Outrageous

Eva glanced up from the new mare their teaser stallion, Liberty, was currently courting, to Tommy, who was dressed as impeccably as usual. His coat sported no fewer than a dozen capes, his cravat was a white froth with some gemstone winking in its folds, and his high-crowned beaver tilted at just the right angle on his glossy brown locks.

Eva was exhausted just looking at him; it must have taken him two hours to reach such perfection.

“Hallo, Tommy, I’ll be just a minute.”

“How is she?” he asked, gesturing toward her newest acquisition.

“Just grand, isn’t she, James?”

“Aye, my lord. She’s a right ’un.”

Tommy’s eyes narrowed when he looked at the big groom, whom he’d not warmed to—a feeling he made no effort to hide.

Eva bit back the flare of irritation Tommy’s treatment of her best friend always sparked and turned to James, who was holding the mare’s lead. “Give me a moment.”

“Yes, my lady.” He bowed his head and humbly pulled his forelock, his lips pulled into a slight smirk that made Eva want to kick him. He’d been behaving like a groveling servant ever since Tommy had raked him over a few weeks earlier, reminding him—most insufferably—who was mistress and who was servant.

James had taken the bollocking in stride, as a good servant does. But Eva and Tommy had had their first major row; the outcome of which—five days of silence—demonstrated that both parties were equally stubborn.

Although James hadn’t said as much, Eva was left in no doubt of his feelings toward her betrothed of only two weeks.

Speaking of her betrothed . . . Eva met Tommy at the paddock gate and let him kiss her cheek.

“Eva, darling?”

“Hmmm?” She blinked up at him, her mind on the maiden mare James had just led away, rather than the six feet of male loveliness in front of her.

“I’m off to town to do some shopping for your stepmamma.” Eva could well imagine what was on that list: all items for the upcoming wedding. Mia didn’t care that the wedding was taking place in the castle chapel with only family and a handful of friends attending. After Catherine’s even smaller gathering earlier this year, Mia seemed determined to make the most of this opportunity. Eva would have thought her stepmamma’s recent delivery of a healthy son a few weeks earlier would have slowed the older woman down. But, no, Mia was a bundle of irrepressible energy and had focused her attention on making the most of this wedding.

Eva smiled up at Tommy. “Well, that’s good, then. I hope you have a fine time,” she finished lamely. She hoped she was successful at hiding her relief that he was spending his day elsewhere. The way he hovered around her was . . . suffocating, so a day free of said hovering would be a pleasant relief.

His perfect mask stayed in place, but she saw a glint of something not so placid behind the surface. “Are you sure you won’t join us—Melissa and me?”

Eva perked up. “Melissa is going with you? That’s good.” Eva needed to thank her sister for taking on so much of what she was beginning to think of as “the Tommy Burden.” She’d hoped he would be less demanding of her time when she’d accepted his third offer of marriage, but he seemed to become worse with each passing day.

“There’s room for one more,” he said with a cajoling smile.

“I can’t. But the two of you enjoy yourselves.”

He frowned. “I’ve gone in just about every day this past week—and Mel always accompanies me. You haven’t joined me one time, Eva. Don’t you think people will think it odd that you cannot accompany your betrothed on a shopping excursion meant for your own wedding?”

She felt a familiar flare of irritation. “I don’t care if it appears odd, Tommy. That’s another thing you seem to have conveniently forgotten about me since we’ve become engaged: my lack of interest in what other people think of me.”

“I didn’t mean it that way.” He was beginning to look a bit strained around the eyes, so Eva curbed her temper. “You know I had to use every bit of persuasion with Sir Walter to let me have Clancy here, rather than bring the mares to him. So—” She trailed off, hoping he would put the pieces together.

“But I thought that was a few days off?”

“We want to clear the book before he gets here. You know how busy this time of year is. We’ve not only got four maidens to manage, but all of Papa’s stock, as well. James will need me as he’ll be teaching the other lads to work with Liberty so they’ll be able to take over teasing in the future.”

