Outrageous

by Minerva Spencer

  He appeared amused, rather than affronted, by her insult.

  “You might not care about your own neck, my lady, but it is ill done of you to expose a loyal servant to such punishment.”

  Eva ignored the wave of guilt his words elicited. “Save your worry for your own neck, Visel. I shall take good care of James, don’t you fret.”

  He leaned back against the squabs, his disconcerting eyes roving her person. “So, we are on the North Road. Let me guess, we are headed to Scotland? I am abducting you and whisking you off to Gretna Green.”

  “What a clever man you are. Who would have ever guessed it after your stupid behavior this past Season?”

  His smile was one of utter unconcern.

  “Don’t worry, my lord, we won’t actually get there. I have even less interest in marrying you than you do in marrying me.”

  “I doubt that.”

  Eva glowered at him. “If that is true, then you’d better do exactly as I say and don’t draw attention to your predicament. If you behave sensibly, we can all get out of this without leg shackles of either the marital or legal sort.”

  “And what are you going to do if I don’t behave? Are you going to stop somewhere along the way, knock me on the head, and get that big lummox to dig a hole for me?”

  “You’d better mind your mouth, my lord. James may be a groom, but he is my friend and I value him far more highly than I do you. And you should also stop giving me good ideas—although I daresay I’d have you dig your own hole before I knocked you on the head.”

  His eyes widened and then he laughed, a great, big belly laugh that must have hurt his aching head because he winced. Eva didn’t know what kind of response she’d expected to receive to her threat, but it had not been this.

  “You should see your face,” he said, his words a mocking echo of her earlier words.

  She frowned. “Why. What’s wrong with it?”

  He leaned forward, his eyes suddenly hooded, his face slack and sensual. “Nothing, darling. Not a damned thing.”

  Eva was struck dumb—and not by his vulgar language—but by his hot eyes, which sent sparks of anticipation through her body. What did he mean? Did he—

  His smile shifted into a sneer and he discarded his sensuality quicker than he could discard the snug-fitting coat he wore beneath his corsair robes. Of course his amorous look hadn’t been real; he’d been taunting her—toying with her—just to see if he could.

  Eva hated him. And all the other men like him, although none of them had ever been as bad as Visel. But she’d come across plenty of men during the Season who’d been similar. Arrogant men with their superior looks, their knowing smiles—men who thought she couldn’t hear them whisper the words mad and madness behind her back. Except for Visel; he’d always wanted Eva to hear the things he said about her.

  “What? Cat got your tongue?” he asked. The gleam in his eyes was one she’d seen more than a few times this Season, usually when he’d been taunting her brother. It was the same gleam that had forced her to the conclusion that Visel suffered from some form of male hysteria. After all, he’d been at war for over a decade. What must that do to a man?

  But she would save that subject for later.

  “Why did you leave the army and come back?” she asked. “I suppose you had to return home now that you’re the duke’s heir,” she said before he could answer. “Still, you should have stayed in the country. Everyone can see you hate London—the Season, the balls, the empty, brainless entertainments. You make no effort to hide the fact you loathe society.”

  He shifted on his seat, grimacing at some ache or pain. “I could say the same thing about you, my lady. You sit in the corners of ballrooms with the wallflowers, you behave in ways that gain you the censure of ton matrons, your only associate is a woman from the merchant class with a clear disdain for the society she is trying so hard to enter. So, why do you do it?”

  “I wouldn’t expect such a stupid question—not even from you, my lord. I do it because my father makes me do it; because he believes it is a woman’s duty and destiny to marry. If I were a man—” She bit her lip to keep from saying something he would only use against her.

  His golden-blond brows lifted, exposing a thin white line that ran through the right one, and his cruel mouth pulled up in a smile that held no humor. “Go on, if you were a man, you would—?”

  “Shut up.” Even Eva could hear that her order lacked any heat. The man was irritating and exhausting and she would do best to ignore him. She turned away from him, looking out the window at the iron-gray sky. There would be rain soon.

