His eyebrows shot up.
“About your staying in bed.” The moment the words were out of her mouth, she realized how they could be construed. “I just meant that—”
He laid a big, warm hand over hers. “Shh.” He once again made the shushing sound that reminded her of that night. “I know my own body and it’s telling me I won’t be able to sleep tonight if I don’t get up at least for a few hours.”
“Very well.” She grimaced and then chewed the inside of her mouth, her cheeks flushed.
“What is it, Eva?”
“It’s just that—well, Andrew was beside himself when we arrived and blurted out the name Lord Visel.”
“Ahhh, I see. Well, that’s not the biggest disaster of the day.” His smile was crooked because his lip was split on one side, and his left eye was almost swollen shut. And then there were the bruises that covered his face, neck, and—she knew firsthand—magnificent torso, but he was still handsome.
“But it shall make it more difficult if we change our minds,” she reminded him.
He frowned and then winced, raising a hand to the corner of his swollen eye. “Change our minds about what?” he asked absently as he pressed his fingertips lightly against the various injuries, as if testing to see how bad they were.
“Going to Scotland,” she said in a hushed voice, before realizing how stupid that was since they were alone.
He smiled and once again took her hand with a casual confidence that made her breath catch. “I’m sorry, darling, but was there any doubt in your mind about our destination?”
The word darling, spoken in his deep, velvety voice, was distracting to say the least—deeply worrying at most.
“If we could have kept our doings quiet enough, we might have had a choice.”
“Eva, I think you know we never had a choice, no matter how quiet we kept things.”
He didn’t say the words in a harsh or hurtful way, but his meaning was clear: when Eva had kidnapped him, she’d sealed his fate.
He smiled at her and brushed one of her cheeks with his hurt knuckles, the action making her want to crawl into his lap like a cat and just forget about everything: who she was, what she’d done, and how he was trapped with the results of her stupidity.
“I would have preferred to keep it quiet, to protect your reputation as much as possible, but I doubt having a few people know the truth—most of those, hiding from the law—will make a great deal of difference.”
Eva leaned back until his hand dropped away from her face, as much as she wanted it to stay there. But she couldn’t be touching him for what she was about to say. “I’m sorry.”
“For what?”
She stared at him for a long moment, this man who—against all odds—she’d come to respect, and even like during their brief time together. Right now he was looking at her with sympathetic interest. Once she confessed what a dunce she often was, he would believe in her madness for certain.
You owe him.
Yes, she did owe him. So she took a deep breath and waved a hand.
* * *
“I’m sorry for this—all of it: hitting you on the head, tying you up, getting you beaten half to death, landing you here.” Eva groaned and sprang to her feet. “I’m really not stupid, you know. Nor am I insensible to the fact my behavior is that of a fifteen-year-old boy rather than an adult woman most of the time.”
Godric didn’t think now was the time to smile at the very apt description. “I don’t think you are stupid, Eva.” That was most certainly the truth. No, she was far too clever and would run him a merry chase. “Nor do I think you behave like a fifteen-year-old boy.” So that was a little fib, but she looked so agonized, he didn’t think now was the time for jesting. “I think you were, quite admirably, trying to save the people you loved.”
I would have done things just as mad, and madder, if I’d been given the chance to save Lucia and Carl or the rest of my bloody family, he could have said, but didn’t.
Instead, he said, “Don’t flog yourself over something that is over and done—there is no greater waste of one’s precious time on this earth.”
Listen to you, Godric. Perhaps you might listen to what you are preaching?
Yes, he knew he should, and there was no time like the present to begin.
She shook her head as she paced, her hands raking through her short curls and making them wild. “I wish my father would see it that way, but I dread seeing him. All my life he has cautioned me against my impulsiveness and thoughtlessness.” She glanced over at him, her eyes shadowed with something he couldn’t quite understand. “I suppose you will think this pathetic, but I’ve always worshipped my father and striven to please him and make him proud. But he is—” She flung up her hands. “Well, you must know something about him?”
Godric nodded. Indeed, all the ton knew of the icy peer; it was difficult to imagine the man was a father, but he knew the marquess had at least five children, and his wife was shortly going into the straw for a sixth.
“Well, you needn’t worry about his punishing you, Eva. You will be my wife and he will no longer have that power.”
She shook her head violently, setting her curls dancing. “No, he doesn’t punish me—not in the way you’re thinking. He will just look at me.” She turned and did that thing she was so very good at doing: becoming another person entirely. Godric had to stare: Lord, it was as if the frosty Marquess of Exley had taken possession of his diminutive daughter’s person.
He swallowed. “Yes, that is, er, quite the look,” he admitted, actually feeling nervous under her frigid stare.
In a blink she was once again Eva, a surpassingly lovely, clever, and amusing young woman terrified of disappointing her demanding parent.
Godric felt for her. Even though his own father had been a proud and undemanding parent from the moment Godric could toddle, he’d had friends at school whose fathers had been brutal in their expectations. Seeing her in such a state of misery made him want to thrash the marquess, who sounded like a bit of a tyrant in addition to being cold.
