She looked out the window, her mouth turned down at the corners. “Yes, I should have come out at seventeen, or eighteen at the latest. But I became ill and was allowed to stay home.”
“It must have been a serious illness.”
She said nothing.
Godric wanted to break down this new barrier between them before it had time to grow, thicken, and obstruct the little bit of ease they’d begun to share. Christ. The last thing he needed on a daily basis was conflict with the woman he’d be tied to for the rest of his life.
“Yesterday you mentioned your younger sister—Melissa, was it?”
Her head turned slowly in his direction and he could see she was suspicious.
“What?” he asked. “Surely it is not unheard of to wish to know about one’s future relatives?”
Her eyes narrowed and her lips thinned. “How many do you have? Why don’t we talk about you if you are so eager to be sociable and chat?”
His first impulse was to repay her aggression with a punishing setdown. But then he looked at her—really looked, beyond the pugnacious expression and beyond her extraordinary beauty, seeing the scared young woman hiding behind those façades. Why wouldn’t she be wary of kind or friendly overtures from him? From her point of view, he’d been an ass ever since the first moment they’d met. Hell, he’d been an ass from anyone’s point of view, truth be told.
He’d been a cruel, taunting ass; until last night, when he’d knelt and worshipped her in a way that was entirely inappropriate for a man with his young bride-to-be. No wonder she was confused and angry.
He sighed. “Very well. Let me tell you about my family.”
* * *
Eva was surprised by his calm capitulation. She’d been expecting one of his cutting setdowns delivered with his characteristic sneer—hoping for that, actually. She couldn’t say why, but she wanted to goad him into another argument.
But she looked at him now, yet another version of the man who’d knelt in front of her last night and done such shocking—yes, she had been shocked, in spite of what she said—and pleasurable things. This new, friendly, interested man bore no resemblance to the one who’d either ignored or taunted her for half a year.
“I am a third son, with only one younger sister. I was encouraged to purchase a commission and serve king and country. I joined when I was sixteen.”
“Why so young?”
“I was an indifferent pupil at school and had no interest in going to university. I’d been army mad since I was a boy, so it seemed like the best decision. Besides, sixteen is not so young. There are plenty who are younger.”
“But those aren’t usually officers.” He gave her a look of surprise and she shrugged. “What? I may only be nineteen but I’m not utterly ignorant of matters beyond balls and Venetian breakfasts. I know two boys in the village who signed on at thirteen and fourteen. But they did menial labor.”
He sat back, as if she’d poked him with a stick. “How the devil is it that you know village boys and what they did in the army?”
The anger that surged through Eva surprised even her. “It’s hardly any of your affair who I know and how I know them, is it?”
He made a noise of frustration. “What is it?”
Eva frowned. “What is what?”
“What is this compulsion of yours to turn every conversation into an argument?”
She opened her mouth to refute the accusation, but then decided to tell the truth. Why not? He’d find out soon enough in any case. She shrugged. “I like to argue.”
He gaped, his expression priceless.
“My father says I’m a contrarian, but I disagree.”
It took him only a few seconds to catch on. His smile was grudging, but he laughed—a deep, rich laugh that curled through her body and concentrated low in her belly.
His amusement made her relent and answer his question. “My sisters and I grew up running with the children from the village that sits on my father’s land. My mother died when I was not quite five, and then my grandmother and aunt raised us. But my grandmother fell ill soon after and my aunt simply couldn’t manage Catherine and me as well as tend to my grandmother and my youngest sister—who is two years younger than I.” She pleated the printed cotton of yet another of the putrid dresses he’d ordered for her—this one a dusty rose—recalling those carefree days with pleasure.
“What about your father?”
She looked up from the creased fabric of her dress. “My father rarely came home. He was—well, he had responsibilities elsewhere.” There was no point in telling the man across from her that her father had learned by then that his dead wife had been barking mad—the insane daughter of a mother who ended her days in an institution—and feared seeing that same madness in his own daughters so much that it had turned him bitter and cold. So the marquess had stayed away, only coming home to manage estate business or for their birthdays and holidays. At least he’d thought to come home for those.
Godric was looking at her as if he wanted to ask something; something she probably wouldn’t want to answer, so she said, “I know about your family, about how they died. Lord Byer told me.” That was a lie; her brother’s best friend had actually told Gabriel, but Eva had overheard.
His eyes frosted over like an alpine lake and his mouth tightened. “I am relieved to hear that, my lady. It means we do not need to speak of the subject ever again.”
“But don’t—”
“This is not a matter up for debate. You will learn just how stodgy I can be if you decide to pursue this topic.”
His profile was harsh and wintry so she let the matter lie. Besides, Eva knew that tone well. She couldn’t help marveling how much Lord Visel sometimes sounded like her father. It was the tone that said a line had been drawn in the dirt and crossing it would be at one’s peril.
It shouldn’t surprise her that he had an aura of command; he’d been in the military almost half his life and was accustomed to giving men orders and having them obeyed. And now she would be just another one of his soldiers.
