Outrageous

Book 2: Rebels of the Ton

by Minerva Spencer

Genres: Women's Fiction; Romance; Regency Romance

Synopsis

From handsome hostage . . .



When Eva de Courtney kidnaps Godric Fleming, her only plan is to stop the irritating earl from persecuting her beloved brother. But once she has the intriguing rogue in the confines of her carriage, she longs to taste the passion she senses simmering beneath his rugged exterior. Her forbidden plan is foiled, however, when Godric turns the tables, taking her hostage instead—and demanding they marry at once . . .



To unexpected suitor . . .



The last thing Godric wants to do is make the fiery, impulsive Eva his wife, despite her delectable mouth and alluring innocence. He knows from experience that nothing is forever, not even love. But honor demands he do right by the lady, no matter how stubbornly Eva tries to hold on to her independence. And while the road to the Scottish border is beset with danger, Godric's greatest challenge is to keep his hands—and his heart—from his captivating bride-to-be . . .



Contains mature themes.

Release date: June 29, 2021

Publisher: Kensington Books

Print pages: 370

Sample

London, 1816

Godric Fleming, Earl of Visel, vowed to kill his cousin Rowland when he got his hands on him.

He strode down the alley, feeling like a fool as his ridiculous cape billowed out behind him as if he were some corsair. Which was, of course, exactly how he was dressed—or at least the English public’s perception of a corsair.

When he reached the alley entrance he gaped. “Good God.”

The street in front of the Duke of Richland’s house was crammed with dozens, maybe even hundreds, of carriages. No wonder Rowland hadn’t been waiting for Godric near the duke’s garden gate as they’d planned.

Godric considered the mob of unmoving carriages, his mind as chaotic as the scene before him. Perhaps this mess was a sign he should call off his ill-advised plan? Perhaps there was still time to—

“Lord Visel?”

Godric spun around to find a huge boy dressed like a stable lad.

“Who the devil are you?”

“Mr. Rowland sent me to tell you the carriage is waitin’ at the back entrance, my lord.” The young giant hesitated. “Mr. Rowland said he needed to talk to you before taking the woman.”

Godric clenched his jaws so tightly his head throbbed; trust that idiot Rowland to bring in even more conspirators. It was bad enough the two of them were planning to kidnap the woman—now this boy was part of the plan? Who else had the fool told? The bloody Times?

“No.” He shook his head. No, he would not do it. He could not do it.

“My lord?” the boy asked, his brow furrowed in confusion.

“Come along,” Godric said, ignoring the lad’s question and marching toward the other end of the alley.

The oddest sensation filled his body as he walked, as if he were emerging from a dense fog, his head clearing with each step and his vision shifting slowly into focus. For the first time in months—hell, over a year—he could see. And what he saw was bloody terrifying.

Godric stumbled and the air whooshed out of his lungs at the enormity of what he had almost done.

Good God! What the devil have I been thinking?

You haven’t been thinking, Godric old boy, his long-absent conscience pointed out.

No, he hadn’t. Why the hell had it taken him so long to realize he was behaving like a bloody lunatic? And why had he only come to his senses now—after scheming and planning and preparing for weeks?

Does it matter why you’ve seen the disaster you’ve been courting, Godric? Just be grateful that you have—before it was too late.

Perhaps speaking to his prospective kidnap victim—Drusilla Marlington—earlier in the evening had begun to clear the madness from his mind? The young woman had done nothing to him—they hardly even knew each other—and yet he’d humiliated her and forced her into a marriage with a man who’d been courting another woman.

And when her unwanted marriage had—against all odds—showed signs of becoming a love match? Well, then Godric had decided to use her again to get to the man she’d married: Gabriel Marlington.

To be perfectly honest, her husband had done nothing to him, either. Yet all Godric had done since returning home to Britain was harass the man.

I’ve been telling you this for months, the dry voice in his head observed.

“Blast and damn,” Godric cursed under his breath. Sod it all to hell; this was bloody lunacy.

