“Aye.”
Godric knew about the name from the papers—the stories that had mentioned Flynn and his gang.
Something occurred to him. “You don’t sound like a Yorkshireman, Mr. Norton.” And Mrs. Crosby didn’t sound like a Yorkshire-woman.
Norton shook his head, his expression increasingly miserable—and something else: Was that guilt?
“I’ve only owned the inn four years now. I’m from Dorking.”
“Ah, what’s a Surrey man doing in Yorkshire?” And why do you look so very, very guilty?
The door to the coffee room opened and Godric wasn’t surprised to see Mrs. Crosby. Her expression, momentarily unguarded, was one of concern as her eyes flicked between Godric and Norton. “That leak in the cold room has gotten bigger, Mr. Norton.”
Godric had believed the big man was frightened before; now his expression was one of sheer terror.
“I’d best see to that.”
“Do send that map to me,” Godric called after his scuttling form.
Mrs. Crosby leaned in the doorway, her arms crossed. “What map would that be . . . sir?”
“Mr. Norton said he would loan me his road book.”
She nodded slowly, her eyes drifting over his person appraisingly. “I’ll get it from him and send it up with your clothing in the morning—if that is soon enough? Or I could bring it up to your room tonight.”
Godric smiled as he imagined Eva’s response to seeing Mrs. Crosby again tonight. “Tomorrow will be soon enough.” He thought she wanted to say something else, but she just nodded.
“Can I get you anything else before I retire for the evening?”
“No, thank you, I have everything I need.”
Something flickered in her eyes, but he couldn’t decipher it before she bowed her head. “I’ll bid you a good night.”
Once the door closed he glanced at the clock on the fireplace mantel: it was just before eleven. He grimaced; likely Eva was still awake and fuming.
So he plucked a book from the small selection without reading the spine, poured a little more brandy, and settled in, hoping to make himself sleepy by reading.
But The Orphan of the Rhine, for all its high, almost hysterical, drama could not hold his attention. Instead, he put the book in his lap and stared at the dwindling flames, the insistent pattering of the rain making him accept that they would likely be here at least one more day. And night.
It was better that Eva believed him to be up to dastardly deeds with Mrs. Crosby rather than know the true contents of his mind, which was filled with lustful thoughts of his delicious, maddening, amusing, enraging, intoxicating wife-to-be.
“Christ.” He threw back the contents of his glass and shivered with pleasure as the rich liquid burned a smooth path down his throat.
He briefly debated the wisdom of having another before pouring it, resolving it would be his last. He didn’t wish to be insensible while he lay in the darkness and stared at the ceiling tonight, but neither did he wish to be starkly sober.
The truth was that Eva had managed to worm her way under his skin. Not only her beautiful face and sweet little body, but the sheer volume of life that small package held. She’d been correct in her assessment of her behavior—she did behave immaturely at times. But if his behavior these past months was not immature, that was only because it veered into the area of dangerous stupidity. So, no, he didn’t fault her for her impulsive actions. Indeed, he honored her for caring so much about her family.
But the sad, disastrous truth was that he had nothing more to offer her than the negligible protection of his name and some bed sport—granted, he suspected the bed sport would be rather spectacular. He liked and respected her, but he did not love her. And he knew what love felt like because his love for Lucia and Carl still owned his heart, utterly.
It wasn’t conceit to say Eva was poised on the brink of giving her heart to him. She wouldn’t have become so incensed by Mrs. Crosby’s ridiculous behavior otherwise. Even if it was only infatuation brought on by their few kisses and his lamentable behavior beneath her skirts, it would leave her hurt when she realized he could not return her feelings.
It really was his hope they could live in relative amiability once they were married. He’d not been jesting about indulging her horse-breeding fantasy, which he truly believed was more than a childish whim for her—she knew an impressive amount about horseflesh.
He would spend his time in London and let her live her life. It would only rarely be important for her to leave Cross Hall. She’d need to be presented, of course, and they would move to the ducal seat when his grandfather died. But other than that, she could live the life she’d claimed to want: that of an unmarried woman, in all but name.
And you think that will make her happy? Living like a childless widow with her horses?
She wants children even less than I do.
Did she say that?
Godric paused, the glass halfway to his mouth, his brow furrowed as he tried to recall that uncomfortable conversation. Had she said she didn’t want children? Or had he just assumed it? He shrugged and took a deep pull from the glass. It didn’t matter—he didn’t want them, which was enough reason for both of them.
If he wanted to be kind to her, he would not put an unwanted child inside her, he would ignore the incessant demands of his cock and stay away from her bed and stop kissing and touching her whenever the fancy seized him.
It wasn’t that engaging in sexual acts with her would make her fall in love with him, but it would feed into her infatuation, which would mean pain for her when he finally went back to his own life.
It would be difficult for him to keep her at arm’s length, but he would ultimately be doing her a kindness. And didn’t he owe her that much, at least?
You’re such a model of restraint, a veritable beacon of decency and self-control.
Oh, bugger off, he snapped, ignoring the mocking laughter that echoed in his head as he mounted the stairs to the small room he shared with his wife-to-be.
