Outrageous

She paced the two rooms, telling herself to be calm. Nothing was ever gained by becoming angry with a man. No, they were allowed to be angry but women were merely supposed to smile, bow their heads, and meekly obey.

Well, if Visel was expecting her to be that kind of wife, he was in for an unpleasant surprise. Lots of unpleasant surprises.

What had he said? That she would not be required to do her wifely duty? So, he found her so revolting, he did not even wish to bed her. She squeezed her hands together so hard the bones ground against each other. Good. She was glad he didn’t wish to touch her. The only way she wanted to touch him was with a shovel.

The door opened and she swung around: it was the earl. He swept her from head to toe to head, his eyes even paler in the bright light of day, his hard mouth pulled down at the corners.

“Why are you not dressed?”

“Somebody has taken my clothing.”

His eyes flickered to the garments the maid had laid across her bed. “What are those?”

“That is an excellent question,” she shot back.

His mouth tightened. “That is a dress and undergarments I had brought over for you at great inconvenience.”

“I want my clothing—what I was wearing yesterday.”

He took a step into the room and closed the door before leaning back against it and crossing his arms. “I believe it is time we came to some agreement.”

Eva crossed her own arms and returned his cool, haughty look. At least as well as she could when she was dressed in a borrowed dressing gown while he was clean and pressed and kitted out in clothing that fit his big body as snugly as a glove. His hat and overcoat looked new but his other toggery was so well-tailored that she assumed this must have been what he was wearing beneath his ridiculous corsair robes.

“I do not wish to engage in arguments every day. Or even every other day. What can I do to accustom you to the idea that we will shortly be man and wife?”

Eva thumbed her chin and gazed upward in a gesture of exaggerated contemplation. “Let’s see . . . that would be, um . . . Let. Me. Go.” She dropped her clenched fists to her sides and strode toward him, brimming with fury. “Why can’t you leave me here? I can send a message to my father to come fetch me. I daresay James is already halfway back to London. My parents are not leaving for another few days—it will not take them long to come up here and—”

“No.”

She couldn’t help the frustrated noise that slipped from her. “Why are you doing this? I don’t care if my reputation is ruined. I don’t. You must have guessed I never intended to marry, so this makes no odds to me. You can go your happy way and never have to see me again.”

Impossibly, his expression hardened even more and his arms dropped to his sides. He took a step toward her. When she would have stepped backward, his hands shot out and closed on her upper arms like vises.

“I am going to say this again and it will be the last time I repeat myself. You will become my wife. I do not care if you have no regard for your own reputation or name; I have plenty for my own and for the few family members that remain to me. I do not care to live out my life known as a man low enough to destroy a woman’s reputation and make no amends. If you are harboring the bizarre belief that anyone in Britain would believe you abducted me, you are—” He hesitated, his eyes narrowing slightly as he realized what he was about to say. “Nobody would give any credence to such a story. Even if they did, that still does not change the fact you have been alone with me for two nights. And really, that is the crux of it all: you have been compromised. You have just seen your brother’s response to compromising Miss Drusilla Clare—do you expect anything less from me?” She opened her mouth and he lifted one hand, his index finger raised in a cautionary gesture. “Do not say anything you will regret, my lady.”

Eva ground her teeth, keeping her jaws clenched.

“If you cannot voluntarily bring yourself to get dressed and get into the carriage, then I will carry you into it, dressed as you are. If you cannot bring yourself to speak your vows in front of a member of the clergy, I will find one who is not so fussy about the, er, finer points of the ceremony.”

She gasped. “You would marry me against my will?”

“I thought I’d made that patently clear. Yes. Yes, I would. Because I know you will end up marrying me in any event. If I were to let you go home, as you have requested, the Marquess of Exley would hunt me down like the vermin I would be if I released a young, unmarried gentlewoman to the vagaries of the road. And when he caught me—after he administered sufficient chastisement—he would make us wed. If I refused him, he would put a period to my existence, and there isn’t a magistrate in the land who wouldn’t applaud such an action. So, yes,” he said in a low, menacing voice. “I will force you to do the sensible thing now and save us both a great deal of bother later.”

