She gasped. “Oh my God. The ships, were they—”
“Yes, both corsair ship captains swore allegiance to Sultan Assad Hassan.” Godric swallowed the hatred and bile he felt as he proceeded to lay out the faulty logic behind his idiocy. “I had plans to go after the sultan and his cronies, but of course the British Navy took care of that for me when they took Oran.”
“So you came after the only member of the sultan’s family you could find, seeking vengeance.”
“Yes. That is what I did,” he admitted.
“But you know that Assad was the man my brother Gabriel was fighting? He and Assad were sworn enemies.”
“Yes.” How could Godric explain that it hadn’t mattered—that the truth hadn’t mattered? That he’d burned from the inside out for a target—any target—for his pain and hatred.
“I understand—I do,” she repeated, as if he’d said something. “That doesn’t mean I think what you did was right, but I have to admit I could see myself doing the same thing in your situation. Will you tell me who was on the ship?”
He drew in a shaky breath. “My parents, my two brothers, their wives, my nephews—twelve and fourteen—and my sister, who was nineteen.”
Eva awkwardly turned herself in his arms, until they were chest to chest. He was grateful she could not see the grief that gutted him. “I’m so terribly sorry, Godric.” She pressed her face against his, the wetness on her cheeks mingling with his. “So terribly sorry.”
He pulled her tight and held her, and for the first time in over a year, he did not mourn his loss alone.
* * *
Eva had no idea what woke her. The room was dark and silent and, for a brief moment, her mind worked to sort out the singular sensation of having another body—naked—pressed against hers.
“Did you have a good sleep?”
Godric’s deep, low voice rumbled through her body.
“How long have I slept?”
“Not long, perhaps an hour.”
“And you?”
“I’m afraid not.” She heard the tired smile in his voice.
“This insomnia you have, is there nothing you can do for it?”
His arm tightened and he said, “Sometimes exertion helps. When I am at home, I will hit the heavy sandbag I keep for that purpose. Or go riding at first light. Or any number of things that might help exhaust me.”
Eva’s body thrummed at the suggestion hovering just between his words. She swallowed to force down the lump that was obstructing her throat. “And is there not something we could do now?”
“There is.”
Eva heard his grin. “Your body must ache,” she said.
“I ache in more ways than one—and in some places more than others.”
Eva laughed softly. “You think you are being sly and clever and charming, don’t you?”
“Am I charming you?” he asked, nuzzling her temple and making all the hairs on her body jump to attention.
“Not yet.”
It was his turn to laugh. “So, tell me of this much-vaunted experience you crowed about.”
Eva groaned. “Can’t we speak of something else?”
“Indulge me.”
She heaved an exaggerated, put-upon sigh. “Well, you know that at least one of the claims I made was untrue.”
“Yes,” he mused, the hand that was resting on her hip absently stroking, his thumb repeatedly brushing the thin skin that stretched over her jutting hip bone. “But it cannot all be boasting as you seem remarkably unshocked by certain events.”
“Oh, that.”
“Yes, that.” His thumb moved from her hip bone to her sensitive belly, which quivered beneath his touch.
“Er, well.” Eva had to force herself to recall what they’d been discussing. Ah, yes, her lack of shock. “What do you know of my stepmamma?”
“Ah, the mysterious and beautiful Lady Exley. The rumors abound, but I know some of them must be true as there is six feet of evidence in the form of her oldest son.”
“She was with the sultan for seventeen years—longer than she’d lived in England. Her approach to, well, just about everything is tempered by that time. It is her contention that women should know what to expect in the marriage bed.” She chewed her lip and then added, “She also believes they should demand pleasure from their husbands as well as give it.”
The silence around them seemed to echo with her disclosure, and his hand had gone still. Eva was beginning to wonder if she’d shocked or disgusted him when he said, “Ah, so she is wise as well as beautiful.” He kissed her on the forehead. “I shall have to find some way to thank her.”
Eva wasn’t entirely surprised by his response, but she did find it unexpected. “You don’t find me overbold and unladylike?”
He chuckled. “I do. But it appears that I like it.”
Her body warmed under his words.
“Your w-wife was not like me?”
He grew still and she wished she could pull the thoughtless words back.
She heard him swallow in the darkness, and then he said, “No. L-Lucia had been raised in a convent.”
Eva bit her lips between her teeth to stop pursuing a subject that was likely to bring both of them pain. But it was like poking at a heeling scab; it hurt, but was difficult to resist.
“Was she Italian?”
“Portuguese.”
“How did you come to meet her?”
Again the pause was so long, she’d given up on hearing his answer when he said, “She was the daughter of a Portuguese officer. I saw her first at a dinner her father gave to honor us for liberating the area from French soldiers.” His voice had taken on a pensive, dreamy quality. “She was the only woman at dinner, which made it difficult not to notice her. But there was more than that—”
He broke off and Eva stewed as long as she could bear it. “Was she very lovely?”
“Hmm? Oh—” He sounded as if she’d dragged him back from some more pleasant time, and Eva could only wonder at her stupidity. Why was she making him speak of a woman he’d obviously cared for? She’d gone beyond picking the scab; she’d ripped it off and was now rubbing salt in the wound.