He would get in the carriage, go home, and try to forget these past few months of insanity.

The relief that assailed him at the thought almost drove him to his knees.

No doubt he’d have a devil of a time with his cousin Rowland—a man so desperate for funds he’d ransom his own grandmother—but Godric did not doubt he could handle the little worm.

The hired carriage waited at the end of the alley, the interior darker than the night. Godric yanked open the door.

“We’re going,” he said to the figure sitting on the back-facing bench. “I won’t—”

Something hard slammed into the back of his head. His vision exploded with red-hot pain and he staggered forward. “Wha—”

“Push him in, James!”

Big hands grabbed his shoulders and shoved.

Godric went headfirst into the carriage, turning his head just in time to avoid landing on his face and breaking his nose. Even so, the pain from the impact was so intense it was nauseating and his stomach cramped, preparing to void itself. He gritted his teeth to keep back the flood of bile.

His aggressor rolled him onto his back and then folded his legs up against his chest. A face lowered over Godric’s: huge blue-violet eyes creased in a frown, red lips parted, a lock of silky black hair . . .

He blinked, “Y-you—”

“Hallo, Lord Visel.”

Whoever was holding his ankles gave him a shove and his head struck the opposite door. The last thing he heard was, “He’s out cold, James, but you’d best tie his hands.”

Eva de Courtney, middle and least-favored daughter of the Marquess of Exley, worried her lip as she looked at the man who lay crumpled up on the carriage floor.

“Well, here he is. Now what do you want to do with him, my lady?” James had insisted on trading places with her and was jammed into the back-facing seat, his expression mulish, his huge arms crossed over his chest.

“You know what I want to do.”

For such a large man, he could make the most piteous sounds. “Oh, Lady Eva. Are you sure you wouldn’t—”

“I’m quite sure.”

“But you don’t know what I was going to say.”

“I’ve been able to read your mind since we were both old enough to crawl, James Brewster. You were about to try and talk me out of my plan. Yet again.”

Eva squinted down at the earl and used the toe of her boot to nudge the colorful turban off Lord Visel’s head. “Would you look at that?” she said.

James bent to look. “What?”

“The bugger even dyed his hair.” She cut her groom and oldest friend a quick look. “If that doesn’t convince you he was up to dastardly deeds, then I don’t know what will.”

“I never said he wasn’t up to something, my lady—I know he was. I just don’t think this is the only way to handle it—certainly not the best way to handle it.”

Eva made the dismissive hissing sound she’d picked up from her stepmamma, Lady Euphemia Exley. She thought the sound was a perfect response to most of the dunderheaded things men insisted on saying.

“Well, it’s too late to argue about it or change our minds now. He saw me, so we can hardly just drop him at his lodgings as if nothing happened. He’s sure to set the constables on us.” Or worse, my father.

James chewed this over while the two of them gazed at Lord Visel’s unconscious form.

“We could always cut his throat and dump him in a ditch.”

“My lady!” His eyes were as round as saucers.

Eva laughed. “Lord, James—you’ve lost your sense of humor entirely. Of course I wouldn’t actually kill him.” No matter how much he might deserve such a fate.

“Perhaps we should sit him up, my lady? He’s an earl, after all. I think we should get him off the—”

“No. He’s fine where he is,” Eva said. “I checked his breathing; he’s alive.” Visel’s head would ache like the dickens when he woke up, but that was the least his wretched behavior merited.

James flung himself against the seat back, his abrupt movements causing the entire carriage to jostle. “Lord Exley will skin the hide right offa me.”

“My father will never find out, James. We’ll only be up north a week at the most—we can rent hacks for the ride back and make the journey in a fraction of the time.”

“What if the marquess checks on you before we return?”

“Why would he? He believes I am going to join my sister at Lady Repton’s country house, but Melissa and Lady Repton aren’t expecting me to visit for at least two more weeks. It’s perfect.”