Eva could feel the mood come over her; it had been toeing the edges of her consciousness like a willful goat testing its tether. Her temper was what her father and everyone else thought of as a sign of madness. Well, everyone but one person: her stepmother.

“You have a dreadful temper, Eva. That is all that ails you.” Her beautiful, loving stepmother had taken her aside years ago—after one of the confrontations with her father that had left everyone in the house miserable and tiptoeing on eggshells.

“How do you know?” Eva demanded. “How do you know it is not m-madness?”

It had been difficult to say the word, but not to accept the truth. Her father had told them about their mother when Eva was not yet fifteen. She did not know why he’d waited so long, but she suspected it was because he’d not wanted to face the truth himself. No, only his new wife, Mia, had been brave enough.

“I have a terrible, terrible temper,” Mia confessed that day. “My head becomes hot and my hands shake. My mind is like a trapped animal running around and around inside my head, looking for an exit.”

Eva had been stunned. “Yes! Yes, that is exactly how it is with me. But—”

“You are not mad, my beautiful daughter. You are only angry—and you are not good at managing your anger.” She had shrugged her delicate shoulders, as if such a thing—a thing that had plagued Eva all her life—was a mere inconvenience, a bagatelle. “You will need to learn to manage it. And I am proof it can be done.” Her mouth had curved into an ironic smile. “Not always, perhaps, but often enough. When you feel these things happening to you, it is time to breathe deeply and clear your mind. It is not time to argue or discuss—you will not be able to do so rationally.” Her pretty face had become hard. “Raising your voice, becoming hysterical? These are things that make men feel they can ignore us—that we are merely emotional females. I am not saying you must not be emotional, I am saying you should save your emotions for a time when you can examine them in private. Never let anger rule your behavior—or your anger will rule you.”

Eva clutched at the memory of those words now, her eyes held by Visel’s. A vein in his temple pulsed and she realized he, too, was struggling to manage his anger. Why? Because everything he said was true. She would have to marry him—whether he insisted on it or not. It was not just about her; it was about her family. What would happen if the truth about what she’d done got out? Rumors of such behavior would not only hurt her, they would hurt the rest of her family—especially Melissa. Sweet, gentle, and quiet, her seventeen-year-old sister would have even less chance of marrying than she did now. No, Eva had to marry him.

And then there is the fact that you want him. The thought rang in her mind with the sharp decisiveness of a judge’s gavel, and she wondered if she’d said the words out loud. But he was still looking at her with haughty inscrutability.

A wave of exhaustion hit her, leaving her feeling shaky and worn down. “I will get dressed, my lord.”

His eyebrows lowered and she realized her capitulation had put him off balance; Eva tucked that tactic away for future use. “You are not planning an escape?”

“No, I’m not,” she said, realizing only as she spoke the words, they were the truth. She gave him a look as haughty as his own. “You can take my word of honor.”

His jaw worked from side to side as he raked her with a pitiless blue stare. Finally, he nodded. “I shall send a maid up and will wait for you in the parlor.”

Eva watched him leave before slumping into the chair.

Did she want him—was that true? She had to admit she was . . . fascinated by him. But it was more anger and hatred she felt toward him, for his persecution of her brother. If she did want him, it was only to punish him and certainly not to marry him. But if that was all she wanted from him, then why had she felt so hurt when he’d said he would not exercise his husbandly prerogative once they married? Why was it painful to acknowledge he had no interest in bedding her? Was that what she’d wanted, to be bedded by him?

You know it is.

Eva groaned. But there was no point in denying her body’s reaction to him: her skin became hot when he looked at her and her innards churned in a not entirely unpleasant fashion when he gave her that heavy-eyed look. That was probably the effect he had on most women—after all, he was very handsome, virile, and he’d been praised often for his bravery. It wouldn’t be abnormal to find such a man attractive. To want such a man.

