Outrageous Read online

  As they passed below a streetlamp she saw James scratch his head. “Now why would he have to become a Captain Sharp when he has plenty of money? And his new wife is bloody rolling—”

  James was so literal. “Yes, yes, yes. All right, so he shan’t have to become a card sharp. But that is beside the point. We are removing Visel from their vicinity so Drusilla and Gabriel can take his little boy into the country and start a life together.” She didn’t have to hide Gabriel’s illegitimate son from James because they’d discovered the boy’s existence together, while spying on Visel—who had, in turn, been spying on Gabriel and Drusilla.

  The hack shuddered as it rolled over the worn and rutted cobbles into the courtyard of the Swan with Two Necks. Eva pulled up the collar of her cloak and put on her hat, tucking up loose strands of her bothersome hair. She’d wanted to cut it short for the journey, but James had practically had a fit of the vapors when she’d suggested it. Sometimes he could be such a girl.

  “You’ve a bit above your right ear.” James motioned behind his own ear to demonstrate.

  Eva caught the offending lock and tucked it in before looking at him, tilting her high-crowned beaver hat over her forehead. “There, do I look like a young gentleman escorting his drunken elder brother back to our parents?”

  “You don’t look like no boy I’ve ever seen,” he muttered.

  Eva ignored him and peered out the grimy window. “You go make sure everything is all set and tell them you’ve got a cupshot gent in here and want our chaise pulled alongside so we can easily load him.”

  James gave her one last, sad look and sighed before opening the door and hopping down, not bothering with the steps. After he shut the door, Eva bent to examine their captive. The light from the inn was shining through the window and slanted across his face.

  He was wearing some stupid costume—she supposed it was a pirate outfit—and his turban had tumbled from his head, exposing hair that was normally an angelic pale blond but was now an inky black. He must have dyed it himself because there were smudges of black on his temple. In profile he looked just like many other aristocratic men of her acquaintance: a knife-straight nose, sharp cheekbones, and thin, supercilious lips. But somehow when you combined those features on Visel, they yielded something exceptional.

  Eva did not believe it was just his shockingly good looks that distinguished him from the rest of his crowd, nor the fact that he was a womanizing, drinking, gambling fool, because those things, too, were usual aristocratic habits. No, there was something else. She thought it must be some expression in his eyes, or perhaps the way he held himself: aloof, confident, and coiled—just the way she imagined a dangerous jungle creature must behave.

  She’d watched him like the proverbial hawk all Season long, and not because she found him attractive. She’d watched him because he never stopped watching her brother. Visel hated Gabriel with a ferocity that frightened her. He’d already managed to entangle him in one duel; a duel which he’d then stopped with a bizarre and very public apology. But his apology had not meant the end of his hostile behavior; quite the reverse. The few times she’d been close enough to see his face, she’d recognized the pent-up rage in his eyes. And that rage had been aimed at Gabe.

  That was when Eva had decided to follow the man and see what the devil he was up to. When she’d found out that, it had been a logical step to kidnap him. Well, logical to her. Although she didn’t like to admit it to James, her father would likely lock her in one of the towers at Exham Castle for the rest of her life if he ever learned about what she’d done.

  She looked down at the earl’s unconscious form and smiled grimly; she’d just have to make sure nobody ever learned about what she’d done—or what she was about to do.

  Chapter 2

  Godric hurt. Everywhere.

  He opened his eyes and then quickly shut them again after his eyeballs caught fire, the bright, searing light sending agony arrowing directly to his brain.

  “Ah, good morning, slugabed.”

  The voice clanged in his head like somebody pounding a mallet against a gong.

  “I daresay your head is paining you a bit. I’m afraid there’s nothing for it but to rise and shine. And I have this . . .”

  A delicious smell wafted beneath his nose, and his stomach gurgled with joy. “Guh. Coffee.”

