Page 44 of Outrageous

But Eva de Courtney? Hers was the rare beauty of a priceless object in a museum, and he felt an odd compulsion to collect her and put her on a shelf behind glass, to lock her away. He wondered if that impulse in others was what had made her the way she was—suspicious of men who wanted her only as a beautiful object.

She was not a piece of porcelain to be kept under lock and key. She was a living, breathing woman with wants and needs. Wants and needs he was ill equipped to satisfy.

Godric realized he was smiling. But it was a sad smile. He would try not to crush her spirit—to hem and hedge and control her as she’d accused him of attempting several times. But he didn’t think that would be the problem. As much of a hoyden as she was, she’d proven tonight that she had the body and desires of a woman: a very, very sensual woman.

But she was also a girl, and he could see the way her eyes softened whenever he was kind to her. Girls, even hoydens, had romantic fantasies, and they would be fantasies he could not possibly satisfy, no matter that he knew his outward appearance might be that of an angel or storybook hero. Once upon a time he’d even been a bit like that hero, but not anymore.

He stood and gave her one last look before snuffing the candle and returning to his own room, leaving the door between them open.

He pulled off his boots and removed his coats and ruined cravat, keeping on his buckskins, stockings, and shirt. Not only did he not wish to lie naked on this disgusting bed, but he didn’t want to shock her in the morning—in the extremely unlikely event he might get some sleep. She might be more comfortable with her own body than most of her countrywomen, but that didn’t mean she would be comfortable with his.

After banking the fire, he lay on top of the blankets, one arm behind his head as a pillow. With the other, he opened his fall and wrapped his hand around an erection so hard it had become painful. As he stroked his slickened shaft he thought about how she’d looked standing exposed and open before him; how she’d tasted; how she’d sounded when she covered his hand and mouth with her sweetness.

It didn’t take him long to bring himself to climax, his orgasm intense but far too brief, the mind-numbing pleasure dissipating too quickly and turning into the feelings of loss that always followed.

He would not sleep tonight, just as he had not last night. The fact he’d slept that first night could only have been a result of the whack on the head. He reached back and felt the lump, which was still sensitive but had lost some of its swelling.

His insomnia was not new. He’d been this way for a long time—even before what happened to Lucia and Carl, although it had been worse since they died. It was a somewhat predictable routine: three or four nights without sleep would pass and then he’d sleep like the dead for ten, sixteen, or, once, thirty hours at a stretch. Godric hadn’t given in to insomnia without a struggle. He’d tried drinking himself to sleep, working himself to sleep, and, with Lucia, well . . . there had been many nights she hadn’t slept, either.

Thinking about Lucia brought the inevitable guilt in its wake. Guilt that he’d not been there when she needed him, guilt that he’d not simply sent her to England after Carl was born—that he’d kept her with him because he was selfish. Guilt that he was about to forsake her memory and take a new wife—and that he was looking forward to the marriage in at least one way: he wanted Eva physically. And—after tonight—he wanted her badly.

Godric hadn’t been a monk since the death of his wife. Quite the reverse—he’d fucked his way through his remaining time in the army and then fucked his way through London when he’d decided to extract his revenge. But always when he’d bedded women, he’d known it was to satisfy a physical need, not because he had any intention of forgetting his past and beginning a new life. As if he deserved to start over again after what he’d done.

Godric turned his head until he could look through the open door toward the bed where she slept. He could make out only a vague outline of her form, but he imagined he could see the rise and fall of her chest. He didn’t love her—hell, he didn’t even like her a good bit of the time—but he liked her body and, he realized after tonight, he’d not be able to deny himself the pleasure of it.

He was glad he could at least give her sexual pleasure—and a stud farm. The irony of the combination was not lost on him, and he smiled. But his smile drained away when he thought about the truth of their future together.

Godric only hoped physical pleasure and horses would be enough when she found out that was all he had to give.

Chapter 9

For the second morning in a row Eva could hardly look him in the eye. In fact, she hadn’t; ever since they’d entered the carriage, she’d been staring at his chin, mouth, and nose. His mouth, she noticed, was flexed into a curve of tolerant amusement that made her yearn to hit him. But even that wasn’t enough to make her look up.

Eva wished her stepmamma had told her how mortifying it could be to face a person after one engaged in shocking sexual relations with them.

She’d woken this morning to find he’d already dressed and gone. He’d had hot water brought up to her and then sent up a meal of coffee, bread, butter, plum preserves, ham, and boiled eggs. She ate alone, dreading his arrival but not worried enough to keep her from eating. She was far hungrier than she would have expected in her anxious state.

When he had finally shown up, it had been to tell her the carriage would be ready in a quarter of an hour and she should be, too. He spoke to her in a level, civil fashion, but she could hear the humor in his voice. No doubt because she was bright red and couldn’t make eye contact.

The morning started off dry, if not clear. The sky was still the same dull gray it had been for days. It suited her mood.

Although he didn’t speak, but just looked out the window, she could see the slight curve to his lips. Eva knew that he was thinking about last night. And that he knew she was thinking about last night. And she knew that he knew—

“Shhh,” he said, leaning toward her, the sudden movement making her flinch.

The sound made her remember last night, when he’d soothed her like a skittish colt and then—

“I’m sorry if I shocked you last night, but we have done nothing to be ashamed of, Eva. I know I should have waited until we are wed—”

“You didn’t shock me,” she lied, her heart thudding. “I knew about—about, er—” What had her stepmother called it? Oral pleasure? She could not bring herself to say those words. She looked up and realized he was still waiting. “I know about that. And I know about plenty of other things, too,” she added for good measure.

He sat back and nodded, his nostrils flaring, his mouth pursed tight. She had no idea what that particular expression was supposed to mean. And no intention of asking, either. She was just glad he’d stopped talking—especially about last night.

* * *

If Godric laughed right now—after her inability to articulate the word cunnilingus and her solemn pronouncement of her extensive sexual knowledge and expertise—she would probably kill him in his sleep tonight.

So instead he sat back. “If we continue at this pace, we should reach the border by noon tomorrow.”