Was that why she’d kidnapped him? Had she really done all this for herself? Had she lied to herself that she was doing it for Gabe and Dru? If she had, she had condemned herself to a certain kind of hell: she wanted him, or at least her body did, and he had made it clear he had no interest in touching her.

There was a soft knock on the door.

“Enter,” she said. The door opened and the maid came into the room.

Eva sighed, stood, and prepared to face the coming day.

* * *

They didn’t have the same postilions as before. In fact, Godric had paid both boys an obscene amount of money and asked the innkeeper to separate them and send them to opposite ends of the country. They would talk eventually, but Godric and Eva’s elopement would be old news by the time any word of what had happened made its way to London.

He studied his betrothed, who sat across from him swathed in a plain gray cloak, with a pretty periwinkle-blue bonnet on the seat beside her. Her dress, he knew—even though he could not see it—was the same shade of blue. Godric knew that because he’d been the one to choose her clothing from the small dress shop. He’d chosen three gowns based on the recommendations of the seamstress. They all had loose bodices that could be adjusted with a drawstring below the bosom to fit almost any shape. All they’d required was hemming as his wife-to-be was exceptionally small in stature.

Godric studied her as she stared out the window, her profile perfect, sharp, and wintry. Good God, but she was a beauty. She had the sort of coloring he loved—dark, inky hair and navy-blue eyes with pale, pale skin. His own golden fairness was a disappointment when he looked in the mirror. There was something vapid about looking as though one should be sitting on a cloud plucking a harp—a comparison he’d heard times beyond counting from the women he’d bedded.

Lady Eva de Courtney looked like a character from some Greek fable. An untamable nymph or headstrong goddess.

Or a mad daughter of the moon.

“Why are you staring at me?” she demanded.

Godric smiled at her waspish tone. “You are soon to be my wife. It is my right to look at you. Don’t you wish to look at me?”

“No.” But her face flushed wildly, giving the lie to her words.

Godric chuckled, genuinely amused by her lack of guile; she might be nineteen but she behaved as though she were much younger. And she made him feel ancient. He supposed he was ancient by her standards: almost seventeen years older. Lord. He’d already been in the army for years by the time he was her age.

He eyed the young woman across from him. No doubt her father had spoiled her—such a clever, lively, beautiful daughter would be the apple of any father’s eye—and parental indulgence certainly went a long way to explaining her unorthodox, willful behavior. Godric had met the marquess and his wife at several functions this Season. They did not like him. Well, that was an understatement—they actively disliked him. Godric could not blame them. He’d conducted himself badly this past Season, his behavior culminating in a challenge to the marchioness’s eldest son, Gabriel Marlington. The only reason the duel had not occurred was because Godric had apologized to the younger man—very publicly.

His face heated at the memory of that apology. As mortifying as it had felt at the time, it had been the right and honorable thing to do. Not for himself, but for his grandfather. The duke was old—ancient, in fact. At eighty-six he had not many more years left, a piece of information he had wielded with all the subtlety of a cudgel to pressure Godric to do his bidding.

“Give up this foolish duel, Godric. You know you are in the wrong. If you should die—or kill him—who will take the burden from my shoulders? It will not only be me you have forsaken; it will be the hundreds who rely on the Duke of Tyndale.”

Godric hadn’t been lying when he’d told Lady Eva that an heir of his body was not necessary to the continuation of the dukedom. He did have several male heirs, but the next one in line—his cousin Charles—was far too young to take over the dukedom.

So Godric had apologized. In White’s. In front of everyone who was anyone in ton circles.

“I shall make a terrible duchess.”

He glanced up. “Hmm?”

“I said, I shall make a terrible duchess.”

He suspected she was correct, but even he was not so impolitic to say such a thing. “How do you know that?”