  Low laughter echoed around him. “Sit up and I shall give you some.” A small hand slid beneath his shoulder and pushed. “I can’t lift you; you’ll have to help.”

  “If I sit up will you stop talking?” His voice sounded as if he’d been gargling nails.

  More laughter. “Look who wakes up grumpy.”

  Godric sucked in a breath, winced at the pain it caused, gritted his teeth, and pushed himself up.

  Oh. God. His head sloshed, the sound remarkably like liquid in a ceramic jug.

  “If you’re going to vomit again, do it into the bucket next to your feet.”

  He shuddered, wrapped an arm around his midriff and reached blindly for the hand strap with the other. A small, gloved hand took his wrist and guided his fingers to the leather grip.

  Godric clung to the strap like a child to its nanny and forced open his eyes. And saw her.

  “You.” Even to his own ears his voice pulsed with loathing.

  She grinned, flashing perfect white teeth between her full, shapely lips. “Me.”

  “But . . . but—” Words were evading him.

  “But . . . but . . .” She laughed. “You sound like a hen about to lay an egg.” She then gave a credible demonstration of a cackling hen—noisily—and laughed some more.

  Godric squeezed his temples with his free hand. “Please. I beg of you.”

  Another low chuckle.

  “Why?” he said.

  “Why did I kidnap you?”

  He could only grunt, but it seemed to be enough.

  “Why do you think I kidnapped you?” She didn’t wait for an answer. “You were about to kidnap my dearest friend, who is also my brother’s wife, Lord Visel. Two people, I will remind you, who married only because you forced them to. But that wasn’t enough for you, was it?” She plowed onward, her ringing voice escalating. “No, you couldn’t stand to see them happy with each other, could you? So you were going to take her, and what? Shame her? Shame him? Make him fight and kill you?” Her voice was like ice picks in his ears.

  She leaned across the seat and the buckskin of her breeches stretched taut across her thighs. Which was when Godric’s brain registered the fact she was dressed like a man.

  “I took matters into my own hands and removed you from the picture entirely.” She gave him a dirty look, the expression hard on her beautiful features.

  “You are wearing b-breeches.” It was not what he thought he’d say and her expression told him it wasn’t what she’d wanted to hear, either.

  She sat back in her seat and crossed her arms over her chest, her expression openly scathing. That was just as well, Godric decided, since her voice hurt his ears and he didn’t seem to be thinking or speaking straight. Instead he let his aching, dry, burning eyes roam over her person.

  In addition to skintight leather breeches, she wore scuffed black top boots—the smallest pair he’d ever seen—whose white tops were so filthy they would have made Brummell weep. Her clawhammer coat appeared to be a dark blue and the waistcoat beneath it gold and white striped. Her cravat was arranged in some hideous fashion that must be of her own devising, and on the seat beside her was a black beaver hat. Her hair was rudely bunched on top of her head and held in place with a great number of pins that glittered and glinted, catching the light from outside and flashing quite painfully.

  “Coffee.”

  Her lips thinned but she reached into a leather satchel at her feet and pulled out the clay jug she must have waved beneath his nose.

  “You’ll have to drink it from the jug.”

  Godric let go of the strap, reached out a shaky hand, and began to slide off the seat
.

  “Well, bugger,” she snapped, putting her free hand on his chest, as if her puny little arm could stop him from falling. Godric fumbled with the strap and caught himself, but not before he drove her to her knees in the small space between them.

  “Bloody hell,” she cursed, shaking the hand that had been holding the jug and sending glinting diamonds of coffee flying. She glared up at him while she sucked the skin between her thumb and forefinger. “You clumsy oaf, you made me spill.”

  Godric felt his mouth pulling into a smile.

  “Think that’s funny, do you?” She lifted the jug and took a noisy slurp. “Mmmm.” She lowered the jug and wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. “Delicious.” Then she slammed the bung into the jug with her fist and placed the coffee back in the bag before scrabbling up onto the seat, never removing her eyes from his.

