Chapter 13
“I thought you said you knew how to play?” a cranky, familiar voice snapped.
“I do know how to play.” The second voice was male and affronted, and it took Godric a second to place it: the boy, Andrew.
“You didn’t say you played like my old nurse.”
“I’m sorry,” Andrew snapped. “I didn’t realize I was sitting down with a Captain Sharp.”
“I didn’t realize I was sitting down with somebody’s old granny.”
“If you’re going to be nasty, I’m going to—”
“Oh hush, don’t get your smalls in a twist.”
A muffled gasp and then, “You’re the most horrid female I’ve ever met.”
“The most horrid?” Even in his groggy state Godric could hear the amusement in her voice. “Well, it’s good to be the best at something, so I’ll take that as a compliment.”
“That’s it. I’m—”
Godric opened his mouth to tell them to shut up, but all that came out was a grunt.
“You’re awake!”
He winced at Eva’s loud shriek, forced his eyes open, and squinted against the light, flinching at the sight of a looming, grinning face.
“Godric!”
“Quit making so much racket—you’re going to—”
“Oh shut it, Andrew.” Small warm hands took his face and he felt the bed move as a body came down next to him. “Godric?”
Godric grimaced. “Shh.”
“See, I told you,” Andrew said.
“Oh, hush, you. Godric? I’m sorry.” Her whisper was almost as loud as her normal voice. “Does your head hurt? Mrs. Crosby said it would be—”
Godric raised a hand—a shaky hand. “Eva.”
Blissful silence filled the room and he opened his eyes again.
This time he could make out her face, which was creased with concern. His head ached so badly that his eyes watered. Her full lips parted in shock.
“Head. Hurts.” Forcing out the words hurt even more.
“Drink this.” Andrew materialized behind Eva. “Mrs. Crosby said your head would hurt.”
Godric frowned and looked at Eva, who made a face. “Laudanum.”
Godric dropped his hand. “No.”
Eva smiled, clearly approving. “Good—you don’t need that. It just dulls your wits. How about food and some tea?”
He gave a slight nod, but even that hurt.
“Go fetch my husband some tea, bread, jam, and some of Mr. Norton’s ham,” she ordered without turning her head.
“First off,” Andrew said, “I’m not your servant. Second, Mrs. Crosby said he should drink that tonic. She also said he was to have broth—gruel at the—”
“Mrs. Crosby is hardly an authority—she’s not a doctor.”
“She knows a sight more about it than—”
“No gruel.”
The boy made a disgruntled sound at Godric’s words and huffed. “Fine.”
Eva smirked while Andrew turned and stomped out, at least not slamming the door.
“Who is Mrs. Crosby?”
Eva scowled. “The cook here. The woman thinks she knows everything—and she’s bossy to boot.”
Pot, meet kettle.
Naturally, Godric did not say that out loud.
“Do you want to sit up?” she asked.
It took a few moments of shifting, and he had to help her as she was far too small to lift him, but finally he was upright. After the initial rush of dizziness and nausea, he felt much better.
“How long have I slept?” he asked as she brought a chair closer to the bed and sat.
“We got here today at just after two and it’s seven o’clock now.”
He grimaced. Five hours lost.
“You hadn’t slept much the prior two nights,” she pointed out. “You needed it.”
Godric lifted a hand to thrust his hair off his forehead, which was when he noticed he was wearing a nightshirt; he never wore nightshirts.
Eva must have seen his look and said, “It’s Mr. Norton’s son’s.”
“Who is Mr. Norton?”
“The innkeeper.”
“Where are we?”
“At the Greedy Vicar Inn.”
Godric’s eyebrow shot up.
She laughed with obvious delight. “I know—what a lovely name for an inn, isn’t it? It’s only an inn, not a proper posting house, so there are just the two rooms available.” She stumbled a bit on this last part, her cheeks flushing a charming pink, before hurrying on. “We’re three miles from the village of Bellsley, but it’s too small to have an inn or a constable or doctor or anything.”
“Never heard of it,” Godric said.