A question occurred to him—something he’d been meaning to ask. “How did you learn about my foolish plans for your brother’s wife?” he asked, his face heating at the memory of his horrid behavior this last Season.
“I knew you were up to something after you called off the duel with Gabriel, so I started to follow you.” She gave him a sheepish look. “James helped me. It took only a few weeks before we learned what you were up to. But I knew nobody would believe me if I told them.”
Unfortunately, Godric thought she was probably right about that. What sane person would have credited him with implementing such a disastrous, venal, cruel plan?
“I’m mortified by all the idiocy I’ve managed to perpetrate in such a short while,” she muttered, kneading her hands as roughly as a lump of dough while pacing close by the bed on her next pass; close enough that Godric’s hand caught hers and then yanked her down into his arms, wincing at the pain the action caused, but still not stopping.
He ignored the cacophony of inner voices that protested his actions, slid his hand around her delicate neck, pulled her close, and claimed her mouth with his.
This, my good man, is a dreadful mistake, a weary voice in his head told him.
Oh, don’t I know it.
Godric knew he should put a stop to this, yet the way her body melted against his stoked the blaze inside him. And when she opened under his onslaught, he thrust his tongue into her mouth, desperate to taste her, even though the responsible part of him—the part above the waist—knew he was behaving disastrously.
The moment he slid inside her she opened wider, her body softening and her arms clasping around his neck as she all but crawled up his body, making soft, mewling noises he’d never have suspected from such a fierce little thing.
Godric plunged deeper, sucking her delicious tongue, and shamelessly pulling her closer. The pleasure of exploring her was worth gritting his teeth wheneve
r she inadvertently kissed or kneed or grabbed a bruise or injury—which was most of the time as he was a bloody mass of pain.
But the pain was worth it.
He lazily penetrated her sweet, hot mouth, using every tactic at his disposal to lure her into his own.
Clever clogs that she was, it wasn’t long before she was flicking her tongue daintily over his teeth and the sensitive skin between his lips and gums. When she was fully inside him, Godric took her tongue between his lips and sucked.
She made a delightful purring sound and rubbed her bottom against his aching rod, which felt bloody heavenly, but also brought him crashing to Earth: Christ! He’d have her pinned to the bed if he did not back away from the siren call of her body.
And would that really be so bad?
No, it would be delicious—for him—but Andrew or the Crosby woman could barge in at any moment. Godric swallowed his utterly inappropriate lust and pulled back, his cock aching just from a kiss.
She blinked in confusion, and he stared into eyes the color of hydrangeas, her body rising and falling with the rapid movements of his chest.
“I accept your apology, Eva,” he said hoarsely, “even though I don’t believe I deserve it.”
She swallowed noisily, her pink, swollen lips parted. “Er, apology?”
Godric waited, giving her time to come back to herself.
“Oh, apology.” She nodded several times, her eyes still lust-hazed. “Wh-why don’t you deserve it?”
Godric stared into her dilated pupils, wishing he’d not resumed this conversation. It was the last—no, the second-to-last—subject he wanted to discuss, but he felt like a heel to hear her apologizing for her behavior after everything he’d done.
“If I’d not behaved like an ass and a boor toward you and your family—especially your brother—” He swallowed hard. “Gabriel. Then you wouldn’t have needed to protect him and his new wife from me, would you?”
She opened her mouth and then shut it.
“What?” he asked, dreading the can of worms he might be opening, but owing her at least that much. “Say what you need to say.”
“Would you really have taken her? Drusilla?” she added, as if they both didn’t know whom she meant.
It wasn’t the question he’d been dreading—which was the source of his enmity toward Marlington to begin with—but it might actually be worse.
Godric pursed his lips and shook his head with genuine regret. “I don’t know, Eva,” he admitted, so ashamed of his behavior there should be a new English word invented to describe the feeling. “I feel as if I was in some sort of fugue before James called my name—it was as though he broke the spell, made me realize I was waiting in a rubbish alley to abduct another man’s wife.” Eva winced, but did not look away. “At that moment, I realized how madly I was behaving. But if James hadn’t shown up just then?” He shrugged. “I don’t know,” he repeated. “So, one way or another, you really did save your friend and brother. The next time you think this is all your fault—or even mostly—think again.”
He’d thought he would feel better when he’d got that part off his chest, but he just felt like an even bigger idiot as he looked into her eyes—so stormy and emotional a few moments before, but now cool, almost appraising.
He gave a dismissive flick of his hand, wanting to move on like the coward he obviously was. “I’d like to thank you for today—for taking care of me when I wasn’t able to take care of myself.”
Her lips curved slightly and he could see his words had pleased her. “You would have done no less,” she said, apparently forgetting that he was supposed to be protecting her. “Besides,”—she grinned suddenly, the action making his heart stutter—“Andrew really did do his share, which wasn’t easy wearing that dreadful dress.”
Godric smiled, and then realized that she, too, was wearing new clothing. “Whose dress is that?” He knew it couldn’t be Mrs. Crosby’s, as her clothing would have drowned Eva’s more delicate figure.