“Beautiful? No, she would likely be considered average—perhaps handsome—but there was a serenity, a gentleness, in her eyes that was like a balm in the midst of such unrelenting violence.”
“Did you marry right away?”
“Hmm? Marry? I did not see her again for a year. Her father had been killed and she’d been taken in by relatives. It was only by chance that we met again. But I knew then—” He stopped and seemed to shake himself. “We were married for five years before she died.” His tone had gone from introspective to closed—he was done with confidences. But the little bit that he’d shared had made one point achingly clear: he had dearly loved his wife, and it appeared he still did.
* * *
Godric couldn’t believe he’d just behaved like such an arse—speaking of one woman while sporting an erection for another. He was hot with shame at his boorish behavior and slid his fingers through her wiry curls—curls so different from Lucia’s waist-length silky locks, but just as lovely. “It was a long time ago, Eva. I know you are curious, but it is part of a life I left behind,” he lied, knowing all too well that Lucia haunted his dreams so frequently he was afraid to close his eyes some nights. “I don’t want to keep that part of my life secret, but neither do I wish to dwell on it.”
Liar, you’d rather dwell on it in secret, like a miser hoarding his gold.
Godric gritted his teeth against the infuriating thought and turned his attention on the living, breathing, enticing woman in front of him, rather than the increasingly dim shade in his memory.
He rolled onto his back, bringing her with him. “It is you I would like to dwell on,” he whispered into the darkness. “Straddle me,” he ordered, his need for her suddenly intense. Her instant compliance was gratifying and arousing and Godric slid his fingers between her spread thighs, b
oth of them gasping as he stroked a finger through her wet heat. “God, I love the feel of you,” he muttered, his thumb circling her stiff peak while he slid his middle finger into her passage.
She made a low whimper and her body arched to take him deeper.
“Are you sore? Too sore for this?” He pumped her gently to illustrate.
“A little,” she admitted in a voice strained with want. “But not enough to make me want you to stop.”
He chuckled at her open admission of need; he really did owe Lady Exley his gratitude. Because of her wisdom, the woman in bed with him was demanding and giving, rather than cringing away from his touches.
You never touched Lucia this way.
He flinched away from the words, his mind shying away from the treasonous thought as well as the image of his modest, shy wife that accompanied it.
Above him, Eva grunted and ground herself against him, so he increased the power of his thrusts and slid a second finger to join the first. Her hips were beginning to move, to take him deeper.
“That’s right,” he urged roughly, “ride my hand—take what you want from me, Eva. Use me for your pleasure.”
His words were like the flick of a crop to a horse’s flank and she began posting him in earnest. He pumped her with one hand, his other roaming up and down a thigh that could only have become so muscular from years of riding astride. The long, lean muscle flexed and lengthened as her lithe body hit its rhythm.
Around them the windows rattled from the gusts buffeting the house, and the rumble of thunder presaged a crack of lightning that burned the image of her into his brain: head thrown back, small hands covering her high, pert breasts, lips parted in silent ecstasy as she quickened her erotic gyrations.
She was as wild and fierce as the storm that held them all in its grip.
Godric growled and used his free hand to work her to climax, desperately wishing it was his cock, rather than his fingers, that were buried inside her when she came apart.
All too soon her body went limp and she lowered her hips to where Godric held himself at the ready. He met her on the down stroke, thrusting deeply into her heat and holding her hips still as the echoes of her orgasm massaged his swollen cock. And when her pleasure had passed, he could still feel the pulse of her heart as she throbbed around him.
He slid from her with aching reluctance, the action causing every particle of his being to cry out. But the temporary punishment was worth it when she dropped her hands to his shoulders and slammed her hips to meet him on the upward thrust.
“Like that?” she gasped.
Godric gave a half-mad joyous laugh as she rode him as if she’d been doing it all her life. “Yes, Eva,” he babbled drunkenly. “Just like that.” He buried his fingers deep in the soft flesh of her hips as he pounded her with a savagery that would surely leave bruises, and Eva met him thrust for glorious thrust.
Godric recalled himself in the nick of time and withdrew from her body. It took only one stroke before his cock spasmed with violent, almost painful, contractions that wrung him out until he was as limp as a rag.
“Are you trying to kill me?” he asked with a last shudder of orgiastic pleasure.
She twisted and flopped down beside him, her breathing as ragged as his. “I can think of worse ways to die.”
Godric laughed, unable to recall the last time he’d been so content. Or so happy.
* * *
Godric awoke to a sight he didn’t immediately recognize: sunshine.
“Good morning, slugabed.”
He looked over at the sound of Eva’s voice. She was sitting by one of the room’s two windows, reading.
“I hope you’re not reading my book, since you were casting such aspersions,” he said with a huge yawn, wincing at the pain in his split lip and swollen eye.
She snorted and put the book aside before coming to the side of the bed. “I believe you may have gotten some sleep.” She looked at his face and winced. “Lord, you look ten times worse than you did yesterday. Your face is so colorful we could hang it up as holiday bunting.”
