Page 72 of Outrageous

Andrew blinked, which was when she noticed he’d taken off his laughable spectacles. “Where?”

“God, you ninny! In the coffee room. Where else were you?” His immediate frown told her calling him names probably wasn’t the best way to get what she wanted. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I didn’t mean that. Did you play cards?”

Andrew’s mild features were seized in an expression of indecision—likely about whether to slam the door in her face or not—but thankfully he was sunny natured and relaxed against the doorframe.

“We played for a while.”

Probably until Godric was on the verge of ripping his hair out at Andrew’s horrid bidding and pitiful trades. An hour playing cards with Andrew had likely left Godric curled in a fetal position on the hearth. She smirked at the image.

“And then we talked a bit,” Andrew said, shattering that appealing vision.

“You talked? About what?”

He shrugged his shoulders with deliberate casualness and said, “Men’s stuff. You wouldn’t understand.”

“Men’s stuff.”

His eyes narrowed into a nearsighted glare. “You needn’t raise your voice at me.”

Eva ground her teeth. Oh, but she did need. She desperately wanted to tell him he should be grateful she’d not leapt on top of him and wasn’t currently thrashing the information out of him. Before she could lose all sense and do exactly that, he resumed his desultory story.

“Godric ordered a bottle of brandy and we just spoke generally. He’s a fellow Etonian, you know.” He paused, smiling proudly across at her.

She glared at his puffed-up countenance, her eyeballs hot.

Andrew, utterly unaware of the danger that faced him, continued, “Mainly we just talked about what I want to do—what sort of work. He said he’d help me find a secretary position.”

Eva grunted. “Oh. What was he doing when you left?” Her face was as hot as a poker by the time the last word left her mouth. Luckily, Andrew seemed to find nothing amiss about a woman asking about her husband.

“He was reading.”

“Reading?”

Andrew grinned. “He really does enjoy those Gothic novels, doesn’t he?”

Eva didn’t want to tell Andrew that he knew just as much—if not more—about her husband as she did.

“There is something odd going on here,” she said, giving voice to a thought she really would have rather discussed with Godric if she didn’t hate him so much at the moment. For all she knew, he would be glad that Mrs. Horrid Crosby had possession of their weapons.

“You mean with the Gothic novels?”

Eva rolled her eyes.

“What?” he demanded. “Why do you have to look at me like that?”

“You make me look at you like that.” God, how she missed James. “Did you get the guns back from Mr. Norton?”

“No, I didn’t. What’s the hurry, anyhow?”

Eva wanted to hit him over the head with his bloody blunderbuss. “I told you to get them back half an hour after they took them. Why are you dragging your heels on this?”

“I don’t understand why I have to get them. Why don’t you tell Godric to ask for them?”

“Are you really asking me that? He just got beaten half to death.” And is in danger of being beaten the rest of the way tonight. “Can’t we do one thing without him? Besides, I’m not sure he’s in his right mind with all the buffeting his head took.”

Andrew’s expression was one of genuine alarm. “Do you really believe his head is damaged that badly? Mrs. Crosby said—”

Eva leveled her index finger at him. “If you quote her one more time—or even mention her name—I’m going to make you very, very sorry.”