* * *
Eva’s eyes were wide open and she was glaring at the ceiling when she heard footsteps outside the door: Godric’s footsteps. She closed her eyes just as the door opened.
She didn’t hear the sound of the door closing, and it was all she could do to keep from peeking to see what he was doing. The room was barely lit as she’d snuffed all but one stubby candle guttering on the far side of the chamber. She’d also pushed the furniture around a bit and then shoved the cot as far from the bed as possible—which wasn’t very far—the foot end facing him. Eva wished she’d had the sense to turn on her side so he couldn’t see her face, but it was too late for that now.
The wooden planks of the floor creaked softly and then came the distinctive sound of bone hitting wood, and an explosive, “Goddammit!”
Eva had to bite her lower lip hard to keep from laughing.
“So pleased to amuse you, my lady.” When she kept her eyes closed, he added, “I know you’re awake—unless you have some unusual malady that makes you choke with laughter while you sleep.”
She sighed and opened her eyes to find him rubbing his shin and glaring down at her. “Who the devil moved the bed?”
She shrugged.
He scowled, stood up, and came toward her. Eva hastily pushed herself up. “What are you doing?” She hated the fear she heard in her voice—but not as much as she hated the excitement.
He stopped abruptly. “What do you think I’m doing?”
She chewed her lip as they stared at each other in the gloom.
It was Godric who spoke first. “Go sleep in the bed. I’ll take the cot.”
Eva had to admit it was not what she’d been expecting. “I’m fine here.”
“Eva.” He used the tone that he’d not used on her recently—the commanding one—and she decided she disliked it more than she had before.
“Quit ordering me about; you’re not my husband and certainly not the master of me. Indee
d, I’m beginning to rethink this entire rush to the border.” She paused and then blurted, “Why did you even come back here?” She wanted to howl the instant the humiliating question flew past her lips.
“What are you wittering on about?” He loomed over her, fisted hands on his hips, his thin, mobile lips twisted into a scowl. Eva saw the exact moment when he understood what she meant. Vile, odious, teasing, hateful creature that he was, he smirked. “Ah, so that’s what’s got you in a twist, is it? A visit from the green monster.”
She flung back the blanket and surged to her feet, sick of looking up at him. “I’m sorry, my lord, I know men of your sort are accustomed to behaving like dogs in rut, but perhaps you could curtail your lust when I am trapped in the same building—nay, the same room—with you.”
“What is my sort, exactly?”
Once again it was not the question she was expecting and Eva experienced such a welter of conflicting thoughts and emotions she thought the top of her head might pop off.
The only thought she could latch on to was one that was swimming inside her skull like a circling shark. “I hate you.”
He grinned. “I don’t think you do, darling.”
“Don’t call me that. And I don’t care what you think.”
“I think you’re lying.” His voice had dropped so low it was like the skitter of dry leaves across cobbles. Even in this light she could see his pupils flare.
She sucked in a noisy breath and crossed her arms tightly over her chest. “Well I’m not.”
Good Lord! Could I sound any more like a fatuous, nervous schoolroom chit?
He nodded his head with menacing slowness. “Yes. I believe I could very easily prove you wrong.” The tips of his fingers ghosted over her jaw, which appeared to have a direct connection to her lungs and female parts. His touch also amplified the pounding of her heart, so that she could hear it in her ears, a distinct thud, swish, thud, swish, her blood being pumped throughout her body with an enthusiasm that left her dizzy. Rather than pull away, as her brain was directing, her traitorous body leaned closer.
“That’s a good girl.” His lips brushed over hers, far softer than the kisses they’d had earlier, and her body swayed toward him as her mind revolted at being called a good girl.
Oh, but he smelled of shaving soap and salty male skin and brandy and his scent overpowered her, just as his big body could overpower hers.
“Eva.” He whispered the word with a caress of warm air that made her shiver. And then his warm lips settled on the thin skin below her ear and he trailed hot kisses down her throat, nuzzling his nose into the plain tucker she still wore around her neck.
She’d been too furious to undress and had just kicked off her shoes. Besides, it had been her plan to go sleep in the coffee parlor on the settee rather than share a room with him.
So much for that.
Her head fell back limply, like a flower on a stem too weak to support it. She felt a hot breath on her collarbone, and then a tug. She blinked her heavy eyelids to find him holding her fichu between smiling lips. He let it flutter to the floor and claimed her with his mouth.
Eva met him, standing on her toes, her hands sliding around his neck and tangling in his hair as their lips met, not violently or gently, but as if they belonged together.
He grunted softly, the sound one of approval. This kiss was even better than the one earlier today, and part of her mind wondered if it got better every time, an unimaginable idea.
His big hands slid around her waist and gently kneaded. When his mouth went wandering, she once again let her head fall back, drinking in the sensation of his skilled, hot touch on her skin.
Eva realized he’d unbuttoned her dress only when his calloused fingers pushed it from her shoulders, along with the loose chemise beneath.
“No stays, I approve.” The words vibrated through her body as he spoke them directly over her heart, his clever hands divesting her of dress and chemise in one smooth shove past her hips. His hands ran up her naked sides and he shuddered violently. “My God, you feel good.”