“Nobody has. This is the back of beyond, and we are dead in the middle of it. I didn’t even know England had so many trees.” She cut him a look of earnest disbelief. “Lots of woods about, which I suppose is how Flynn and his band can play Robin Hood so effectively.”
Flynn.
“Tell me what happened . . . after,” Godric said.
“The two postboys got free. Flynn wasn’t lying when he said he didn’t hurt them. One of them went to the nearest farmstead to get help while the other started walking back toward the main road—isn’t that mad?” She cocked her head, her eyebrows arched high. “I mean, walking in this weather?”
Godric thought that was probably the wisest way to travel in such weather. “I daresay he’s eager to report the loss to his employer. He’ll be in a great deal of trouble when they learn a team and carriage were stolen under his watch.”
She frowned. “But it’s not his fault. Surely they should—”
“Could you finish the story before we begin our crusade, Eva?”
“Oh, yes. Of course. But you will help him, won’t you? Both postboys, that is? Joe is still here; he’s seems to have a case of the sniffles and is sleeping above the stable.”
“I’ll help them all I can,” he assured her. “The rest of the story, please.”
“So, er, we came back here and—” She gave him a sheepish smile. “Well, actually, that’s about it. Oh, except that Mr. Norton is holding on to our guns.” She scowled. “Andrew just handed them over.”
Godric thought that was probably a fine thing, given how much the two young people argued. “Has anyone gone for a constable?”
“Mr. Norton said he’d send his son to the nearest town in the morning. It’s just too dreadful out right now and he’s worried the boy would be out well past dark.”
They both turned toward the window. Godric could hear the insistent patter of rain against the panes; the light was weak and gray. “It doesn’t seem any worse than it’s been,” he said.
“It’s no longer bucketing, but it only stopped for about five minutes this evening and hasn’t let up since. I fear we shall all be underwater soon,” she told him with a sour twist to her mouth. “Mr. Norton said the banks of the river have overflowed and the roads in both directions are washed out. That’s why we didn’t send for the nearest doctor—he’d never make it here in his trap.” She slanted him a look. “Do you think we should? Send for a doctor, that is?”
“No.”
“Are you just saying that, or—”
“Eva, I am fine. I’ve boxed plenty of times.” Although it was true he couldn’t recall hurting so much before. “I just needed a bit of rest.” Godric thought the lack of sleep these past few days had actually been more debilitating than the sore muscles and bruises from today’s fight.
She heaved a big sigh and opened her mouth, but the door behind her opened. Eva shot to her feet, her expression instantly dark and thunderous. “Oh, Mrs. Crosby.” She spoke with all the enthusiasm of a woman who has discovered a garden slug on a favorite bloom.
Godric’s head ached with the sudden change of pressure in the room. Good God. What now?
The person who entered was not what Godric had expected when he’d heard the woman was a cook. This woman was almost as beautiful as his wife-to-be, but blond and green-eyed rather than dark, and a decade or so older. She was also taller and more generously proportioned. She would have been a stunner in any environment but was doubly so in the humble confines of an inn.
“You didn’t need to bring it yourself, Mrs. Crosby.” Eva glared at Andrew, who just shrugged helplessly.
Mrs. Crosby ignored Eva as if she’d never even spoken—not a wise decision, in Godric’s opinion—and smiled at him brightly enough to singe his eyebrows. “Well, look who’s awake. Good evening, Mr. Fleming.”
“Good evening, ma’am. I understand you’re the one who patched me up.” He touched the bandage wrapped around his head and gave her a slight smile.
“I did that,” Eva blurted before the other woman could even open her mouth. Her face immediately turned an ugly, mottled red. The look Mrs. Crosby gave her was tolerant—but condescending: an older sister amused by her younger sister’s antics.
Oh dear.
“It’s true, Mr. Fleming. Your . . . wife, was very helpful.” Godric was not mistaken in believing she was giving him a look of amused condescension and found he didn’t care for it any more than Eva appeared to do, albeit for entirely different reasons. Why would this woman be suspicious of their marital status?
