Page 28 of Outrageous

“You needn’t worry about that. Get some rest. I shall be in the next room.”

Her eyes drifted shut before he even finished. Though it wasn’t cold, precisely, the room was excessively damp, which created a chill. So he fed more coal into her fire and stoked it into a blaze and then left the door between their rooms slightly ajar. He regarded his reflection in the fly-specked mirror that hung above the dresser. The man who peered back at him was as exhausted as Eva but looked at least four decades older. He almost felt as if he might be able to fall asleep, damp sheets or no. But he had a letter to write—one he’d avoided writing last night when he’d written to Eva’s father.

When the servant came with cans of hot water, Godric asked for a quill and paper, already mentally composing the painful missive he would have to send the duke.

* * *

Eva woke with a start. The room was strange, and the only light came from the other side of the door, which was partially open. It took her a moment to recall where she was. Yes, at the inn in Cocklesham. Lord Visel had given her his blanket and she’d fallen immediately asleep.

Her eyes strayed to the door and she recalled what he’d said: that he would keep the door between them open. A soft light glowed from the cracked door; so, he was awake. She turned onto her back and stared into the gloom above her head as sleep slowly dissipated. And then she remembered what he’d said in the carriage, about wanting to stop arguing.

She’d been surprised by his kind words; he’d looked almost friendly when he’d said he wanted to make their marriage less contentious. And that he would see to it she did not have to live in London. He was, she knew, simply exhibiting common sense. They must marry. When her father learned what she’d done, which he would, now that James had gone . . .

James.

Eva chewed her lip to keep from scowling; she tried not to be angry with him, but she was furious. If he’d just done as they’d planned—but, no, Visel never would have let that stand, and James must have known it.

It had all turned into a mess, and it wasn’t James’s fault. It was her fault. She told herself she’d bought Gabriel’s safety, even if the cost had been far higher than she’d expected. Still, Visel had told her she could live in the country—and choose her own cattle, and wear whatever she wanted. And he claimed to have an aunt who knew her way around a horse, so perhaps he wouldn’t be all stodgy about a wife who shared the same interest.

Eva felt a twinge of anticipation at the thought of never having to go to a ton party or wear a dratted ball gown for the rest of her life. She realized she was smiling and shoved back the blanket. Her gown was a wrinkled mess, but that hardly signified—she always made a mess of her dresses, which was one of the reasons she preferred breeches. The other was—

“Ah, you are awake.”

She started at the sound of his voice and turned.

Lord Visel was standing in the doorway between the rooms. He’d removed his drab overcoat and looked as fresh as a daisy in the clothing he’d been wearing all day—just as long as she’d been wearing her clothing. It never ceased to amaze her how she managed to stain, rip, lose—

He came into her room. “Are you hungry?”

She nodded.

His mouth curved into a genuine smile—not the mean, smirky look he’d given her all Season. “Has the cat got your tongue?”

Eva felt her face heat. “No, I’m still half asleep.” She gave him a squinty look. “As I recall from yesterday morning, you weren’t exactly chipper and cheerful when you just woke.” Good Lord—was that only yesterday?

“Ah, but then you don’t have a goose egg on the back of your head,” he pointed out, gingerly feeling the back of his skull and wincing.

Eva grunted.

“Come,” he said, extending one of the hands she’d been mentally rhapsodizing about earlier. “I’ve ordered some bread, ham, and cheese. We can serve ourselves.”

She stared at his hand until his expression became strained, and then took it, allowing him to help her to her feet. Which was when she realized he’d removed her shoes. She looked up quickly to find him watching. Always watching.

“I thought you might sleep more comfortably without your shoes. Are you cold, or do you want me to take your cloak?”

Eva hadn’t even noticed that she was still wearing it.

“I must have been tired,” she said, looking up at him as her fingers picked at the knot she’d managed to make.

“Here, let me.” His hands, warm and dry, moved hers aside and he looked down as he worked. “You’ve made quite a job of it,” he muttered.

Eva took the opportunity to study him. The candlelight softened the lines that proclaimed his age, making him golden. His lips were slightly parted as he focused his attention on the knot. They were fuller when he wasn’t sneering.

He glanced up suddenly and their gazes locked, his hands going still. Looking into a person’s eyes at such close range was a rare intimacy; looking into his eyes made the blood roar in her ears.

His pupils grew large and his nostrils flared. His breathing, she noticed from a long way away, sounded labored. She swayed toward him, feeling a pull that emanated from her chest, as if he’d sunk a hook into her and was reeling it in, reeling her in.

He shuddered, like something had struck him, and his hands came around her upper arms and held her steady—then moved her slightly away. From him.