Eva looked away from him to the other window, a heaviness in her chest. He could bring her physical pleasure, and it appeared, after last night, that he wished to do so—at least when it suited him. But as for any kind of parity? That seemed unlikely. He would become her lord and master and she would be his chattel. Once again, she would belong to a man who believed she was mad; a man who would never know her or like her. And she couldn’t even hate him for it because it was all her fault they were in this situation.
Yes, Eva was the person who’d done this to both of them, and now they would both have to live with it.
* * *
The carriage gave a worrisome shudder and slid to the side before the postilions regained control.
Across from her, Godric stirred from the silent, brooding funk he’d settled into after their aborted conversation and turned his disturbing gaze on the scene outside the window.
The rain, which had begun to sprinkle less than an hour after their departure, was now falling so heavily it was like looking through a gray curtain.
He shook his head, his expression one of disgust. “We should have stayed at the inn,” he said, cutting her a brief glance. “I apologize for dragging you out in such weather.”
The shocks just kept coming: Visel admitting he was wrong? Visel apologizing? To her? Although she did not taunt him out loud, he must have read it on her face.
“Yes,” he said as he sat back against the cracked brown leather squabs. “I do apologize, especially when I’ve done something foolish.”
“That must keep you busy.”
He gave a short bark of laughter at her insult.
What an odd, odd man.
“I, for one, am relieved we left that inn,” she said, squirming under his considering look. “My hair stinks of mold, my clothes are damp, and the food was appalling.”
“I’m afraid we probably won’t encounter anything better on our current path. I
’d hoped to make the main road today and spend a night in relative comfort. But it looks as if things might get even worse.”
They both turned to look out the window.
Eva hadn’t been surprised to learn the road north was still blocked this morning; who would want to work in this weather? Godric had told the postilions to keep working northward, even if it meant having to go farther west to do it. As a result, the road they were on was so ragged and narrow that the soaked branches of trees often dragged over the roof of the carriage.
He pulled his gaze away from the window. “Tell me why you fancy yourself a horse breeder,” he ordered in a direct manner that set her teeth on edge.
“Why? So you can insult and belittle me?”
“Perhaps. Does that frighten you?”
She bristled. “You couldn’t frighten me if you tried.”
His smile said he believed otherwise.
Goaded, even though she realized exactly what he was doing, she said, “James’s father, the marquess’s stable master, worked for the Duke of Langham before my father lured him into his service many years ago—before James was born.”
“Ah, Langham—he’s had some champions, hasn’t he?”
She nodded. “And he keeps several breeding establishments. Our family visited his and I saw his main stables. He’s considered one of the finest judges of horseflesh in the country.”
“Does your father engage in breeding?”
“Only my stepmamma.”
Visel’s jaw sagged so low it was a wonder it didn’t come unhinged. Her face burned at what she’d said, but she couldn’t regret it.
He gave a disbelieving laugh. “You really are incorrigible.”
Eva tried not to preen, even though it wasn’t her own shocking comment but one she’d heard while engaging in the despicable act of eavesdropping—or Evasdropping, as Gabe called it. No matter how hard she tried, she simply couldn’t help herself, even though she felt dirty and ashamed every time she did it.
She’d heard the breeding comment while hiding in the library window seat while Gabriel engaged in one of his frequent arguments with his mother. Her stepbrother had muttered the comment not quite under his breath after Mia had, once again, nagged him on the subjects of his scandalous affairs (Gabe had employed two mistresses and kept them in the same house), and his lack of interest in marriage and offspring.
Mia’s answer to Gabe’s outrageous comment had been swift, sharp, and in Arabic. Eva had always marveled at the way Gabe and his mother bickered with each other, and then embraced afterward. That was not the way she and her sisters interacted with their father.
When she’d asked Mia about their frequent arguments, she blamed them on Gabe’s years in Oran.
“Gabriel was raised to believe his word is law.”
“That doesn’t sound much different from Papa,” Eva had countered.
Mia’s lips had curved into one of the secretive smiles she wore whenever the subject of her husband was raised; it was a smile that made Eva’s stomach flutter.
“You are correct, my dear, men the world over believe they are kings to be obeyed without question.” She’d shrugged. “Whomever he marries will have to have a strong but subtle hand to control him.”
And that was another thing—the way Mia did control Eva’s terrifying father without even looking as if she was trying.
Eva cut the equally terrifying man across from her a glance under her lashes, wondering if she could employ similar methods on Visel once they were married. Right now he was looking at her as if Eva were an unpredictable forest creature that had just wandered into his midst. She decided she could use that uncertainty to her advantage.
“My father has no interest in breeding racehorses,” she said, as if she’d never uttered the incendiary comment—keeping a man off balance was a tactic she’d watched Mia employ often. Based on the way Visel’s forehead furrowed, it had worked. “But James’s father still has a hankering for it and Papa allows Mr. Brewster to do a bit of breeding. They’ve sold a goodly number of pleasure horses, but none to race.”
He nodded, but said nothing, just studied her with an inscrutable, brooding look that made her feel as if she were ten years old.