“I’m sorry you were accosted and robbed in what used to be a very pleasant neighborhood. It has become quite common now, as so many people in these parts have fallen on hard times.” Her full, smiling lips sent one message but there was a hard glint in her eyes that said she was not without sympathy for the robbers’ plight. Well, that was likely a common attitude not only here, but all over Britain, thanks to the government’s disgraceful lack of action on behalf of the flood of injured, jobless soldiers.
“I’m afraid we were relieved of not only our possessions, but all our money.”
“Mrs. Fleming informed me of that fact. Mr. Norton is pleased to extend you every courtesy, sir.”
Well, that was something, at least.
Godric inclined his head. “Please extend my gratitude for his generosity. I wish I could say we’d not impose on him for long, but . . .” He gestured toward the window, and she nodded.
“I recommend you stay on for at least a few days, no matter the weather. That swelling on your right temple is a bit concerning and should be given a chance to heal. I told your . . . wife you should remain in bed and have gruel and broth for a few days. Just until you recoup your strength, which shouldn’t take a man like yourself too terribly long.” She allowed her wicked green eyes to roam his body in a way intended to get his blood all moving in one direction.
Eva was glaring at the other woman as if she were a venomous reptile that had slithered into their midst and then sunk its fangs into Godric’s thigh. He couldn’t help wondering if Mrs. Crosby understood the danger she was courting by teasing the volatile young woman. Part of him—the bigger part—believed she knew exactly what she was doing. Although why she would choose to taunt a stranger was beyond him. Perhaps it was merely the boredom of a too-attractive rural widow, provided she was a widow and not behaving like a mare in estrus even though she had a husband still in the picture.
“Thank you for your concern, Mrs. Crosby.” He gave her a warm smile to demonstrate that two could play at the same game, and her brilliant eyes widened in surprise. “But I believe I’d like some tea, toast, eggs, and ham—my wife tells me Mr. Norton is quite a hand when it comes to curing. I’d also like a basin of hot water and the loan of a razor, if that can be arranged.”
She nodded slowly, as if his words had pained her, and Godric felt a bit bad about putting her in her place, although it was better than letting Eva manage the matter.
“Will you take the draught I prepared for you, sir? It is one of my specialties and will get rid of any lingering ill effects.” Usually when a woman looked at Godric with that much heat in her expression, neither of them was clothed.
“I actually feel quite well,” he lied. “And I don’t use laudanum.” Not any longer, at least.
She bowed her head in a gesture of submission that was not entirely convincing. “Of course, sir.” She took a step toward him. “If you would let me check your banda—”
Godric raised his hand as she reached for his head, his eyes flickering to Eva, who appeared to have swelled to three times her normal size, like some lethal tropical fish. “That’s very kind of you, Mrs. Crosby, but I’ve already taken up too much of your time.”
“I don’t mind,” she said, her lips twitching into a secretive little moue that said she was not easily deterred by mere wives.
How very odd—and interesting. And unwise.
“I’m sure you’ve got far better things to do than see to my minor cuts and scratches. My wife will tend to my needs. Is there any chance my clothes are—”
“I’m afraid I haven’t had the time to see to them. But Mr. Norton has offered the use of a robe.” She gestured to the clothes horse, where a plain woolen robe waited. “I know it is humble, but perhaps you might use that for the time being?”
Godric was not unaware of the work their sudden arrival would have caused her. “Thank you.”
She gave him another of her meaningful smiles and then turned slightly so she could keep both Eva and Godric in her range of vision. “Your sweet young wife has been so worried about you.”
Eva shoved past her, either carelessly—or purposely—jostling her. “Oh, please do excuse my clumsiness.”
The women faced each other like two cats with arched backs, the air between them charged.
It felt as though the silence stretched, but Godric knew it was only the intensity of the two women’s animosity.
The older woman, more wily by half, was the first to give way. “Of course, my dear,” she said with a musical laugh as beautiful as her person. “I do envy your childish exuberance—so much like a playful kitten.”
