Page 20 of Outrageous

Visel took her elbow in a firm, unbreakable grip as the innkeeper led them to the second floor.

“This is our nicest room, my lord.”

“This is yours,” Visel told her, before turning to the innkeeper. “Have a bath brought up for her ladyship, and I’d also like to engage a maid for her and—”

“I don’t need a maid. I can take care of myself. And I don’t want—”

“Would you excuse us a moment, Mr. Johnson?” the earl asked, not waiting for an answer before pulling her inside the room and shutting the door in the stunned innkeeper’s face.

Eva yanked her arm, but he would not release her.

“Listen to me.” It was an iron tone of command Eva recognized: Lord Visel sounded remarkably like her father. But he was not her father and she was under no obligation to obey him.

She glared up at him. “Let go of my arm.” She infused the words with all the venom she could muster, but his grip didn’t loosen.

“Do not argue with me every step of the way or it will become tedious for both of us.”

“Let me go and you won’t have to worry about me and my tedium.”

He walked her backward, until she was pressed against the wall, his tall, hard body not stopping until they were touching from shoulders to hips. He took her chin in strong, warm fingers and tilted her face to his, holding her immobile when she tried to pull away. This close to him she could see his irises were a dozen shades of blue intermixed with shards of white, the iris rimmed with pale, pale gold. The lines that fanned out from his eyes were myriad and distinct, and the grooves between his nose and mouth were etched deeply. Bits of gold glinted under the light of the wall sconce: his night beard. Something about seeing the tiny hairs scattered across his angular jaw and determined chin made her aware of her body, especially the region south of her belly and north of her knees: this was the face of a man, not a boy.

As Eva looked into his penetrating blue eyes, she knew manipulating him would not be easy; he was not the sort of man to bend to her will.

“If you behave like a child, I’ll treat you as one.” His body pressed against hers and the words rumbled like the threat of approaching thunder.

“How dare you speak to me this way? I am not your wife and have no intention of assuming that position, no matter what you say.”

His lips twitched. “Trust me, darling, you will assume any position I say when the time comes.” His smile disappeared. “You kidnapped me, hit me on the head, and dragged me halfway across the country. I dare a good deal at this point. I will not fight you every step of the way to Scotland. I will not argue in front of others. I will not be made a fool of. Do you understand me? I will punish you in private. I will put you over my knee and paddle you like the willful, wild, undisciplined, spoiled child you are.”

She gasped. “You wouldn’t.”

One side of his mouth pulled up, the action unveiling a dimple in his tanned cheek. “Oh, but I would. And I daresay my hand would enjoy meeting your bottom.” His eyes dropped to her mouth and his nostrils flared and for one dreadful moment she thought he was going to kiss her.

For one dreadful moment Eva wanted him to.

Instead, he thrust her away, strode to the door, flung it open and closed it ungently behind him, leaving her alone.

* * *

“Good Lord, Godric—this is remarkable.”

“So you’ve said, Bertie—at least a half dozen times already.” Godric topped up his friend’s glass and his own while he was about it.

The other man, shorter, plumper, and with considerably less hair than the last time Godric had seen him, took a deep pull and shook his head yet again. “I’ve never heard anything like it—a chit kidnapping a man right from a ton party. If you told her father this story, you could not rightly be expected to marry her.”

“If this story got out I would be the laughing stock of all England, Bertie. The great war hero Godric Fleming kidnapped by a girl barely out of the schoolroom? I think not. Besides, the chit would be ruined.”

“But isn’t she already ruined? I mean she is—”

Godric lifted his eyebrows at the other man and Bertie froze. “Have a care, Bertie. She is to be my wife.”

Bertie took a big swig from his glass before answering. “Yes, yes, of course, old chap.”

Godric forced himself to relax. “How are Amelia and the children?”

Bertie perked up. “She’s blooming. We’ve got seven now.”

“Seven! Good lord, Bertie—don’t you ever let the poor woman have a night’s rest?”