The question gave her pause, but she was quick to recover. “You’ve seen me this Season—you know what I mean.”

Godric could have told her he’d paid very little attention to her this Season, and it would have been the truth. It also would have insulted her. He was not yet, he hoped, reduced to being cruel to infants.

“You needn’t worry about entertaining,” he told her. “I plan on doing very little of it.”

“I don’t like living in the city.”

He shrugged. “You may live where you please.”

She brightened. “Truly?”

“Within reason.” He studied her stunning face, suddenly curious. “Why? Where do you wish to live?”

“I wish to live in the country.” She bit her cushiony lip. “On a stud farm.”

A surprised laugh broke out of him and she glowered. “Why is that funny?”

“It is just . . . unexpected. So, you like horses, do you?”

“Better than most people.” The look she gave him told Godric which category he occupied.

“A stud farm, eh? Fancy yourself an equine specialist?”

She snorted.

“What type of horses would you raise?” he asked.

“Racehorses,” she said, her tone clearly implying there was no other kind.

“If you want to breed racehorses, you must know a bit about them—not to mention a great deal about racing.”

“I’m a bruising rider and could have been a jockey if I’d been born a man.” She hesitated and then added, “And I’ve been to more than a few races.”

Godric heard the bitterness in her tone and knew the subject was not one he should tease her about, so he remained silent.

She gave him a cool, heavy-lidded look of scorn. “I could ride you into the dirt.”

Her taunt surprised a laugh out of him. “Is that so?”

“It is.”

“I don’t suppose it has occurred to you I was a cavalry officer for over a decade and a half.”

She shrugged. “It doesn’t matter.”

His eyebrows shot up.

“I don’t care if you were a cavalry officer for a hundred years—I would still best you in the saddle.”

“The only way a chit like you could best me is if I had been in the cavalry for a hundred and thirty-six years.” Only after he issued the asinine taunt did he realize how childish it sounded. She didn’t appear to notice, her attention snagged by a different fact.

“You’re thirty-six?”

Godric bristled at her tone. “What of it?” he asked, not caring that he sounded testy.

She merely shook her head and turned to look out the window, her quiet acquiescence taking the wind from his sails more quickly than a taunt would have done.

* * *

“Why do we have to stop for the night?” Eva asked.

Visel smirked at her—yes, he smirked. “In a hurry to get up to Scotland and jump over the broomstick, my love?”

She gave him a scathing look. “The sooner we can get married, the sooner we can go our separate ways,” she reminded him.

He cocked one eyebrow, a condescending action that made her want to slap him. “What’s that?”

“You said I could live wherever I wanted,” she reminded him.

“I never said that.”

Her jaw dropped. “You did.”

“Didn’t.”

“It was only about six hours ago. I know you’re old, but are you so senile you could forget such a thing already?” Eva knew her voice had risen and she was sweaty all over, even though it was a bit chilly. She told herself to stay calm, but she already knew she wasn’t in the mood to listen. To anyone—not even herself.

He gave her a patient, knowing smile that made her head throb. “We are stopping tonight because there is very little moon and I see no need to take any chances racketing straight through.” He examined the nails on his hand, turning it this way and that. Eva noticed, not for the first time, he had attractive hands. Not soft and white and almost feminine like so many men of their class, but broad across the palm and tanned on top. Gold hair glinted on the back and the veins were ropy and blue beneath the thin skin. They were quite the nicest—

Eva blinked at the thought and at the physical sensations just looking at his hand evoked. This was bad. Very bad. She looked up to find him watching her, his head cocked, his expression inquiring. She dragged her attention back to the point she’d been pursuing. What was it again? Oh, yes, living arrangements.

“I want to talk about what you said earlier. I want—”

The carriage shuddered to a sudden halt, the wheels sliding sideways so that they both grabbed for a strap. The earl leaned forward to look out the window. It had rained constantly since this morning and had begun bucketing down after they’d left the last inn around two o’clock. It looked like dusk rather than only six o’clock.

