Page 99 of Outrageous

No, that was impossible.

Wasn’t it?

* * *

Fortunately, Lord Exley wasn’t yet in the parlor when Godric entered three-quarters of an hour later. Instead, it was occupied by Norton along with two young girls, one dressed in a maid’s mob cap, the other clearly a scullery girl who must’ve been pressed into emergency service.

“Where is Lord Exley?” he asked the innkeeper.

“In his room, er, sir. Along with the other gentleman. That is, he is in his room, not his lordship’s.”

Godric would have laughed at the big man’s terror of the marquess if the situation weren’t so grim. Besides, Exley did tend to make a rather menacing impression, even though the man was actually quite slight of person.

“His lordship ordered a meal to be brought in, but Mrs. Crosby ain’t here. I can cook in a pinch, but”—Norton worried his lower lip—“we ain’t had no members of the aristocracy before—unless you count Sir William Tavish, but he’s a knight and don’t—”

“Mr. Norton.” Godric employed the tone he’d always employed on skittish men while cannons exploded in their ears and death occurred all around them and they wanted to run and hide.

“Er, yes?”

Just then the door behind Godric opened and Norton’s jaw fell open.

Godric knew who was behind him without even turning to look. “Mr. Norton?”

Norton’s eyes grudgingly slewed in Godric’s direction.

“Please bring something simple—bread, ale, perhaps some of that ham of yours and those delicious vegetable pickles?”

Norton nodded frantically. “Aye, we’ve got that.”

“Good man,” Godric said, clapping a hand on the big innkeeper’s shoulder and propelling him from the room.

“I shall ring when we are ready for you to bring in your repast, Mr. Norton.” Exley’s voice was so soft you had to strain to hear it, but it worked like a match to a fuse. Norton couldn’t get out of the room fast enough.

As ragged and filthy as he’d appeared on the road, the marquess was now equally spotless, his trim figure impeccably coated and booted. His pale gaze was fastened on Godric in a way that made him feel as if he’d tied his grubby neckcloth too tightly.

Exley examined Godric in silence, an uncomfortable silence that went on so long Godric began wondering if the other man was deciding whether or not to bypass conversation entirely and simply take him out to a convenient field and shoot him.

“Have a seat, Visel.”

Godric took one of the four chairs around the dining table and Exley sat across from him. Now that he could study the other man more closely, he saw signs of age other than the white hair at his temples. Deep lines radiated from his startling blue eyes, and the thin skin beneath them was smudged purple from what had likely been an exhausting journey. Of course, the gray hair and lines might simply be the product of having such a daughter rather than riding halfway across England—

“I encountered my employee, James Brewster, not far south of Doncaster.”

Godric nodded. He’d seen the young groom currying the marquess’s horse out in the inn stables. To tell the truth, he’d been stunned that Exley had brought James along rather than discharging him on the spot for helping his daughter carry out such a caper. Perhaps the man wasn’t as inhuman as he looked.

“James told me what happened. Everything,” Exley added.

Godric heard the cool displeasure beneath the other man’s words and knew instinctively it was not for him, but his daughter.

For the first time, Godric felt sympathy for the firebrand who’d captured both him and his future. What must it be like to have such a man for a father? Godric’s own father had been a kind and gentle soul who loved his family, his tenants, and his book-filled library. The only person Edmund Fleming would have ever struck terror into was perhaps his steward—but because of his careless spending habits rather than any cruelty.

The Marquess of Exley was perhaps the coldest person Godric had ever met. Of course he knew the man’s history—or at least the rumors: that he’d murdered his first two wives. He also knew Exley had killed at least three men in duels over his first wife. And then there were the tales—true, he believed—of his prowess at the gaming table and how he’d accumulated estate after estate from feckless gamblers over the years.

Yes, he could sympathize with Eva, now.

“I apologize for your predicament, Visel.”

Godric’s eyes widened at the marquess’s words. “Er . . .”