She grimaced and plucked at the skirt, as if just now remembering what she was wearing. “The maid—the girl who’s not here—keeps clothes at the inn for the nights she stays over.” She narrowed her eyes at him. “Judging by the horrified way Mrs. Crosby stared at my clothing, I’m guessing I’ll never see it again.”
Before Godric could answer, the door opened. Andrew came striding in and then stopped in his tracks when he saw them together on the bed, his cheeks coloring. “Oh, I say. I guess I should have knocked first—”
“Not at all, come in, Andrew.” Godric released Eva’s hand and she shot from the bed like a startled leveret.
That was just as well. Godric had clearly suffered mental damage during his brief fight this afternoon, a result of which was that he could no longer keep his hands and lips to himself.
“I brought you some shaving things.” Andrew laid the items on the dressing table. “I’ll just run down and fetch your hot water.”
The door shut behind him and Eva made to follow. “I’ll let you dress and shave.”
Godric frowned. “Where are you going?”
“Down to the coffee parlor.”
He didn’t like the idea of her wandering about a strange inn. “Why don’t you wait in your room—Andrew can accompany you when he comes back.”
She gestured to the connecting door. “That’s not my room. This is my room. Didn’t you hear me earlier? They only have two rooms and Andrew has the other one.”
Godric had heard that, but his brain had failed to process it. Christ. He realized she was waiting and gave her what he hoped was his normal smile. “Sorry, it seems my wits have gone begging.”
“Mrs. Crosby said she would bring in a cot so that I didn’t disturb your sleep by, er, well, sharing your bed.” Her face was as red as a poppy.
He opened his mouth to say that he and the boy could share one room and give her the other, but they were supposed to be husband and wife.
So he nodded. “Well, then, that’s how it shall be.” He’d tell her later that he’d be the one occupying the cot.
She turned without speaking and left, closing the door quietly behind her.
Godric waited for the door to close before letting his head fall back against the headboard with a dull thunk. It was unfortunate that he’d not been beaten more badly today. Because having a broken arm or being unconscious was the only way he’d be able to sleep in the same room with her and keep his bloody hands—and other parts—to himself.
Chapter 14
For all that Mrs. Crosby looked like an angel and behaved like a courtesan, the woman cooked like a dream. As Godric had only a nightshirt and a robe, Mr. Norton—a large and exceedingly shy man—set the small coffee parlor aside for their private dining chamber, not that there was anyone occupying the bar parlor, where meals were usually served, in this weather.
When Godric tried to draw the man into conversation about his son’s projected jaunt to fetch the constable, he’d blushed and hemmed and hawed in a way that made Godric suspect it would not be a healthy practice for a local business owner to set the law on Flynn’s gang. Godric could hardly blame the man. Who’d want to go head-to-head with a band of violent thieves living right on one’s doorstep?
Although he would much rather get Eva out of this backwater without calling in a magistrate, he worried about whether Flynn or his men would honor their agreement.
“Well,” Andrew said with a somnolent, satisfied smile as he finished the last of his custard and sat back, his slender hands resting placidly on his belly, “that was delightful. I feel positively—”
“Stuffed like a Christmas goose?” Eva interjected. “You ate enough to feed three ostlers.”
Andrew frowned and opened his mouth.
“I agree, Andrew,” Godric said. “That was delightful. And this warm room is making me positively sluggish.” He began to rise.
“You needn’t stay and entertain me,” Eva said, her expression telling him a different story. God
ric would have felt flattered but was smart enough to realize it wasn’t his company she wanted so much as not being left in Andrew’s.
So he lowered himself back into his seat. “It’s a bit too early for bed.”
“We’ve got cards.” She sat up in her chair, her expression eager.
“There are a few books if you prefer reading.” Andrew gestured to the dozen or so titles held between bookends that appeared to have been made out of cannon shot. “But I’m afraid they’re mostly drivel.” He cut Eva a quick look. “Minerva Press, mainly.”
Eva frowned. “Why did you look at me when you said that?”
“You’re a female, and those are female books.”
Eva’s hackles rose.
“Actually,” Godric cut in, before the fur started flying, “I’ve enjoyed quite a few of the Minerva titles.”
Really, their expressions were priceless.
“You have?” Andrew asked, as though Godric had admitted to a penchant for going on the strut in Hyde Park wearing only a fur muff and bergère hat.
“He’s lying.” Eva’s voice was flat and her expression was one of profound disgust, like a cat that had inadvertently gotten its feet wet.
Godric clutched at his heart. “I’m stung.”
She crossed her arms, her standard battle stance. “All right then, name one of your favorite titles.”
“Ah, you like them, too, do you?’
She flushed. “No, they’re appalling, but Melissa consumes them like candies and they’re positively littering the house.”
“Hmm,” he said, as though he had to think about the matter when, in reality, he did not. He didn’t tell her that Minerva Press books had been the only ones available while he convalesced. Most were brought over by officers’ wives and then donated to the hospital. Rather than slowly go insane from his own morbid thoughts, Godric had read them, dozens of them. “I suppose I like The Castle of Wolfenbach or Count Roderic’s Castle best.”
For the first time in his life Godric wished he had the gift of sketching. “Your expression is priceless, Eva.”
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