  His stomach growled loudly enough to be heard over the wheels of the carriage. His foggy brain snagged on the thought: a carriage.

  He forgot all about coffee. “We’re in a carriage.”

  “Can’t slide much past you, can I?”

  “Where are we going?”

  “To Liverpool.”

  Godric squinted. He could not have heard her correctly. “What?”

  “I’ve sold you to a cruel and brutal merchant captain.” She paused, her mouth twisting oddly. “His name is Captain Blackclaw and his ship is called The Torment.” She sucked her lower lip into her mouth, white teeth resting on pink softness. And then a snort broke out of her pretty mouth and she doubled over. “Oh, Lord! You should see your face, Visel.” She rolled around on her seat, howling with delight.

  The woman was, Godric decided, every bit as crazy as she was reported to be.

  * * *

  Eva knew she was behaving badly, but she couldn’t help it. Mocking the haughty, handsome, and furious Lord Visel was simply too much fun to pass up.

  “When you are finished amusing yourself, perhaps you might tell me where we are really going.” His voice was like an arctic blast and he was glaring at her through eyes that were almost as pale as her father’s. For one dreadful moment she experienced the same tightening in her chest she did when Lord Exley stared at her with such open disappointment. But then she recalled this man was in her power.

  She crossed her arms. “I’ll tell you where we are going when you need to know it.”

  His face darkened in a way that was decidedly satisfying.

  “Right now the only thing you need to know is that you should behave yourself. Angering me would be ill-advised. In fact, it would be best if you kept me entertained—as you have been doing. Otherwise you shall find yourself tied up on the floor again.” She smirked. “With a rag stuffed into your mouth.”

  He cut a glance down at his wrists and the red chafe marks on the tanned skin. Eva had not been happy about inflicting such pain on him. And of course James had almost suffered an apoplexy when he’d gone to loosen the bonds, insisting they remove them entirely rather than simply re-tie them. She’d let him have his way, but only after a very heated argument.

  “That’s it, my lady. When he wakes up it will be the end. And if we don’t both swing for this—”

  “Oh hush,” she’d told him irritably, tired of his incessant naysaying. Probably because she knew he had a convincing argument for almost everything he said. “You can ride on the box if you’re so terrified about what he will do when he wakes up.”

  “It would serve you right if I did,” James snapped right back. “And what would you do when he woke up and found you all alone, I want to know?”

  Eva had reached into the big leather satchel she’d taken from her brother Gabriel and produced one of her father’s dueling pistols.

  James had howled so loudly it was amazing he hadn’t woken the dead, not to mention the dead-to-the-world peer tied up on the floor between them. “That is one of his lordship’s dueling pistols, isn’t it?”

  “Well it certainly isn’t one of her ladyship’s.”

  James had rapped on the roof.

  “What are you doing?” Eva demanded.

  “Riding on the box.”

  That had made her frown. “You can’t. I forbid you.”

  “You just told me to.”

  Lord! But there was nothing she hated more than being proved wrong in the middle of an argument.

  James opened the door when the chaise stopped.

  “I order you to remain in here with me, James.”

  He gave a rude snort.

  “I shall discharge you for insubordination,” she threatened, waving the pistol.

  James cut her a skeptical look and his calm brown gaze flickered to the pistol. “I hope that isn’t loaded, the way you’re waving it about.”

  “I’m a crack shot.”

  He rolled his eyes and hopped out.

  “What am I supposed to do with him when he wakes up?” she asked.

  “Hit him on the head—isn’t that what you told me?” He slammed the door before she could answer.

  “You are the worst henchman ever,” she’d yelled after him.

  That had been hours ago, just before dawn. Eva glanced from her captive to the window and realized they were passing some small cottages, a sure sign they were approaching civilization, which probably meant another inn. It was getting time for another change of horse.

  Her hostage must have thought the same. “Where are we?”