“Why, thank you for being so understanding, Mrs. Crosby. There’s nothing I value more highly than praise from my elders,” Eva whipped back.
Mrs. Crosby dropped a curtsy—a remarkably graceful one for a country cook—and took her leave.
Eva stalked after her and slammed the door, not caring that Andrew was still standing in the doorway and had to jump back to avoid having his nose mashed. She swung around, her eyes blazing.
Godric opened his eyes wide. “What?”
Her eyes and mouth screwed up. “Don’t. Just—don’t.”
Godric patted the bed where she’d been sitting before the cook interrupted. “Come sit.”
She crossed her arms. “No.”
Godric smiled, even though he knew he was playing with fire. “Are you jealous, darling?”
“Of you?” Disdain, loathing, and even a dash of amusement. She might be a kitten, but she wasn’t without her defenses.
Godric chuckled, even though it hurt his head, and crooked his finger. “It’s hurting my neck to keep it angled this way,” he said, not telling her that his neck would hurt in any position.
“That’s terrible,” she said in a voice that indicated it was exactly what he deserved. Even so, she did come a few steps closer, stopping a little way from his bed. “Perhaps I should leave before she returns so that you will be free to flirt with that—that—”
Good God, she was adorable.
“You are jealous.”
“No, merely nauseated. If you must insist on indulging in flirtation with every crone—”
He couldn’t help snorting at the inapt description.
“With every crone,” she repeated through clenched teeth, “who slithers past, I hope you do so out of my sight and hearing at least.”
Godric snatched up her hand before she could jump back. The small, cool fingers remained stiff in his grasp. For a moment he thought she might give him the slap he so roundly deserved for toying with her.
“If it bothers you, sweetheart, all you need do is ask me to stop. Nicely.” He kissed the tips of her fingers and cut her a sly look from beneath lowered lashes.
Her jaw tightened, her lovely face flushed darkly, and she stared at him with eyes that blazed a hot blue-violet. “Oh, no, darling. I wouldn’t interfere with your amusement for all the money in the world—I know the simple pleasures are all that remain once a man reaches your advanced age.”
Godric threw back his head and roared. And then immediately regretted it. “Dammit!” he howled as a pain more brutal than the blade of a hatchet struck him through the temple.
“Oh dear,” she cooed with mock concern. “Did you hurt yourself, sweetheart?”
His lips twitched with a pained smile. “You little shrew.”
There was a sharp rap on the door and it opened without warning.
Mrs. Crosby stood in the opening, a large tray between her hands, her eyes as sharp as awls.
Good God, the woman must have sprinted downstairs and back.
Eva pulled away her hand and stepped back, her full lips tightened into a scowl.
“Here you are, sir.” Mrs. Crosby set the footed tray over his lap, her hand accidentally brushing the most sensitive part of his body and causing him to jerk. “I beg your pardon,” she said quietly, her eyes demurely cast down, her lips curled into a tiny smile.
Godric knew he was handsome, but he certainly wasn’t that handsome. Just what the devil was the woman up to? Was she hoping to get him murdered in his sleep?
“I’m most grateful for your sedulous care,” he murmured.
Her magnificent eyes flashed. “Is there anything else—” She left the question hanging, the implication clear.
“This is lovely, Mrs. . . . er, Crosby. Thank you.”
She nodded. “I shall send your water and razor up when you’ve rung for me to clear your tray.”
Godric frowned. “Are you the only one working?”
“We weren’t expecting any guests in this weather, so Mr. Norton gave the girls leave to go home before the water rose so high they couldn’t go.”
“Ah, I see. I’m terribly sorry to be putting you to such inconvenience.”
Her lids turned heavy—really, the woman was laying it on a bit thick. “You could never be an inconvenience.”
Behind her, Eva made an unsubtle retching sound.
Godric’s face heated, but before he could formulate an answer, the cook curtsied and left the room with a seductive sway of her hips, brushing close enough to touch Andrew—who wore a fatuous smile—on her way out the door.