His words, more than anything he’d said or done to her thus far, rocked her to her core and she launched herself at him.
His entire body stiffened and he gasped in what sounded like pain, but then his hands slid beneath her bottom and he lifted her with a groan and carried her to the bed, laying her out across it.
His temples and brow were beaded with sweat, the swelling around his eye darkly bruised.
Eva throbbed as he studied her. She was fully aware how her legs and arms were sprawled before him but didn’t care. “Did I hurt you?” she asked.
“Yes,” he said, his hand pulling at his sash, his eyes roving over her with a hungry desperation that made her feel desirable and reckless.
“Good.”
He chuckled and shrugged out of the robe with a hiss, his nightshirt obscenely tented. “You really are a little witch, aren’t you?”
Eva didn’t answer. Instead she moved a hand down her body, the action immediately drawing his eyes. That was the expression she wanted to see on his face at all times of the day: the expression that said she was the only woman in the world worth looking at. His breathing roughened as her hand moved over her belly, so she slid it lower, over the soft curve, and then into the thick, springy black hair that covered her mound.
“My God, Eva.” He made a noise like a death rattle and Eva grinned. This, she realized, was power. No wonder Mia so often claimed that gently bred women had tools and means at their disposal that men—and their own mothers and grandmothers—often tried to keep them from using.
He’d caught his breath and was as motionless as a statue, as if waiting for her next move. Eva shivered when her damp palm grazed the small, slick bud pushing between her lips.
When he looked up at her, his expression was . . . well, she couldn’t say what it was. But she liked it—she adored it.
And then he spoke, once again saying the unexpected. “Do you still hate me?”
“More than ever.”
He gave a deep, sensual chuckle, his eyes dropping to her hand as if he could not look away for longer than a second.
There was only one thing she could do when he looked at her like that: use her second hand. She absently rubbed her belly, drinking in his raw desire and savoring it as if it were the most expensive wine in the world.
“You are a temptress,” he muttered.
Eva’s breathing became that of a laboring horse as she took in the long, dark shadow distorting the thin material of his nightshirt.
She heard another low laugh and looked up to find his gaze fastened on her other hand, which had moved from her belly to her breast, where she was stroking and pulling at her stiffened nipple. Well, who knew that would feel so good?
“I see you were not jesting about your experience, were you?”
Experience? she almost asked, only at the last minute recalling her boast from yesterday. Was that only yesterday?
Judging by the way he was smiling at her, he liked the idea that she had prior experience.
She shook her head, unable to trust her voice, her eyes dropping from his face to the far more interesting thing poking at his voluminous nightshirt.
He reached over his shoulder and pulled the garment over his head in one smooth motion, and Eva froze—her hands, her breathing, her eyes. She had seen one before, a penis—a cock and a prick and a rod, she’d heard the stable lads call it when she’d lurked and eavesdropped while they thought nobody else was listening. She’d seen them soft and floppy when the boys swam in the pond on her father’s estate. And she’d seen his the other night. Still, it had been far away and the lighting dim. This time he was close enough to touch. The thick shaft was long and shiny, and something about it made her mouth water and her thighs clench.
He lowered himself swiftly over her, resting his weight on his elbows while kissing her with a vehemence that left her boneless. “You’re so beautiful,” he whispered in her ea
r, his teeth grazing her skin almost hard enough to hurt. “I want to eat you.”
Just as suddenly as he’d dropped over her, he pushed up on his hands, his lips parted as he breathed heavily. “Are you sure you want this?”
Eva nodded without hesitation; she’d wanted this experience even before Mia told her how much pleasure it could bring—she’d wanted it ever since she’d been fourteen and watched one of the footmen mount a maid in a bedroom they’d believed was empty. She’d gone back every day, catching them at it over and over. Watching the young footman’s powerful buttocks clenching and thrusting into the wide-spread maid had made her itch and squirm. Just as she was doing right now.
Godric didn’t hesitate, and she instinctively knew it would be an entirely different story if he knew the truth—that she was a maiden. If he knew the truth, they’d likely wait until they were married, or perhaps he’d never do it? And they’d certainly talk and talk about it, until she’d want to bash him over the head rather than do this with him.
He knocked her already spread legs wider with one of his knees and slid his hands beneath her thighs, pulling her hips up high, until she was close enough to his pelvis to touch his erect organ. Without releasing her, he reached under one leg and took himself in hand, placing the fat, shiny head against her opening.
“God, Eva—you’re so wet for me.”
His words made her woozy.
“Tell me you want it,” he ordered, pushing the alarmingly big head of his instrument against her entrance.
She gritted her teeth. “I want it.”
The last word wasn’t even out when he breached her with one powerful thrust.
* * *
Godric knew the truth the moment he plowed into her, violently and deep, employing all the care of a stallion mounting a mare. He’d never taken a virgin before, but it didn’t take prior experience to know he had one now.
To give her credit, she didn’t make a sound. But her already tight body—and by God, she was like a vise around his aching prick—stiffened until she felt like a warm, human plank in his hands. He lowered them both onto the bed, keeping himself buried, but not moving. Her hands had closed on his back like grappling hooks and her breathing was rapid and shallow.
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