  “You needn’t concern yourself with such matters. I’ve taken care of all your transportation needs. All you have to worry about is behaving like a gentleman while we change horses. If you are good, I will see that breakfast is delivered to the chaise.”

  His nostrils flared and he resembled a bull about to charge. “What’s to stop me from grabbing you, my lady? I might not be up to snuff, but I’m certainly well enough to grab you.”

  “Hmmm.” Eva reached down into the bag without taking her eyes from him. When she sat up, she held a pistol.

  “What the bloody—”

  “Tut tut, Lord Visel. What kind of language is that to employ around a lady?”

  His red-rimmed eyes narrowed. “I recall dancing with you at the Pentwhistle ball—you have a mouth like a sailor.”

  His words pleased rather than insulted her, which, she suspected, had been his real intention. Eva recalled the night in question; she’d maneuvered him into asking her for the supper dance and he’d been surly and broody.

  “I recall that evening, too, my lord. You weren’t much of a supper companion.”

  He snorted.

  “I believe you were hoping to eat your meal with The Kitten that night.”

  His eyes narrowed, but he remained silent.

  It was just as well—even thinking about The Kitten irritated Eva. The Kitten—or Lucinda Kittridge—was the most sought-after debutante of the Season. She was perfect and beautiful and rich and sophisticated. And she always looked at Eva as if she were some type of grub worm.

  The Kitten had sunk her claws into Eva’s brother before Gabriel had been forced to marry Eva’s closest friend.

  Eva looked at her captive and made a tsking sound. “I know you were only pretending to pursue The Kitten because you believe it annoyed Gabriel.”

  The earl raised his eyebrows.

  “You can look at me like that, but I know it’s true. It was plain for all to see you didn’t give two raps for The Kitten. Besides, even if you did, your grandfather would never countenance such a marriage.” She snorted. “The Duke of Tyndale’s heir marrying a butcher’s daughter? I think not—no matter how downy she is.”

  His continued silence was beginning to irritate her, and she forced herself to hold the gun in a relaxed grip, pointing it away from him, just in case he annoyed her even more and her finger took action without consulting her brain.

  “Is that loaded?” he asked.

  “What do you think?”

  “I think you really are as mad as everyone says, aren’t you?”

>   Eva barely felt a twinge at his words. Barely. “And I think you really do have the death wish everyone says you do,” she countered. “Why else would you taunt a person holding a loaded gun on you?”

  The carriage slowed abruptly and they both looked out the window. A wooden sign proclaiming THE CROWN AND ANTLER passed by the window.

  He turned incredulous eyes toward her. “Good God. We’re on the bloody North Road.”

  Eva felt a flicker of worry at his disbelieving tone and forced herself to swallow it. She probably should have kept him blindfolded, or at least tied up. Not that it really mattered if he knew where they were, she supposed.

  The carriage rolled to a stop and a moment later a shadow fell across them and James’s face appeared in the window. His eyes went comically wide when they landed on the gun.

  “Open the bloody door, James,” she ordered.

  He hesitated, but then opened it the merest crack. Visel began to lower his hand from the strap.

  “I don’t think so, my good man,” she said, turning the barrel toward him and gesturing upward. “Keep your hands up.”

  James made a piteous noise. “Awww, Lady Eva, why’d you go and get out the gun?”

  “Do you work for this woman?” Visel asked.

  James’s eyes became—unbelievably—even larger.

  He opened his mouth to speak but Eva said, “That is hardly any of your concern, my lord. James, fetch us some food while they change the horses.” She kept her gaze fixed on Visel.

  “You are helping your mistress kidnap a peer, James. If you stop now, I might be able to put in a good word for you. But if you insist on—”

  “Do as I say, James.” Her voice was sharper than she would have liked, but it spurred the huge young man into action. The door shut with a click and Visel turned back to her.

  Eva sneered at him. “Perhaps the next time you think to enlist his help, you might wait until my back is turned, you—you bounder.”