“A perfect disaster,” James muttered.

“You worry too much. My father is so concerned with my stepmamma’s delicate condition, he won’t even recall my existence.”

James made a skeptical noise but said nothing—probably because he knew it was true. Anyone with eyes in their head could see that her father worshipped his wife. Eva didn’t blame him; she loved her stepmamma, too.

“We can still change our minds about this, my lady. We could—”

“Don’t fret, we’ll be finished with Visel and back before anyone finds out anything. Besides, my father assigned you to me as my groom. Strictly speaking, your hide is mine, so you can always claim you were just obeying my orders.” The carriage passed a streetlight and illuminated his offended expression, and Eva laughed.

James didn’t join her. Instead, he shivered. “My hide is more likely to find itself in Newgate after we get caught. Cor, my lady, he’s a bleeding duke’s heir.”

“We won’t get caught.”

“Ha!”

“I’m telling you, my father shall never know. Melissa is an indifferent letter-writer and we should have at least two weeks, but probably longer. In the meantime, we will have plenty of opportunity to persuade his deranged lordship to leave my brother alone.”

“What if he doesn’t want to be persuaded?”

Eva had considered that, too. “Then you shall stay with him.”

“And how will you get back to London?”

“I can hire a chaise and somebody to attend me if you are so concerned.”

“What if Lord Visel says something to your father after we let him go? I don’t see a man like him taking kidnapping without a fuss.”

“Oh come, James. Do you think he would ever admit that a mere girl, and a crazy one to boot, kidnapped him? He’d be the laughingstock of all London. Trust me, he’ll be far more interested in keeping this quiet than we are. You’ll see.”

“How the devil do you know he’ll do what you want, my lady?”

“Why, James, are you saying I lack the ability to be persuasive?” Eva laughed when he groaned. “You let me worry about Lord Visel. I trust the chaise will be waiting for us at the Swan?”

“Aye, already paid for it.”

“And did you engage it under his lordship’s name?”

James looked pained. “Yes, my lady.”

Eva grinned and sat back, resting one booted foot on the earl’s motionless body. She had no qualms about using him as a footstool. He’d tormented Gabriel relentlessly since the day he’d returned to England. He’d also said extremely uncharitable things about her. All in all, he’d behaved like a coxcomb toward most members of the ton, even though all of Britain had been prepared to receive him with open arms. And why not? He was exceedingly handsome, he was the Duke of Tyndale’s heir, and he had a reputation for military bravery that was unparalleled. But Godric Fleming had ignored the ton’s adulation and appeared only interested in persecuting Eva’s brother. There was something wrong with him; something very wrong, indeed.

And Eva should know because she counted herself as something of a Visel expert—although not by choice. She’d been at her third wretched ball of the wretched Season when he strolled in looking like an angel cast down to Earth. She’d been sitting with all the other wallflowers, watching the activities from a safe distance. Drusilla, her best friend and now her brother’s wife, had been sitting beside her.

Dru hadn’t notice Visel’s entrance because she had eyes only for Gabe.

Eva smirked to herself. Dru thought she’d hidden her infatuation, but Eva watched others so closely, sometimes she swore she could hear what they were thinking. She knew that her friend had fallen head-over-heels in love with Gabe the summer she’d first met him. Gabriel, of course, was a clueless clod-headed male who’d been too preoccupied with his mistresses and the beautiful Miss Lucinda Kittridge to pay poor Dru any mind. Well, except to taunt and tease her.

But they were married now, so all was well that ended well, in Eva’s opinion. She had to give Visel credit for the marriage—if he’d not behaved like a buffoon, her brother never would have been forced to offer for Drusilla, which would have been a tragedy. Not that you could get Drusilla and Gabriel to admit that . . . yet. No, they were too stubborn to realize they were made for each other. Eva snorted at the foolishness of people in love.