Liberty was their only teaser stallion—a horse who would spend time with each mare daily to determine when the mare came into estrus. Once the time was right, the breeding stallion would then be brought in to cover the mare. Proper teasing could not be rushed and it was labor-intensive, requiring expert handling of both teaser and mare.

Eva took off her hat and whacked it with her hand. “What I’d really like are two teasers, but of course we are nowhere near justifying such an expense. My father always allows his tenants to bring in mares around now, so we’ve got a whole list of those, too.” She mashed her hat back down on her head. “This is the end of breeding season, Tommy, and we are at our busiest.”

His full lips were compressed in a scowl. “And it’s necessary for you to be part of the activities?”

“Activities? You mean in the breeding shed?”

“Yes, Eva, that is what I meant. Will you, along with a handful of men, be present when a stallion mounts and covers mares?”

Eva had a genuine laugh at his prudery. “Lord, Tommy, how else did you think I proposed to breed horses?”

“I certainly did not expect you to be part of every aspect, no matter how low or vulgar.”

“You cannot be in earnest.” But his stern expression told her otherwise. Eva sighed. “You know this is the time of year that horses engage in their, er, low, vulgar activities. James and I have been run ragged managing the construction of the new breeding shed these past few weeks, as well as renting a stud, purchasing mares, and a dozen other things. To be honest, I would rather not have begun our operations here only to have to remove them to Byer Court, but—” She broke off, sure he didn’t need that decision explained to him. “In any event, the mares are here and it’s already late in the season. I can’t wait until after I arrive at my new home.”

He held up a hand. “Very well, you needn’t get worked up about it.”

“Oh? Needn’t I? Because I feel as though we’ve discussed this subject repeatedly over the past two weeks since we agreed to marry. I began all this”—she waved to the area around them, to encompass her new breeding operation—“before I accepted your proposal, so it should come as no surprise to you what I am doing. And before I accepted your proposal, I made it very clear what my plans were and you made no demur. But every day you take issue more and more with what I am doing.”

The muscles in his jaws flexed, his elegant nostrils flaring. “Yes, you are quite correct. I suppose I just thought your interest in the matter would be more, er, well, at a remove.” He grimaced. “Blast it, Eva, you know what I’m saying. How many women do you think spend time not only selecting their own bloodstock but then participating in shoeing, training, and breeding them?”

She crossed her arms and tilted her head as she stared up at him. “I don’t know, Tommy. I’ve not taken a survey on the subject. How many?”

He pulled off his hat and shoved his hand through his hair, mussing the perfection. “For the life of me I cannot think what possessed your father to grant you such liberties. I’m sure that when Gabe arrives, he will agree with what I’m saying and—”

“First of all, I am guessing you would be very, very off in your estimation if you think Gabe would be anything but supportive. And second, I don’t care what his—or anyone else’s—opinion is.”

“Not even mine?”

Eva ignored his question and asked one of her own. “Tell me, Tommy,” she asked in a low, silky tone. “Is it your intention to curtail my unseemly activities once I am your chattel under the law?”

“That is unkind, Eva. You know I would do no such thing.”

“I don’t know anything of the sort. And this conversation has brought my ignorance home to me. You are ashamed of what I am doing. You are worried how it shall look to your tenants, your relations, your friends—whomever else you consider important.”

“Someone needs to be concerned. You show no interest in anyone’s opinions other than your bloody stable boy’s.”

“You cannot be jealous of James.”

“Don’t be foolish,” he snapped. “Just because I find your behavior inappropriate does not mean I am jealous of a stable lad.”

“Well. I’m relieved to hear it. By the by, James is not a stable lad. He’s been a groom for several years already and he is now the manager of my small operation—an operation which employs four people at this point and I hope will have five times that number in a few years.” Eva took a step toward him, angrier than she’d been since that day at the Greedy Vicar Inn—the day when Tommy had gone to Godric and forced him into a conversation that he’d had no right to initiate.