“What is it?” she asked, even though she was looking out the same window he was.

“I don’t know,” he muttered before turning to her, his expression changing from thoughtful to stern. “I’m going to see what is going on. You. Stay. Here.”

Eva bristled. “How dare you talk to me as if I were a dog?”

“Do I need to tie you up?”

She gasped.

He pointed an index finger at her. “Stay put.”

Before she could tell him what he could do with both his order and his finger, he opened the door and hopped out, shutting the door and disappearing from view.

“You pillock,” she said to the empty carriage and then pressed her face to the cool glass. She couldn’t see anything but rain and dreary clouds and trees that seemed to press in upon the road.

She was about to open the window and poke her head out when the door on the other side opened. She spun around. “I wasn’t doing anything,” she blurted.

He climbed in without bothering to lower the steps. Eva wished she could do that—it was dreadful to be as runty as she.

“What is it?” she asked as he shook the rain from his hat and the carriage started to move.

He gave her a grim look. “A tree has fallen across the road and we must go back.”

Hope surged in her breast. She tried not to let her excitement show, but he noticed it anyway.

“Not all the way to London, darling. Only as far as the last turnoff. We shall go to a town just off the main road. There are two inns; one of them should suffice for the night.” His eyes narrowed as he wiped the excess water from his face with a snowy square of linen. “Don’t get any ideas.”

“What ideas might those be? Shooting you? I no longer have a gun. Running away from you? Ha! Where would I run with no money? In this.” She plucked at the dreadful dress he’d purchased—a namby-pamby girly thing in a putrid shade of blue. “Not to mention up here at the back of beyond in the dark and rain?”

“Yes, to all of those ideas and also the ones you didn’t mention.”

“I told you I wouldn’t run—I resent what you are implying.”

He snorted. “Please. Quit behaving as if your mind has never been violated by such thoughts. I know you wouldn’t give a toss about any of that if you believed you could get away from me.”

“You sound familiar with the concept of women wanting to get away from you.”

His mouth pulled into a smile that was not nice but sent odd curls of heat spiraling through her chest and into her belly. He leaned forward, resting his forearms on his powerful, leather-clad thighs. “Darling, you may imagine what you like about me and women in that fertile imagination of yours. But if you make a fool of me—or try—you’ll become familiar with the concept of my hand on your bottom.”

Eva recoiled. “This is the second time you’ve threatened me with physical violence. I am not a child to be spanked.”

“Then quit behaving like one. We both know what we must do—marry each other—and you are only making our lives more miserable than need be with your incessant backbiting and complaining. If you are looking for somebody to blame, I’m sure there will be a mirror in your room at the inn.”

His tone and words stung, all the more because she knew he was probably right. “Who do you think you are?” she retorted, for lack of anything better to say.

He gave a bitter laugh. “I’m the man you’re going to spend the rest of your life with, sweetheart.”

* * *

She fell into a moody silence and Godric had hopes that would be the end of any discussion until he could park her in a room, order dinner sent to her, and drink himself blind in the taproom.

Alas, it was not to be.

“I hate you.” If looks could kill, Godric would be a rapidly cooling corpse on the carriage floor.

“So you’ve said,” he answered in the most bored tone he could contrive.

“Where are my other clothes? I hate this dress.”

“There are two others in the valise I purchased for you.”

“I hate those, too.”

“You haven’t even seen them.”

“That doesn’t matter—you have putrid taste.”

“You shall have to suffer with my taste until we can get you to a dressmaker and you can choose your own.”

“Did you throw my other clothes away? Because they are mine; I paid for them.”

He sighed and turned back to her. “Eva—”

“I never gave you leave to use my Christian name.”

“Eva,” he repeated, his jaw tight, “your other clothes are in my bag and—”

Her magnificent eyes widened in horror. “What are you doing with them?”