  “I never pegged you for a coward.”

  She whipped around and met his derisive gaze. “What is that supposed to mean?”

  “You know exactly what I mean.”

  The carriage shifted as they stared at one another, the sounds of business outside the door unnaturally loud in the silence. His eyes seemed to have become a colder, icier shade of blue, although she knew that was impossible. She fought the urge to shiver but lost. His lips parted to show white but slightly uneven teeth. One of his front teeth was chipped, a tiny triangle missing from the inside edge where it met its partner. It jarred with the perfection of his features but did not make him any less attractive. Instead, it added a hint of danger to his otherwise too-angelic good looks.

  “What is going to happen when the marquess catches us, I wonder?” he mused.

  “He won’t.”

  “Oh, my dear girl, if you think he will let a man abscond with his daughter without giving chase, you are sorely mistaken.”

  His smirky, know-it-all expression made Eva reckless. “He believes I’m at a country house party with my sister. If he even thinks to check on my whereabouts, it will not be for some time. I shall be back by then.”

  His brows arched. “Then why bother going all the way to the border? Why not let me out here and you can join your sister now?”

  Eva was tempted. He was a treacherous man and she knew he would attempt to escape the moment he saw an opportunity. But it was too soon to release him; she wanted to give Gabe and Dru a couple of weeks if she could. By then they’d be in the country and there would be no opportunity for Visel to bother them, or at least not easily.

  “I can see you find the idea appealing.”

  She flashed him a hard smile. “I find the idea of you shutting up even more appealing.”

  He chuckled, looking genuinely amused by her rudeness. The smooth, deep rumble of laughter hit her in the chest and slithered downward, settling low in her belly. Eva refused to let the effect he had on her body distract her from the business at hand. Men like him—sophisticated, confident, and sexually experienced men—had this effect on women like her, not through any effort of their own, but simply because of their life experience.

  The things that took place between men and women were no longer a mystery to Visel. But when it came to bed sport, women of Eva’s class were treated like mushrooms—kept in the dark and fed manure—until the night they were sacrificed to their husbands. Whereas a man like Visel had likely discarded his virginity at an early age, probably foisting himself upon some unfortunate domestic. And then he’d gone on to hone his sexual prowess with whores and widows.

  Yes, that was all that separated Eva from Visel: experience. And he used his experience like a weapon that gave him the illusion of sophistication. Luckily for Eva, she had her stepmamma to advise her in such matters. Lady Mia made a concerted effort to inform all three of her stepdaughters about what went on between men and women.

  Not that Eva had been completely ignorant before hearing her stepmamma’s interesting information. After all, she’d seen animals coupling many times. She knew about the physical aspect of the act. Of course her stepmamma had certainly expanded on that knowledge. Still, even the best information could not compete with actual experience, and she had none of that. At least not with anyone other than herself.

  She’d contemplated, more than once, d
ivesting herself of her bothersome maidenhood—just to see what all the fuss was about. The loss of her virginity would serve the dual purpose of making her unmarketable on the marriage mart; even more unmarketable than the threat of madness that clung to her.

  The only reason she hadn’t lain with a man was the possible repercussions of such an action: a child. The scandal of having a child out of wedlock would not bother her in the least. In fact, it would free her of ever having to marry. Also, her father had settled enough money on her that she could raise a child in more security and ease than the Regent’s own bastards. But what she couldn’t give a child was something money would not buy: a future.

  She could never have children, either inside marriage or out of it.

  “Tell me, what are you thinking, my lady?”

  She looked up, having forgotten she wasn’t alone.

  “What are you thinking?” she countered.

  He grinned. “I’m thinking that you might actually be more lovely dressed in snug breeches and that formfitting coat than you are in a ball gown.” He leaned forward and Eva recoiled. “I’m thinking I’d love to see what your arse looks like in those tight leathers.”