A conversation that you weren’t supposed to hear, but one that certainly set you straight, didn’t it?

Eva ignored the dig and focused on the matter at hand. “If you have an issue with my behavior, now is a very good time to bring it up, Tommy. The wedding is still days away,” she reminded him. “There is plenty of time to change our minds.”

Tommy’s face softened as he looked down at her, and then he cupped her jaw with one large, kid-sheathed hand. It was all Eva could do not to yank herself away. “I’m sorry, Eva. You are correct. I’m behaving like a fool. It’s just—well, it seems you have more interest in spending time in the stables than you do with me.”

That was true, but it was hardly politic to admit it. Instead she brought up another matter she wanted to keep at the forefront of his mind. “You promised me that you had no expectations, Tommy. You promised me we would enter this marriage as friends.”

He swallowed hard enough for her to hear it. “I know I did. And you are right to bring me up short for my behavior. I’m afraid I can’t stop myself from wanting more of you, and yet you will hardly let me touch you—even to kiss you.”

Which was exactly what she was afraid of. It was also exactly what her stepmamma—the only one other than Eva and Tommy who knew the truth—had warned her.

“You just kissed me a moment ago,” Eva said, although she knew what he meant.

“I want you properly,” he murmured in a low, hungry voice. He lowered his mouth slowly enough over hers that she could have easily moved away. But she didn’t. Not because she wanted him, but because it would soon be her duty to submit to kisses and more.

His mouth was soft and warm, his lips fuller than Godric’s. The sensation of his body pressing gently against hers was not unpleasant. When it appeared he would not open his mouth, she flicked her tongue between his lips. His body momentarily stiffened, but he didn’t push her away. Instead, he pulled her closer.

His hand slid around her head and his fingers bunched in her hair as he took control of the kiss. The sensation was pleasant and he was most certainly skilled at making love with his mouth. Eva softened against him, allowing him to take her in his arms, his body big and hard and warm against hers, his arms taut with the barely leashed passion she evidently ignited in him.

The cool mental observation made her release his broad shoulders, which she’d grasped without realizing, and squirm in his grasp.

He let go and stepped back, his pupils huge, his pale cheeks flushed with arousal rather than irritation for a change. He stroked his thumb over her chin, his lids heavy and desire rolling off him in waves.

“By God, you are—” He stopped and shook his head, his expression a complex blend of lust, frustration, and more besides.

Eva slid her hand around his wrist—elegantly sheathed in butter-soft leather—and gave him a squeeze before setting his hand aside.

“There, we’ve kissed, Tommy. And when we are man and wife, I will give you all of myself that I have to give—my body and my friendship, but not, I hope you know, my love. I am not insensible to the sacrifice you are making—no,” she said when he opened his mouth to demur, “it is a sacrifice, and I am grateful. But I will not lie to you about the way I feel. Nor will I give up this.” She waved her hand to encompass everything around them. “If you do not want a horse breeding operation at Byer Court, you should tell me now.”

His lips curved and he suddenly resembled the old Tommy—the one before this fiasco with Godric—her brother’s amusing friend whom she’d enjoyed teasing about his rotten taste in cattle and impeccable taste in clothing. “Don’t be silly, Eva—I can hardly wait to see the stables restored to their prior glory, and it will be a perfect place to house all the horses even you can accumulate.” He raised her hands to his mouth and lowered his head to kiss her fingers, and then stopped. “Lord! What happened here?”

She glanced at the crushed fingernail he was eying with horror; it was torn and there was a purple bruise blooming beneath the nail.

“I was helping shoe Hedge Bird and my hand got in the way.”

Tommy grimaced—whether at her confession, or the name of her mare, she wasn’t sure. Once again a glimmer of irritation showed. “You’d better wear gloves or you’ll have hands like hooves, darling.” He smiled while he chided her, but Eva knew he was appalled. “And I really wish you’d let the lads handle jobs of that sort. If James isn’t sufficient you can always—”

“James is more than sufficient.” She tugged her hands away.

