family. And when he won, he could be magnanimous and tell her that she could keep both her “lucky ring” and her virtue.
In the meantime, he’d put the fear of God into her when she realized she was not going to win. Then she wouldn’t continue to do foolish things like accost men in their offices or follow known rakehells to a tavern.
“Very well,” he said. “We’ll play cards for the stakes agreed upon.”
To his surprise, relief crossed her pretty features. “Thank you.” A sudden mischief glinted in her eyes. “I promise not to beat you too badly. I wouldn’t wish to embarrass you before your friends.”
Despite everything. a laugh erupted from him. God, but she was a piece of work.