Page 18 of Outrageous

“I am a grown man, my lady,” Godric said, putting enough cold disdain in his tone to freeze a small body of water. “The duke does not direct my actions.”

“But you are his heir. And if you marry me, then—” For once the little harridan could not give voice to her thoughts.

“I am his heir but there is an abundance of second and third cousins. I have plenty of male relations to inherit without making a copy of myself for the dukedom.” He cut her a cold look. “You may take comfort in the fact that I will never put a child inside you.”

Her beautiful ivory cheeks flared and she blinked rapidly. “You mean—”

“Yes, you shan’t have to do your wifely duty and produce an heir.” Godric saw no reason to tell her the real reason he’d not be begetting any children on her—or any other woman—because he didn’t have to tell her. The fact that a strain of madness ran in her family was a convenient—if cruel—excuse. Was it shameless and despicable of Godric to allow her to believe it was fear of her tainted blood that would keep him from breeding her? Yes, it most certainly was. If he had a heart—or a conscience—he might have been bothered by his lie.

For all that her face was usually an open book, Godric could not see what she thought of his words. Perhaps because she didn’t know, herself. She was, after all, an innocent girl, no matter how outrageously she behaved.

“How old are you?” he asked, even though he wasn’t sure that he wanted to know the answer.

“That is an impertinent question.”

“Eighteen?” He grimaced when she did not answer. “Good Lord. Seventeen?”

“I am nineteen,” she snapped. “Not that it is any of your concern.”

He didn’t bother telling her that his future wife’s age was very much his concern. Godric wouldn’t be surprised to learn she was lying. She seemed younger than nineteen, but perhaps that was her behavior. He had to admit he’d not come across a girl quite like her before, not that schoolroom chits were an area where he could claim any vast experience.

He pulled his gaze away and looked out the window. His sister Louisa would have been nineteen this year. She was as different from the firebrand across from him as two girls could be. She’d shared Godric’s fair coloring but her temperament had been gentle and sweet. Louisa was like a dove to Eva de Courtney’s hawk. Or perhaps his wife-to-be resembled a more clever bird like a raven or magpie; clever and mischievous and difficult to control.

“I can’t believe James would leave me in your clutches,” she groused.

Godric did not turn away from the rain-spattered window. “He did so for your own good.”

“How do you know that? You didn’t even talk to him.”

“I didn’t need to; he heard what I had to say and knew it was the truth—just as you would know if you’d take a moment to consider matters. The boy is no fool—for all that you have twisted him around your finger. He knew how this must end. Besides,” he added just because he could not resist poking her, “if you think he fancied the notion of tramping about the countryside playing nursemaid to a gently bred lady in—”

“I do not need anyone to play nursemaid for me,” she said through clenched teeth.

Godric watched as she struggled with her fury, all but glowing with rage at his words. How interesting: a girl who didn’t mind being called mad but became furious when you questioned her self-sufficiency? It demonstrated an unattractive and unfeminine tendency toward independence. But worse than that, it showed she was opinionated and tenacious and committed to getting her way.

Well, so was he: what a marriage they would have.

“Why are we having this argument, Lady Eva? What purpose does it serve? He is gone and you are with me. By tonight we will be in Doncaster. When we arrive I shall summon Sir Bertram. I will put you in a room, find you suitable clothing, and we shall continue our journey toward the border on the morrow.”

She bared her teeth and leaned forward. “You shall have to drag me to Scotland in chains.”

“It is all the same to me,” he said coolly. He’d be damned if he’d let the chit goad him into a shouting match.

Her face fell when she saw he could not be drawn. “Why? Why are you doing this?” she begged, her full lower lip quivering in a way that gave him wicked and highly inappropriate thoughts. “If you let me go now, nobody will ever know. You can go on with your life—I have seen you with The Kitten, I know you fancy her, you could marry her if you release me.”

Godric didn’t tell her that up until this morning—when he’d woken up in this bloody carriage—he’d had no intention of marrying anyone, ever. But what would be the point?

“I find this topic tedious, my lady.” He cut her a repressive look. “If you cannot come up with something more interesting to say, perhaps you might have done and give us both some desperately needed peace and quiet.”

He might as well have saved his breath.

“I shall be the worst wife ever.”

Godric did not doubt it for a moment.

“I shall run away at the first opportunity and I shall—”

His hands shot out and he grabbed her upper arms, pulling her close until their noses were almost touching. “What you shall do is take yourself and your emotions in hand. You are nineteen, not nine. If you think I will tolerate bad behavior—threats, wildness, vulgar language, or disrespect—you are sorely mistaken. You will begin behaving like a lady from this moment on or I will find inventive and uncomfortable methods to encourage you to do so. And if you should have occasion to feel sorry for yourself and your predicament, let me remind you that you are the one who began all this by kidnapping me. It is time you learned your actions have consequences.”