Why did she even bother talking to him as if he might care?
Eva clamped her jaws shut, determined not to say another word. Not. One. More. Word.
* * *
Godric watched the kaleidoscope of feelings play over her face, her emotions as evident as white, fluffy clouds dancing across a clear blue sky. Eva was far from stupid, but she had as much guile as a kitten. Oddly, that knowledge made him feel tender and protective toward her—a reaction that alarmed the hell out of him.
You can pity or feel protective of her all you like, his constant critic observed, but don’t try to fool yourself—or her—by pretending you are anything other than hollow inside.
Godric noticed she’d gone quiet while he’d been engaging in his private turmoil. Her lips were pressed into a grim line that said he’d neglected his part of the conversation—and offended her in the process.
See? You can’t even engage in a simple conversation without disappointing her.
“I had six mounts during my time on the Continent.”
Her head whipped around.
If his words surprised her, they stunned him. He’d never volunteered information of any kind to anyone since returning home. Not even harmless information about his horses.
She opened her mouth, but then closed it.
“Go ahead, you can ask,” he said.
Well. The surprises just kept coming.
“Did you—were they—”
Good God, why had he opened this can of worms?
“Two of them were retired.”
She nodded, her expression somber, so he knew she’d put the pieces together.
“Did you prefer a particular breed?”
Godric laughed rather bitterly and she sat back as if he’d struck her. “I’m not laughing at you,” he said. “I’m laughing because the issue of horse breeds and quality was a major bone of contention for cavalry units. As a regimental colonel I was in charge of purchasing mounts for my men.” And given a pitiful stipend to do so. “You might be aware—as an aspiring breeder—that there is no government stud or formal remount system in place.”
She nodded. “Yes, Papa said the current system was shameful and left soldiers at the mercy of unscrupulous dealers, who often sent broken-down draft horses.”
Perhaps Godric would not dislike his new father-in-law, after all.
“That was true, unless one employed more devious tactics.” Her expression was nearly rapt—and all because he was talking about horse trading. What man could resist a pretty woman regarding him with such a look?
“I frequently found suitable mounts from local sources.” He wondered if she would know what he meant.
She frowned for a moment and then her brow cleared. “Ah.” Her lips pulled up slightly at the corners. “Didn’t that prove difficult at times?”
“Difficult?”
“They would have Portuguese horses—didn’t you have to teach them English?”
Godric grinned at her teasing. “I’m afraid they learned English far more quickly than I learned Portuguese.”
“And did you favor any particular breed?”
“Thoroughbred cross, sturdy—somewhere between fifteen hands to fifteen-three, if it was coming from home.” Wellington had, in fact, tried to insist on no mounts below fifteen hands, but beggars couldn’t be choosers and shipments continued to contain horses much smaller.
“I preferred Hanoverians or Trakehner if I had a choice,” he added.
“Prussian warmbloods.”
Godric nodded. “That was the second to last horse I had—a gelding who was smarter than several generals I could name.” He muttered this last part under his breath, but she heard it and laughed, her expression one of delighted surprise. “What?” he asked rather rudely, and
then added, “Why are you looking at me that way?” He left no doubt whom he was mimicking.
“My voice isn’t high and squeaky like that!” she said. Godric laughed and she gave him an amused look. “What way am I looking at you?” she demanded with a smirk he would have called coy on any other woman.
Godric snorted. “It’s not going to happen. I’ve already told you I lack your thespian skills. You never answered my question about why you laughed.”
She shrugged. “I was surprised you would say something so irreverent about the military.”
“It’s not irreverent to state the truth.”
She smiled. “I shall remember that for later.”
This time Godric laughed outright. “Now why am I not—”
The carriage made an awful screeching noise and pitched to one side as the sound of screaming horses drowned out the deafening crack of something striking the carriage.
Chapter 10
Something hard and hot slammed against Eva, and strong arms closed around her middle, which was when she realized she was no longer in her seat.
“Eva? Are you hurt?” Godric asked.
She shook her head, her heart lodged in the vicinity of her throat, and he shifted her until she was sitting sideways in his lap. The angle was odd because the carriage was so tilted it was almost on its side. The window had cracked from the impact, and rain was dripping on his hatless head, his golden hair mussed and wet, his brow furrowed with concern as he squinted down at her. “Does anything hurt?”
“No.” Her voice was hoarse, as if she’d been screaming.
“I’m going to open the door and see what is going on.” He lifted her with an ease that left her mouth dry. His body, she knew from last night, was corded with muscles and now she’d felt their power.
He picked his overcoat up from the floor. “I’m going to cover you with this so you don’t get broken glass on you.”
Eva nodded and was engulfed in darkness.
“I’ll not be long,” he promised, and she felt the carriage shift and heard the sound of tinkling glass. She waited a moment and then carefully lifted the coat. The rain fell so heavily it was as if a bucket had been upended over her head. She burrowed back under the wool barrier and tried to steady her pounding heart.
Outrageous Page 13