They would sort out their problems in time. She gritted her teeth and prodded Visel’s unconscious form with the heel of her boot. Yes, they would solve their problems if Lord Visel was not around to bother and meddle and interfere in their lives every ten minutes, which he couldn’t seem to stop doing for some bizarre reason.

A low groan came from the floor.

“Er, Lady Eva . . .”

“Don’t worry, James. You can hit him again if he comes around. He certainly deserves it.”

It was James who groaned this time. “It don’t matter how much he deserves hittin’, my lady. It just don’t do to be smacking earls over the head and—”

“Do you recall when Gabriel showed you how to shoot the pips out of a card?”

Silence met her question.

“Do you?”

“Well, yes.”

“And how about the time Gabriel told your father you’d accompanied him to look at bloodstock rather than telling him the truth—that you’d gone to see a mill and became so ill on hard cider I had to pay two postilions to lift you into the carriage?” James’s father was the stable master at her father’s country estate and a man feared almost as much as his master, the marquess.

“But it was you that made me go to that mill, my lady. And it was you that kept buyin’ me cider.”

Details, details. “That isn’t the point, James,” she said in her best lady-of-the-manor tone. “The point is, Gabriel has been a good friend to you on many occasions. Now it is time we do something for him. If we don’t get this man”—she gave Visel a hard shove—“away from Gabriel, Visel will end up either killing him or making Gabe kill him. And then my brother shall have to flee to the Continent and take up gambling to survive.”

As they passed below a streetlamp she saw James scratch his head. “Now why would he have to become a Captain Sharp when he has plenty of money? And his new wife is bloody rolling—”

James was so literal. “Yes, yes, yes. All right, so he shan’t have to become a card sharp. But that is beside the point. We are removing Visel from their vicinity so Drusilla and Gabriel can take his little boy into the country and start a life together.” She didn’t have to hide Gabriel’s illegitimate son from James because they’d discovered the boy’s existence together, while spying on Visel—who had, in turn, been spying on Gabriel and Drusilla.

The hack shuddered as it rolled over the worn and rutted cobbles into the courtyard of the Swan with Two Necks. Eva pulled up the collar of her cloak and put on her hat, tucking up loose strands of her bothersome hair. She’d wanted to cut it short for the journey, but James had practically had a fit of the vapors when she’d suggested it. Sometimes he could be such a girl.

“You’ve a bit above your right ear.” James motioned behind his own ear to demonstrate.

Eva caught the offending lock and tucked it in before looking at him, tilting her high-crowned beaver hat over her forehead. “There, do I look like a young gentleman escorting his drunken elder brother back to our parents?”

“You don’t look like no boy I’ve ever seen,” he muttered.

Eva ignored him and peered out the grimy window. “You go make sure everything is all set and tell them you’ve got a cupshot gent in here and want our chaise pulled alongside so we can easily load him.”

James gave her one last, sad look and sighed before opening the door and hopping down, not bothering with the steps. After he shut the door, Eva bent to examine their captive. The light from the inn was shining through the window and slanted across his face.

He was wearing some stupid costume—she supposed it was a pirate outfit—and his turban had tumbled from his head, exposing hair that was normally an angelic pale blond but was now an inky black. He must have dyed it himself because there were smudges of black on his temple. In profile he looked just like many other aristocratic men of her acquaintance: a knife-straight nose, sharp cheekbones, and thin, supercilious lips. But somehow when you combined those features on Visel, they yielded something exceptional.

Eva did not believe it was just his shockingly good looks that distinguished him from the rest of his crowd, nor the fact that he was a womanizing, drinking, gambling fool, because those things, too, were usual aristocratic habits. No, there was something else. She thought it must be some expression in his eyes, or perhaps the way he held himself: aloof, confident, and coiled—just the way she imagined a dangerous jungle creature must behave.

She’d watched him like the proverbial hawk all Season long, and not because she found him attractive. She’d watched him because he never stopped watching her brother. Visel hated Gabriel with a ferocity that frightened her. He’d already managed to entangle him in one duel; a duel which he’d then stopped with a bizarre and very public apology. But his apology had not meant the end of his hostile behavior; quite the reverse. The few times she’d been close enough to see his face, she’d recognized the pent-up rage in his eyes. And that rage had been aimed at Gabe.

