Page 19 of Outrageous

Her jaw hung open, her remarkable eyes went wide, and tangled masses of blue-black hair surrounded her heart-shaped face. Godric had the maddest urge to suck her plump lower lip into his mouth, pull her into his lap, and let his hands roam her small but exceedingly curvaceous and touchable body. She looked bloody delicious in her tight buckskins and miniature top boots. He could have her out of her breeches in the blink of an eye. His cock throbbed and he wondered if she liked to ride; he would certainly enjoy teaching her to ride him.

Godric flinched from his own thoughts in horror: What the hell was wrong with him? Good Lord, the last thing he needed to do was bed this hellion in a fit of anger. He thrust her back onto her seat. That was the last thing either of them needed. He would bed her when the time came, to make sure the marriage was legal, but that would be an end to it. He’d not been speaking in jest when he said he would not put a child in her.

Godric turned to stare out the window, forcing his thoughts to stop moving, breathing deeply and evenly, tricks he’d learned during the long years he fought in the war. Most people believed he’d led an active and exciting life. The truth was that war was boredom punctuated by unexpected moments of chaos and merciless violence. A person could go mad in such an environment unless they developed a method of coping.

Madness. He cut her a swift look. But she was gazing out the other window, her hands clasped tightly in her lap, her features taut. Was she mad? Was he? He’d certainly felt a certain type of madness when he’d heard the news about his family in his hospital bed in Portugal.

“I am sorry, Colonel,” the King’s guardsman had said, “but I have some rather bad news.”

Yes, rather bad. Even now Godric couldn’t help his bitter smile: how like an Englishman to call losing most of one’s family rather bad news.

One moment he’d been pitying himself because his injury would not allow him to walk for longer than ten minutes at a time. The next, he was utterly without a family.

Yes, rather bad news, indeed.

Godric had learned one very, very, very important lesson that day. No matter how bad one’s life was, it could always become worse.

* * *

The King’s Arms was the busiest posting inn Eva had ever seen. Postilions appeared to be lurking in the hedges that bordered the road, awaiting incoming carriages and coaches. Another inn sat on the opposite side of the road and some sort of competition was raging between them. The scene was chaotic as the chaise rolled up to the crowded courtyard and stopped behind several others.

“We will wait in here,” Lord Visel said, his commanding tone making her bristle. “And if you have any thoughts of weaving creative tales of pirate kings or kidnappings or any other drivel, I advise you to forget it. The innkeeper knows me quite well, as I’ve ridden this way many times.” He gave her a mocking smile. “You see, this inn is on the way to my family’s country seat, Cross Hall.”

She ignored him.

They waited less than two minutes before the door opened.

A portly man dressed in the clothing of an innkeeper stood in the doorway, beaming as he lowered the steps himself.

“Ah, it is you, my Lord Visel. What a pleasure it is to see you again, sir.” His eyes flickered briefly to the earl’s unusual hair color, but of course the simpering sycophant made no mention of that.

“Thank you for your warm welcome, Mr. Johnson.” Visel’s pale, amused eyes landed on Eva. “I’m afraid I have a rather delicate situation.”

Mr. Johnson’s head bobbed up and down like an amorous pigeon’s. “Oh, yes, my lord. Young Oliver explained it all to me.”

Visel cut her an openly diverted look. “Oh, he did, did he?”

Eva narrowed her eyes at him.

“Yes,” the innkeeper said, “he told me you were engaged on a mission of, er, some delicacy.”

The earl laughed. “I suspected he was a wise boy. Did he mention summoning Sir Bertram?”

The innkeeper’s servile face flushed a dull red. “Well, as a matter of fact, sir, he did. But that was before I saw you with my own two eyes. Of course now that I know it is really you, I wouldn’t—”

“Please, do send for him. Tell him it is a matter of some importance. But, in the meantime, I would have your two best chambers and a private parlor.” His cold gaze flickered over Eva. “I believe we shall use your side entrance just now.”

Mr. Johnson had not stopped nodding. “Of course, my lord, right away.” His small eyes slid toward Eva and he recoiled at whatever he saw on her face, darting away without waiting for a response.

“You frightened him, my dear,” Visel said mildly.

Eva tried to catch Jemmy’s eye, but he flipped up the steps and closed the door with a quick snap, clearly too ashamed by his traitorous behavior to look her in the eye.

She tried to find something in Visel’s plan to complain about, but couldn’t. She was every bit as eager as he was to avoid notice. It would make everything easier after she escaped him and made her way to Lady Repton’s.

Once the carriage stopped, he exited first and offered her his hand. Eva ignored it and hopped down without any help from him.

The side door opened as they approached it. “Ah, yes, right in here my lord, my . . . er . . .” The rotund innkeeper blinked down at Eva, his round face shiny and red. “I beg your pardon, but if you’ll take these back stairs, you’ll be more private.”