  Eva gasped and heat crept up her neck, her body’s treachery making her hate her appearance more than ever. Eva knew what he said was true: she was beautiful. Only a fool would try to deny it. All her life she’d hated what she saw in the mirror, not to mention the expectations that went with her appearance. Nobody would ever believe her—not that she cared—but she wished with all her heart that she was a big, lumbering, homely girl—like one of the kitchen maids at her father’s castle, a girl named Em who had hair and eyes the color of mud—a girl she’d seen laughing and jesting with her father’s grooms as if she were one of them. Everyone liked Em because of who she was—not because she looked like some sort of vapid, porcelain doll.

  That was who Eva wanted to be.

  The only man who’d ever ignored the way Eva looked was James. And there was a good reason for that, not that she’d ever tell. James had always behaved toward her the way he would with a younger son of the family: with respect but not with worshipful awe as other boys had always done. At least until they knew who she was; after that they looked at her with loathing and fear.

  She loved James and respected him in return. She also wished she were like him. In fact, in her mind’s eye she was like him: big and brawny and strapping. But in reality she was small, slight, dainty: the very image of her beautiful, mad, dead mother.

  Thinking of her mother made her scowl. She looked at the man who’d made her remember the long dead Countess of Exley and fixed him with a narrow-eyed glare.

  “You even look adorable when you scowl.” His eyes wandered slowly from the toes of her boots, over her legs and torso, lingering on her face before settling on her unruly hair. “You can clothe your sweet little body in breeches and boots, but I’m afraid only a blind person would ever believe you are a man, darling.”

  She sucked in a breath at the shocking words sweet and little and body and darling, her heart thudding like a war drum in her chest, and her skin hot—all over.

  He chuckled at whatever he saw on her face.

  Hateful, hateful man. “You asked me what I was thinking, my lord earl?”

  “Mmmm?”

  “I’m thinking you’d better shut up or I’ll gag you.”

  He patted the seat beside him. “You’ll need two hands for that. Come on over here, sweetheart. I’ll hold your pistol while you do it.”

  Eva was considering shooting him when the door opened a crack and James handed in another clay jug and a large oil-cloth wrapped package. “It’s sandwiches and homebrew, my lady.”

  “Hand it to Lord Visel.” She gave the smirking lord a tight smile. “He can put it to good use and stuff it in his mouth.”

  * * *

  Godric hadn’t thought he was starving until after the first bite. The sandwich wasn’t anything special, just good dark bread with a slab of ham and a thick slice of Lincolnshire Red. The jug held a rich, sweet porter that soothed his aching head. By the time they were about an hour away from the posting inn, he was feeling almost human. With some very human needs.

  “I need to use the necessary.” The words sounded unnaturally loud in the post chaise, which had been utterly silent since rolling out of the innyard. Her full lips tightened and a fetching flush tinted her cheeks. So, the little hoyden had a vulgar mouth but she was not entirely cast away.

  “I should hate for things to become unpleasant,” he said when she continued to stare. “Well, any more unpleasant.”

  She huffed out a sigh and knocked on the roof with the hand not holding the pistol. The panel behind Visel’s head slid open immediately.

  “His lordship needs to make a stop.”

  “Here, my lady?” It was the voice of her earnest young henchman, a man who looked as if he desperately wished he’d told his mistress no back when he’d had the chance.

  “Sooner rather than later, James.”

  “Er, yes, very good, my lady.”

  Godric and the girl glared at each other in silence as the carriage slowed a bit. He imagined the postilions were looking for a place a four-horse team could pull off the road.

  “I can tell you are thinking you will escape, Lord Visel.”

  He looked from the window to her, unsurprised by her words. She was young but she was not silly. Of course she was also barking mad, but that seemed to add a low cunning to her thought processes.

  Godric cocked his head. “Lady Eva, you have taken my money and we are on a stretch of road with nothing for miles in any direction. What would I do out here on my own?”