“Get in or get out. Either way, shut the door,” Eva snapped when Andrew continued to stare in the other woman’s direction.
Andrew flushed but stepped inside and closed the door.
“Why did you bring her with you?” Eva demanded.
“I didn’t bring her, she brought herself. I could hardly stop her, short of wrestling her to the ground.”
Godric doubted the slender, gentle-looking boy could have stopped the hellcat who’d just left, no matter how hard he wrestled.
Eva swung back to Godric. “I don’t like her.”
Andrew snorted. “Really? Because I never would have guessed.”
Eva whirled on him, and Godric sighed. “Children.”
They turned toward him, four pale cheeks flushed, two mouths compressed, four willful eyes flashing. Godric had the most powerful urge to pull the covers over his head and sleep until the rain stopped.
Instead he held his hand toward Eva. “Come here.”
She flushed and chewed at the side of her mouth.
“Please? I apologize for being a wretch. Sit with me while I eat.” He could see by her deepening flush, his invitation pleased her. It occurred to him, with no small alarm, that she was halfway infatuated with him and that teasing and playing with her would accelerate the process if he wasn’t careful.
It won’t matter a whit what you do, the snide voice said. She is a young, impressionable girl who is eager to fall in love.
Godric was not so sure that was true. Eva might be young, but her mind was as sharp as a razor, and he’d seen no indication during the Season that she was hanging out for a husband. Indeed, he believed her when she said she didn’t want to marry. He was fairly certain her only problem with Mrs. Crosby’s flirtation was that the woman would be so disrespectful in front of Eva.
Love and marriage are two different matters, my dear, deluded Godric.
“Did you see the way she rubbed against Andrew?” Eva asked.
You see, it’s not me she loves, but Mrs. Crosby she despises, Godric told his smug inner voice.
“Did you?” she demanded.
Godric paused in the act of raising his loaded fork. “Er—”
“He immediately fell into her nasty snare and is madly in love with her.” She tossed the fuming young man a look designed to annoy even the calmest of men, whose number young Andrew was certainly not among.
Her words acted like spurs. “That’s not—”
Eva cut Godric a conspiring look. “You know she’d never even notice such a green sprig unless she was up to something devious.”
“Green. Sprig.” Andrew made a strangled noise of fury. “I most certainly am not in love with her.”
“Oh, that’s right.” She snapped her fingers. “I forgot, you’re in love with your blunderbuss.”
“It’s a—”
“Eva, Andrew.” Godric used the tone he’d always employed on fractious soldiers, and it worked just as well on the two young people. Well, that was something, at least. Not much, but something.
“Can you refrain from bickering every five minutes? How about every five hours?”
The boy glared at Eva, his authority—such as it was—considerably diminished by his ludicrous eyewear and mismatched, borrowed clothing, which was not much better than his tattered dress. “It’s she who always begins these things with one of her smart comments.”
“Better than your stupid comments.”
Godric cleared his throat before they could go at it again and said, “Please, take a seat, Andrew.” Once he’d seated himself—as far from Eva as the small room allowed—Godric said, “I’d like to eat my meal without listening to an argument. Why don’t you tell me, Andrew” —he cut a severe look at Eva, who assumed a martyred expression—“how you came to be on that stretch of road with an, er, arquebus.” Dressed in a blue gown.
The boy pushed his glasses up his nose, momentarily distracted by the fact they were missing an arm and lens on one side.
“The short story is that my cousins beat me up, dressed me in one of my dead mother’s gowns, and then dumped me off at the side of the road with the gun.”
Godric paused with a forkful of—indeed delicious—ham halfway to his mouth. He set the fork down, food untouched. “Is this some sort of rite of passage in your family?”
Eva guffawed but quickly stifled it when he gave her a stern look.
Andrew squirmed, his slender body shifting beneath the borrowed clothing that Godric suspected must have come from the aforementioned son of Mr. Norton, a man whose nightshirt was big on Godric, who was not a small man. Andrew, not a great deal taller than Eva, swam in the huge, rustic trousers, which had been cinched around his narrow waist with twine, rather than a belt.