Godric briefly wondered what she imagined he was doing with them to give her such a look of revulsion. “I’m keeping them from your hands. You may wear that getup once we are safely on my estate and there is nobody else to shock.”

“What do you care about whom I shock and how I do it? All you’ve done since returning to England is shock people. Over and over again.”

She certainly had a point. How could Godric tell her he regretted his behavior these past months without sounding like a lunatic as well as an ass? The answer to that was easy: he couldn’t.

“Stop arguing. None of this will change my mind.”

“I want my clothes back and—”

“So you can get dressed in them and bugger off at the first opportunity?”

Her eyes widened at his vulgar language, reminding him, once again, that she was just a girl. He took a deep breath, counted to ten, and asked coolly, “Does your father allow you to dress in men’s clothing?”

“Yes.”

He thought for a moment, and then added, “In public?”

She blinked her huge violet eyes, her smooth forehead wrinkling. She opened her mouth, but then closed it.

“I thought not,” Godric said.

“I never said anything.”

“Yes, you did—just not with your mouth.”

She sat in silence, her jaw working from side to side. Godric was almost curious about what she would come up with next. He really did plan to give back her suit of men’s clothing when they were at Cross Hall. He had to admit he’d thought more than once of how fetching she would look wearing those top boots and nothing else while she rode the hell out of him.

“Why do you have that stupid smile on your face?”

He glanced up from his lascivious thoughts. “Do I?”

“I hate you.”

He opened his mouth to taunt her further but saw she was looking tired, unhappy, angry, and even a little scared. And also very, very young. Godric experienced a pang of shame for teasing her; she was a young woman barely out of the schoolroom and he was a man in his thirties. It was time he behaved like one.

He sat forward and took her hand—she jumped and tried to pull away but he held her fingers firmly in his grasp. “I shouldn’t have threatened to spank you. I would never lay a hand on you and I do not hold with beatings of any kind—not for anyone, child or adult.” Godric had loathed watching soldiers being whipped in the army and had never utilized that form of punishment for his own men. Physical violence was repugnant to him, as it should be to any decent man.

Her hand had gone limp in his and she swallowed audibly before giving a jerky nod.

“I think you understand this marriage is a foregone conclusion.”

Again he paused and again she nodded.

“The only decision we have to make now is how we shall go on with each other. When I said earlier that you may live where you choose, I meant we would spend the bulk of our time in the country. You will live with me at Cross Hall until such time as I come into the dukedom. At that point you will move to Tyndale Park and we shall spend as much time as we are able in the country. But my grandfather will not live forever, my lady. And when I assume the dukedom, I will have to shoulder the responsibilities that go with it. Your father is an important man in government and you must know a duke cannot secret himself in the country. I will have to go to London at least for the sessions. I don’t plan to entertain in town and shan’t need you with me.” He paused. “As for now, I do not have a large stable at Cross Hall because I have not been back long enough to acquire bloodstock. But when I do, I would be pleased to consult with you about my cattle if that is an area of interest. I have a great-aunt on my mother’s side—Lady Lavinia Price—who is rather well-known for her skill with horses, and even bred them some years ago. You might enjoy meeting her. She is an old lady now and not as active as she once was, but she still maintains an impressive stable.” He gave her hand a gentle squeeze. “What say you—will we be able to get along without fighting every day?”

She frowned, her eyes wary and the set of her jaw pugnacious. “If I say I’ll go along with you—and promise not to give you the bag—will you leave my brother alone?”

At the mention of her brother his hand tightened and she winced.

He immediately released her. “Did I hurt you?”

She shook her head, but her eyes were dark with suspicion.

“You will be my wife; your family will be my family.” It was all Godric could do to force the next words out. “I will not threaten or harm your brother. You have my word.”

Her shoulders sagged. “Very well. I shall try not to argue.” She cut him a sideways look he would have suspected of being flirtation from any other woman. “Although my father says I argue more than—er, well, probably most—other people.”

Godric could well believe it.