He regarded her through slitted eyes. “You do know how to wake a man, darling. If my aged, decrepit memory serves, my hideous looks didn’t deter you last night.” Godric allowed his lips to curve at the memory of some of his more sleepless moments from the night before. Her cheeks darkened and he laughed.
“You are a wicked old man,” she accused, making him laugh harder.
Godric pushed himself up with a low groan and bunched two pillows behind himself. When he was sitting upright he saw that her eyes were fastened on his groin.
“The cock is crowing,” Godric said mildly, smoothing the covers over his hips and then making his rod dance for her.
She gasped, her face so red he feared for her health.
There was a knock on the door but before either of them could say anything, it opened. Godric yanked up the blankets.
“Ah, you are awake.” Mrs. Crosby smiled at them, either unaware or uncaring of the look of death Eva was shooting her. “I thought I’d bring this up before I left.” She lifted the breakfast tray.
“Left?” Godric asked rather stupidly as she placed the tray over the ridged blanket that covered his hips, her lips curved in that same, tiny smile.
“Yes, I’m going to take the wagon and see if I can make it into town. We are running desperately short on supplies.” She gave the tray of food a significant look.
“But I thought the bridges were washed away?”
“They are, but the rain stopped sometime around three o’clock this morning, so I will try a cart track that leads to the bridge farther down.”
Godric recalled the road she meant from the map last night. Indeed it had occurred to him to ask Norton when next he’d seen him why nobody had used the road. But then he’d not seen the man again. He turned to Eva. “Hungry?”
She shook her head, her eyes still riveted on the other woman. “I ate some time ago.”
Godric took a sip of the strong dark coffee. “I’d meant to try that track today,” he confessed. “Although I’d thought to do so on foot. I’ll be glad to make the journey for you,” he told Mrs. Crosby.
“Ah, that’s very kind. But the truth is I’m looking forward to a chance to get out.”
He could certainly understand that, as he was beginning to feel a bit stir-crazy himself. “Where is Norton?”
“He took the hack and set out for the magistrate at first light.”
“Oh?” Godric paused in the act of cutting into a thick slab of honeyed ham. “What happened to his son going?”
“Anthony came down with a chill and I recommended he stay in bed.” The look she gave him said at least some of her patients listened to her orders.
“I should like to go with you,” Eva said.
Mrs. Crosby turned to her and blinked, as if only now noticing she was in the room. “Oh? But it is just an old wagon—not much room and the seat is a board.”
Eva snorted. “I think I can manage.” She plucked at her gown, an expression of discontent on her face. “I should like my own clothing.”
Mrs. Crosby’s eyebrows shot up. “To go into town?”
Eva began to puff up, digging in for a battle.
Godric hastily swallowed his ham and said, “I agree with my wife. It would be better, I think, Mrs. Crosby. A dress is a hindrance in such weather if something should happen to the cart.”
She gave him a long look and then shrugged. “Very well. Your clothing is clean. I will bring it up when I come to collect the tray.”
“And I shall go, too,” Godric said.
Something very much like alarm flickered across her lovely features. “Oh, but there is no room for three.”
“Well then, maybe you could stay behind,” Eva suggested sweetly.
“I shall throw some hay in the back and ride like a reclining king,” Godric said before the cook could reply.
Mrs. Crosby shrugged her shoulders. “Suit yourself.”
She abruptly reached out and snatched up his half-full cup of coffee. “This is dreadfully cold, I shall fetch another.”
Before Godric could demur, she was out the door.
Eva heaved a sigh. “Well, that will be an enjoyable journey.”
“You could always stay here and read,” he suggested with a smirk, slathering a chunk of bread with something that looked like plum and orange marmalade.
“Very droll.” She pushed off the side of the bed. “I don’t want her coming up here again. I’m going to fetch my clothing from her.”
“Don’t forget my coffee,” he called after her retreating back. “I’m going to need all the fortification I can get, trapped in a wagon with you two,” he muttered under his breath.
* * *
Eva dressed while Godric finished his breakfast. When she came out from behind the screen, it was to find him smiling beatifically at nothing in particular, his coffee cup clutched in loose fingers.
“Lord, you look as if you could sleep for a month, Godric.”
He chuckled. “I had a rather vigorous evening.”
She shook her head, her face, predictably, heating. “Are you sure you shouldn’t stay and rest? I can handle the beast on my own,” she added.
He gave a rather loud laugh, slurped the last of the coffee and set the cup down with a clatter. “I’ll get dressed.”
Eva wanted to argue with him because he looked like death warmed over, but she wanted him along on the journey.
“I’ll go tell Andrew what we are doing.”
Godric merely blinked owlishly and made a shooing gesture with one hand. “Give me ten minutes.”
Eva wouldn’t be surprised if he was asleep in ten minutes, but said nothing. Instead, she turned to the connecting door and knocked.
“Come in!” Andrew called.
He was crouched over the small table he’d converted into some kind of desk. Spread out across it were parts of—
“Good God, Andrew, are those our guns?” Eva demanded, shutting the door harder than necessary before striding across the small room.
His head whipped up and he frowned. “Yes, I got them as you said—this morning.”
“Why have you torn them apart like that?”
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