“My father—Stephen Lowell—died three months ago,” he said, looking oddly dignified for all that he was dressed like a clown. “He was a scholar on the subject of ancient weaponry and had always lived modestly until this past year. It appears that he put money on the ’Change right after Boney got caught. Er, the first time. I did not discover the state of his affairs until after his death. I’m afraid his debts are quite onerous.”
Godric didn’t need to be a genius to see where this was going.
“So you went to your uncle for help?” he said, hopefully moving the story past the painful discovery that Andrew was destitute.
Andrew nodded, every emotion he was experiencing flitting across his sensitive features. “My uncle is an ironmonger—a very successful one—and wanted me to work for him.” He must have seen Godric’s amazement because he gave a weary smile. “No, not working forges or blast furnaces or anything dreadful like that. He wanted me to be his bookkeeper. But, er, well, I discovered some inconsistencies and when I went to ask him about them, he called me a liar and a thief and kicked me out.” He cut Godric a nervous look. “He had two partners, you see.”
“Ahh, and his partners weren’t aware of the inconsistencies?”
Andrew nodded. “I know now I was naïve to go to him. But then?” He shrugged. “I didn’t tell anyone anything—although I suppose I should have.” Twin spots of embarrassment colored his narrow cheeks.
“Sometimes it is best to retreat and leave the fight for another day,” Godric said kindly.
Andrew gave him a grateful look, his Adam’s apple bobbing a few times before he continued. “I was packing my trunk when my three cousins—all ironworkers themselves—came to my room.” His mouth twisted with self-disgust. “I think their immediate plan was just to thrash me. But when they opened my trunk, they found the dress—and of course they’d seen the gun when I arrived. I suppose the urge was impossible to resist.” He cut Godric a remarkably dignified look. “The dress and gun are all I have left of my parents.”
Godric was grateful for the distraction of shoveling food into his mouth. Eva, on the other hand, was staring at the boy with her jaw hanging.
Godric gritted his teeth, dreading what might come out of her mouth.
But then, to his stunned amazement, she leapt from her chair and flung her arms around Andrew, her shoulder knocking his already damaged spectacles off his nose. “That is a horrid story. Why didn’t you tell me this before? I’m so sorry I was odious to you.”
Andrew’s horrified eyes met Godric’s over her shaking shoulders.
Godric mimed patting her on the back and nodded and smiled his encouragement when the boy hastily complied. He sagged back against the pillow; well, perhaps they might have a bit of peace, after all.
* * *
Eva felt like the lowest form of snake as she watched Andrew carry Godric’s empty tray from the room. Godric had asked him to do it so that Mrs. Crosby didn’t need to put herself out—at least that was what he’d told Andrew. As soon as the door closed, she went back to Godric’s bed but stopped when she realized how brazen that looked.
Godric yawned and then patted the bedding with one of his lovely hands, which now had swollen, torn, bloody knuckles. To her pleasant surprise he reached for her hand again when she sat.
“That was a nice thing you did for Andrew, offering him a place at your father’s house.”
She grimaced, holding his hand in her lap and studying it rather than look at his too-knowing eyes. “It was the least I could do after being so dreadful to him. I had no idea he’d had such a horrid time.” Her lower lip quivered. “If I’d known all that—”
“Shh,” he soothed, being so lovely to her it was making her feel even more anxious than when he was taunting and tormenting her. She risked a quick glance up, to find him regarding her with a strange, thoughtful look. She cocked her head. “What?”
He shook his head. “Nothing.”
She thought it was something, but he was not the sort of man to be forced into making confidences—or forced into anything, really. And the way he’d responded to the few personal questions she had asked made her leery of asking any others. Especially of asking the question that was now branded into her brain: Godric had been married?
“Why do you look so pensive?” he asked.
Eva wanted to ask him why he had the right to pose such questions when she didn’t, but she simply didn’t have the energy for it right now. Instead she said, “I hate to admit it, but I now think that Mrs. Crosby was probably right.”
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 whenever 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.