He opened his mouth, as if he might argue, but then smiled and said, “Come, walk me to my chariot.”

A snug little curricle waited in the courtyard, her sister already ensconced on the richly padded seat. The chestnuts were fine high-steppers that had more looks than wind: her husband-to-be was not, lamentably, much of a judge of horseflesh.

“Hallo, Mel.”

“Hallo, Eva.” Her younger sister smiled, her gaze questioning as it flickered across Eva’s person, lingering on her face and then moving to Tommy’s. A frown marred her smooth forehead and Eva wondered if her lips looked as recently kissed as Tommy’s. While not censorious, Mel’s glance was still not approving. Mel had never been so judgmental before, but ever since Eva had come back from her adventure, she’d felt as if there was a gulf separating her and her sister.

“Thank you for going with Tommy to take care of the things that I should be handling,” she said.

Mel’s golden, freckled cheeks—so much a bane to her sister—darkened slightly. “I’m happy to do it.”

“And she is excellent company and keeps me from choosing the wrong color ribbon and endangering my life with the marchioness,” Tommy added with a valiant smile. “Oh, I say—did I remember the list, Mel?”

Her sister’s rather serious expression lighted and Eva was momentarily stunned by her sudden . . . animation.

Mel held up a piece of paper filled with writing. “You took it as far as the great hall, where you proceeded to leave it on one of the side tables. Fortunately for you, I am not such a scatterbrain.”

He laid a hand over his heart. “What would I do without you? Likely be skewered on a spit by your delightful stepmamma.”

Mel giggled and Tommy put a boot that was as highly polished as glass on the footboard and gracefully swung himself up. He smiled down at Eva, a perfect London dandy. “Can I bring you anything from town?”

She glanced back at Mel, who was still glowing from the brief exchange, her eyes riveted to Tommy. “Er, surprise me,” Eva said, stepping back from the carriage.

He touched the brim of his high-crowned hat and then nodded. “Let ’em go, Boothe.”

Mel shrieked with delight and seized her bonnet as the elegant curricle leapt away. Eva watched until the carriage disappeared beyond a stand of elms, and then she turned and slowly walked toward the sprawling stables, her brain awhirl. But the sight that met her when she entered the spacious breeding shed put all other thoughts from her mind.

James, Willy, Scott, and Michael, her four employees, as well as Mr. Brewster, were ready and waiting. But that wasn’t all. To her immense surprise, her father and stepmamma were standing just outside the big enclosure.

Eva stared. “What are you doing here?”

Mia grinned. “We come bearing gifts.” She gestured to a rude, squat table that stood at a safe distance. On it were a bottle of champagne and several glasses. “We’ve come to toast the new endeavor in the time-honored fashion: with champagne.”

“Oh,” Eva said, flushing with pleasure. “Why, thank you. But we’ve not got Clancy yet, so it’ll only be old Liberty and two nurse mares. Besides,” Eva added, “I thought champagne was for ships?”

Mia shrugged. “Ships? Horses? Champagne is perfect for all occasions.”

“Well, as long as you don’t try breaking the bottle over Liberty’s hindquarters.”

There was laughter all around as her father opened the bottle with a loud pop and then poured pale golden liquid into each glass. It was Mia who handed the glasses around.

“To a fruitful breeding season, the first of many to come,” the marquess said, raising his glass.

“To a fruitful season,” they all echoed, followed by the clinking of glasses.

Once they’d each had their drink, James and Willy went off to fetch the horses, and the other two lads readied the room for its first inhabitants, not that everything wasn’t already prepared.

“You’ve done a good job here,” the marquess said, his look encompassing both Eva and Mr. Brewster.

Brewster nodded. “Aye, Master, but ’tis her ladyship and James what did it all.”

