Page 70 of Outrageous

Really, their expressions were priceless.

“You have?” Andrew asked, as though Godric had admitted to a penchant for going on the strut in Hyde Park wearing only a fur muff and bergère hat.

“He’s lying.” Eva’s voice was flat and her expression was one of profound disgust, like a cat that had inadvertently gotten its feet wet.

Godric clutched at his heart. “I’m stung.”

She crossed her arms, her standard battle stance. “All right then, name one of your favorite titles.”

“Ah, you like them, too, do you?’

She flushed. “No, they’re appalling, but Melissa consumes them like candies and they’re positively littering the house.”

“Hmm,” he said, as though he had to think about the matter when, in reality, he did not. He didn’t tell her that Minerva Press books had been the only ones available while he convalesced. Most were brought over by officers’ wives and then donated to the hospital. Rather than slowly go insane from his own morbid thoughts, Godric had read them, dozens of them. “I suppose I like The Castle of Wolfenbach or Count Roderic’s Castle best.”

For the first time in his life Godric wished he had the gift of sketching. “Your expression is priceless, Eva.”

“I must admit I’m surprised, sir,” Andrew said.

“And why is that, pray?”

“Well, you being who you are.” He glanced around, his eyes wide, and then whispered, “A colonel.”

“What? You think soldiers don’t appreciate a bit of Gothic excitement while we are on campaign?”

Eva made another of those snorting sounds, like something from a miniature bull.

“I’ll admit it had not occurred to me,” Andrew answered, taking his question seriously.

“Well, you two might care to sit about, reading drivel, but I want to play cards. Go fetch them from Godric’s room, Andrew.”

Andrew’s eyeballs bulged and Godric stood before they could commence brangling. “Actually, I forgot something up in the room, Eva. I’ll fetch them.”

“See?” she demanded, gesturing with a hand at Godric while staring at Andrew. “Now the man who saved us today is going up, all because you are a lazy, good-for-nothing, poor—”

Godric shut the door on their bickering. They’d behaved for hours; it was time they had a good go at one another. He’d not really wanted to go to the room, but he had wanted a word in private with Norton. He hadn’t wished to pursue the subjects of Flynn and the magistrate in front of his young companions.

He passed the taproom and saw a lone customer at the bar. His back was to Godric, but his mode of dress proclaimed him to be a rustic, as he was not dressed in the dyed uniforms that Flynn’s men had worn.

“Can I help you?”

“Good God!” His voice came out three registers higher than usual, and he spun around to find Mrs. Crosby leaning against the door that probably led to the kitchen.

“I’m sorry I startled you,” she said, not sounding it. “Were you looking for something?”

At least Godric now knew his heart was working well. “I wanted to have a word with Mr. Norton.”

“He’s not here. Perhaps I could help?” Her tone was a mixture of sin and velvet.

A bolt of lightning struck close enough to the inn to illuminate the dim taproom; the ensuing crack and roll of thunder was almost immediate.

Godric turned from the window to find Mrs. Crosby wearing another expression entirely. But it was gone so quickly he wondered if it was just a residual effect of the lightning.

“I hope he’s not out in the elements,” he said, becoming more curious about this woman—who was once again giving him come-hither looks—by the moment.

“So do I.”

They stood in silence, their eyes locked. Godric felt a frisson of something, but it wasn’t sexual excitement.