Page 7 of Outrageous

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?”