Mia squeezed Eva’s shoulder and pulled her aside as her father spoke with his stable master. “I’m so happy for you, Eva. This is what you’ve always wanted, isn’t it?”

She met Mia’s huge green eyes and saw the reservations hidden there.

“Yes, Mamma, this is exactly what I wanted.”

“Exactly? I hope so, Eva. I want all three of you girls to be happy.”

Eva looked away from her too-knowing eyes, and then remembered the pair of brown eyes she’d just left in the courtyard. “Mel is certainly getting into the spirit of the preparations—I almost feel bad this ceremony will be so small and unimpressive.”

Mia smiled, but it was not her normal, joyous expression. “Yes, she is enjoying going on these jaunts, for now, at least.”

Eva frowned. “What do you mean? For now?”

“Are you ready, my dear?” the marquess asked, coming up alongside his wife.

“I am, darling.”

“Oh, are you two leaving?” Eva asked, unable to keep the disappointment from her voice. “I thought you might stay?”

Mia grinned. “Oh, the last thing I want is to give your father any more ideas about breeding.”

Eva’s jaw dropped.

The marquess sighed heavily and shook his head. “I can see I shall have to start muzzling you before I let you leave the house.”

Naturally, Mia laughed and the two wandered off, her stepmother leaning her head against her husband’s shoulder, the marquess holding her tight with one arm, as if he would never let her go. Eva had to swallow several times as she watched them depart. What must it be like to be so obviously in love, even after many years?

Somehow, she suspected she would never know the answer to that question.

* * *

Godric had been staring at the same letter for some time. So he turned it over and picked up the next, continuing the farce that he was actually doing work. Not that anyone was watching or cared what he was doing. Hell, not even he cared that he was sitting in the vast cavern of a library going over correspondence. Alone.

Oh, stop or you shall make me weep.

Godric felt nauseated by his self-pity—an emotion he was generally able to restrain until the wee hours of the morning. But tonight not even Andrew was here, and he was having difficulty keeping the feeling in check. He’d become accustomed to the younger man’s presence at meals and in the evening, the times of the day when solitude was least desirable.

You didn’t have to be here alone, the annoying resident in his skull pointed out.

That was true. He’d been invited to the same dinner party as Andrew—the one at Lord Ingram’s, the second largest landowner in the area after Godric. When he’d been a younger man, Godric had often got up to mischief with Baron Ingram’s sons, all of whom were long married with families of their own.

Godric was the area’s most eligible bachelor—albeit long in the tooth—and his neighbor, Lady Ingram, seemed to labor under some compulsion to throw young females at him. The last dinner party he’d attended, three weeks earlier, had been horrifying. At least for Godric.

Andrew, however, had enjoyed himself thoroughly, even though, as a penniless young male, he was not particularly marketable. Still, that didn’t seem to matter to the younger man as he appeared to have no eye to marriage.

But just because Andrew did not wish to marry did not mean he didn’t wish to socialize.

So Godric was alone tonight. How pitiful had he become, sighing heavily over the loss of his nineteen-year-old dinner companion?

He put aside the letter in his hand—a bill for candles—and picked up the familiar spidery handwriting of his grandfather.

The letter was not long, and a cursory reading of it was sufficient to communicate the thrust of its content: When was Godric coming to the ducal seat?

This was the third letter in six weeks, and Godric had responded to the prior two with vague references to repairs, obligations, et cetera. But he would have to go soon; it was cruel to keep the old man waiting. He set down the letter and went to pour himself another brandy—the third, and final—for the evening.

When he’d first come home to Cross Hall, he’d waited until Andrew went to bed each night to drink himself into unconsciousness.

After two weeks of that, Andrew had come to him, his sensitive face frightened and concerned. “You look ill, my lord. Very ill. I feel it would be remiss of me not to recommend a physician.”

“Your recommendation is duly noted. Consider yourself relieved of any responsibility,” he’d said, and then continued on his path of self-destruction for another week.

