Page 71 of Outrageous

She reached out just as another bolt of lightning flickered, her fingers warm and rough on his temple. “Does it hurt?” Her touch was caressing. Utterly inappropriate.

Godric reached up and circled her wrist with one hand, gently but firmly removing her fingers from his skin. He was about to release her arm when her other hand slid around his waist.

Godric laughed softly but didn’t release her. “What is it that you want, Mrs. Crosby?”

She shrugged, her hand kneading the bruised muscles of his waist hard enough that he hissed in a breath, his hand tightening on her wrist until she made an echoing sound, her chest rising and falling more quickly now, her eyes hooded as her hand continued to hurt him.

Her full lips curved into a carnivorous smile. “What do I want? What do you—”

Godric saw the light from a door opening behind him and knew it could only be the coffee room.

Mrs. Crosby’s smile shifted from aroused to amused and she dropped her hand. “Let me know if you want to take me up on that offer. Of help, I mean.”

Godric knew who was behind him before he released the woman’s wrist, and then watched as the cook disappeared into the kitchen before turning to face some familiar music.

* * *

Eva felt as if all she did these days was either sit in a carriage or pace a threadbare carpet in yet another cramped, filthy inn.

Although that wasn’t really a fair assessment of the room she was in now; yes, it was small, but it was scrupulously clean and plenty large for a couple. Well, a man and wife who were currently speaking to one another.

Eva groaned, her mind’s eye insistently playing the same image over and over again. Godric’s broad back, female fingers gripping his narrow waist hard enough that the tendons stood out on the back of her hand, and Godric holding her other arm.

And then there was his face when he turned, sardonic and amused. “Sorry, darling, I stopped to talk to Mrs. Crosby. Were you concerned for my welfare? Or have you done away with poor Andrew and need help disposing of the body?”

“How droll,” she’d snapped, infuriated by the way her voice shook. “But I’m actually headed up to go to bed. I seem to have developed a headache.”

His smile said he knew that for the lie it was. He gestured toward the stairs. “After you.”

“I hardly need an escort up the stairs.”

He came close enough to lay his large, splayed hand over her lower back and leaned low to whisper, “I still need to fetch the cards, sweetheart.” He kissed her temple.

He came up with her, fetched the cards, and then wished her goodnight before heading back downstairs.

And that, as they say, had been that.

Eva had heard Andrew moving about in his room some time ago, so Godric had been by himself—all alone—downstairs for at least an hour.

Or not.

“I don’t care!” She forced the words through clenched jaws, her head filled with visions of him doing to Mrs. Crosby what he’d done to her.

Oh yes, you do.

She flung herself down on the bed, still fully clothed in the stupid borrowed dress and overlarge cloth slippers.

There was a tentative knock on the connecting door.

“What?” she called out, not getting up even when she heard the door open.

“What’s going on in here?” Andrew’s rather reedy voice sounded even higher than usual.

“Nothing.”

“It sounded as if you were throwing furniture around—and marching in place.”

Eva shoved herself up onto her elbows. “What did you do down there?”