  “You seem an enterprising man; I daresay you’d contrive something.”

  “What I will contrive is a great degree of amusement when you are caught, my lady. Trust me: I’m hardly likely to wander off too soon and miss that show. You have my word as a gentleman that I will not try to escape.”

  She chewed her lip, something he was beginning to realize indicated cogitation. “Take off your boots.”

  Godric did not believe he’d heard her correctly. “I beg your pardon?”

  She raised the pistol.

  “Why?” he asked, crossing his arms over his chest.

  “You’ll hardly try something stupid in the middle of nowhere in stocking feet.”

  He looked out the window at the gathering clouds. “It is going to rain.”

  “Well, then I recommend you complete your, er, business without tarrying.”

  “I gave you my word as a gentleman.”

  “I don’t care—I am not a gentleman.”

  The chaise shuddered to a halt and then rocked as somebody leapt off. When the door opened he was not surprised to see the boy, James.

  He glanced from Godric to the girl and frowned, his pleasant face hardening. “Did he try something with you, my lady?”

  “No, I’m merely waiting for him to take off his boots.”

  The boy’s lips silently repeated what she’d said and he squinted at her. “But . . . why?”

  “Good God, James, so he won’t run. Look at him; that is exactly what he is thinking.”

  Godric smiled. “Actually, I was thinking how much I need a piss.”

  She flinched as if he’d struck her.

  “Here then, your lordship,” the boy said, his face flushed. “That kind of language isn’t—”

  “If you want your piss, you’d better take off your boots.” Eva glanced at her watch, which hung from a plain leather fob. “You have one minute to take them off before we recommence our journey.”

  The boy shifted. “Um, my lady—”

  “Hush,” the little witch said, never taking her eyes from Godric.

  He toed at the heel of one boot, giving the appearance of struggling. “My feet have swollen.” He gave her a significant look. “I daresay because I’ve been wearing boots all night. I can’t remove them.”

  She motioned w
ith the pistol. “Help him, James.”

  Godric swiveled his legs toward the young giant. And when the boy reached for his boot, he kicked him right in the stomach.

  Chapter 3

  One minute Visel was moving like an old man with aches and pains, the next he’d kicked James faster than lightning and snatched the pistol right out of Eva’s hand.

  But not before her finger contracted in surprise and she discharged a shot through the roof of the carriage. Visel leapt from the chaise faster than a man in his condition should have been able. Eva launched herself at his back but her fingers slid off the slick satin of his colorful cape and she landed on the edge of the door, clipping her chin and biting her tongue hard enough to draw blood and cloud her vision with pain and stars.

  “Not so fast, my good man.”

  She blinked her eyes clear in time to see Lord Visel take one of James’s arms and twist it behind his back until the big groom grunted with pain.

  “You leave him alone,” Eva lisped, her tongue throbbing as she tried to turn her body in the narrow area between the seats, somehow managing to wedge herself more tightly in the process.

  Visel didn’t even waste a glance on her. “You there,” he called to the postilions, both of whom had dismounted and were staring, eyes wide, mouths agape. “Come here and tie this man’s hands. You’ll find a length of rope inside the carriage.”

  The taller of the two boys—for that was really what they were, just boys—looked hesitantly between Lord Visel, James, and Eva.

  She shook her head. “Don’t do it.”

  Visel gave the postilions a withering glare and gestured with the gun. “Do as I say.” He spoke with the confidence of one who expected to be obeyed: an officer, a peer, a man.

  His commanding tone infuriated her.

  “The pistol isn’t loaded—he fired the only shot,” she said, looking from the frowning earl to the wide-eyed young men. And then inspiration struck. “Please—you must help me. He is a pirate—a French pirate and I am Lady Eva de Courtney. He has kidnapped me and is taking me to his master, the pirate king Dirty Jean Ferrar.”

  Visel gave a half laugh, half snort.