Once again Andrew had come to him, but this time he’d come to Godric’s bedchamber with a quack in tow.

Godric had placidly submitted to the requisite poking, prodding, and inevitable bleeding, after which he’d informed the physician—privately—that it would be worth his life if he said anything to Andrew other than the words, “His lordship is as healthy as a horse.”

Rather than return to his downward spiral, Godric had taken the opportunity to examine himself and his future. If he wanted to put a period to his existence, surely he could do so more efficiently and expeditiously than drinking himself to death?

After a visit to his weapons room, which Andrew had explored a mere thirty minutes after arriving at Cross Hall, Godric decided he did not quite wish to shoot himself yet, no matter that he now had a bewildering array of options. The boy had organized and repaired every one of a remarkable number of antique weapons there.

And so Godric had gotten on with the business of living, albeit without any joy. But then, he’d given up expecting any joy in his life a year and a half ago, hadn’t he?

As receptive as several local widows and more than a few tavern wenches had been to his attentions, Godric had lost the energy to carouse—in any form or fashion. The extent of his gaming was the occasional hand of cards with Andrew, which was generally enough to exterminate all interest in gambling of any sort.

He slept as poorly as ever, although when he closed his eyes now, he increasingly saw a different face from those that had haunted him for so long. The expression he saw on Eva’s face was one he’d only ever seen in his mind’s eye: that of a young woman who’d been thoroughly crushed by what Godric had cruelly and knowingly—but not truthfully—said within her hearing.

It was for the best.

That was a refrain he told himself often. For most of the day it either was not necessary to repeat in his head, or if he did need to remind himself, the five words functioned quite well as a thought suppressant. But at night, when he was sitting in his large, empty house, alone, the five words were less than compelling.

He took a sip of brandy and allowed himself to revel in his pain, like a dog rolling in its own excrement. He hadn’t seen Eva again after delivering his killing words. She’d dined in her room and then left the following morning with her father and Byer.

It was for the best.

After all, what had he wanted? A last glimpse of her angry or tearstained face? Or had he wanted her to do what she seemed so very good at: to fight for those she cared about—the way she’d fought for her brother and his wife?

But that’s assuming that she ever cared about you, isn’t it, Godric?

Godric laughed softly; as if he’d done anything to earn her respect, friendship, or even affection.

They might have been approaching something nearing friendship, but he’d killed that as thoroughly as one squashed a wasp.

He couldn’t stop seeing her just as she’d looked when he and Andrew had encountered her on that road. She’d strolled away from near death—rejecting the offer of a ride, incidentally—and a nest of bandits, with nothing more than an empty pistol. Surely there could not be another woman in England like her?

But just as surely there were things even her fearless soul chose not to confront; or at least there were things she deemed not worth confronting, and Godric was one of them.

He took another miserly sip from his glass, put on the spectacles he needed for reading—smiling at the thought of how Eva would taunt his decrepitude if she saw him, and just as quickly banishing the thought from his mind—and then turned back to the pile of correspondence and picked up another letter.

He was halfway through the first paragraph when it occurred to him to look at the salutation: it wasn’t to him, it was to Andrew.

Andrew sorted and opened the mail and laid it out for him. Obviously he’d put this private letter in the wrong pile.

Godric was about to place it aside, no matter how intriguing the contents of that first paragraph might have looked, when he caught sight of the cramped signature at the bottom of the page.

What the devil? His hand tightened and the crinkling sound of paper brought him back to himself.

You are an honorable man; honorable men do not read other men’s letters.

That was true.

Godric stared at the page he’d turned facedown and was about to release. How could he not read a letter from this person?

Very easily. You put it aside and move on to the next.

So he did that. And then commenced to read half a page of the new letter without seeing it before tossing it aside and again snatching up Andrew’s personal correspondence.

Oh, Godric.

Godric slammed the door on the chiding voice. And then he read Andrew’s letter.