That was when Eva had decided to follow the man and see what the devil he was up to. When she’d found out that, it had been a logical step to kidnap him. Well, logical to her. Although she didn’t like to admit it to James, her father would likely lock her in one of the towers at Exham Castle for the rest of her life if he ever learned about what she’d done.

She looked down at the earl’s unconscious form and smiled grimly; she’d just have to make sure nobody ever learned about what she’d done—or what she was about to do.

Godric hurt. Everywhere.

He opened his eyes and then quickly shut them again after his eyeballs caught fire, the bright, searing light sending agony arrowing directly to his brain.

“Ah, good morning, slugabed.”

The voice clanged in his head like somebody pounding a mallet against a gong.

“I daresay your head is paining you a bit. I’m afraid there’s nothing for it but to rise and shine. And I have this . . .”

A delicious smell wafted beneath his nose, and his stomach gurgled with joy. “Guh. Coffee.”

Low laughter echoed around him. “Sit up and I shall give you some.” A small hand slid beneath his shoulder and pushed. “I can’t lift you; you’ll have to help.”

“If I sit up will you stop talking?” His voice sounded as if he’d been gargling nails.

More laughter. “Look who wakes up grumpy.”

Godric sucked in a breath, winced at the pain it caused, gritted his teeth, and pushed himself up.

Oh. God. His head sloshed, the sound remarkably like liquid in a ceramic jug.

“If you’re going to vomit again, do it into the bucket next to your feet.”

He shuddered, wrapped an arm around his midriff and reached blindly for the hand strap with the other. A small, gloved hand took his wrist and guided his fingers to the leather grip.

Godric clung to the strap like a child to its nanny and forced open his eyes. And saw her.

“You.” Even to his own ears his voice pulsed with loathing.

She grinned, flashing perfect white teeth between her full, shapely lips. “Me.”

“But . . . but—” Words were evading him.

“But . . . but . . .” She laughed. “You sound like a hen about to lay an egg.” She then gave a credible demonstration of a cackling hen—noisily—and laughed some more.

Godric squeezed his temples with his free hand. “Please. I beg of you.”

Another low chuckle.

“Why?” he said.

“Why did I kidnap you?”

He could only grunt, but it seemed to be enough.

“Why do you think I kidnapped you?” She didn’t wait for an answer. “You were about to kidnap my dearest friend, who is also my brother’s wife, Lord Visel. Two people, I will remind you, who married only because you forced them to. But that wasn’t enough for you, was it?” She plowed onward, her ringing voice escalating. “No, you couldn’t stand to see them happy with each other, could you? So you were going to take her, and what? Shame her? Shame him? Make him fight and kill you?” Her voice was like ice picks in his ears.

She leaned across the seat and the buckskin of her breeches stretched taut across her thighs. Which was when Godric’s brain registered the fact she was dressed like a man.

“I took matters into my own hands and removed you from the picture entirely.” She gave him a dirty look, the expression hard on her beautiful features.

“You are wearing b-breeches.” It was not what he thought he’d say and her expression told him it wasn’t what she’d wanted to hear, either.

She sat back in her seat and crossed her arms over her chest, her expression openly scathing. That was just as well, Godric decided, since her voice hurt his ears and he didn’t seem to be thinking or speaking straight. Instead he let his aching, dry, burning eyes roam over her person.

In addition to skintight leather breeches, she wore scuffed black top boots—the smallest pair he’d ever seen—whose white tops were so filthy they would have made Brummell weep. Her clawhammer coat appeared to be a dark blue and the waistcoat beneath it gold and white striped. Her cravat was arranged in some hideous fashion that must be of her own devising, and on the seat beside her was a black beaver hat. Her hair was rudely bunched on top of her head and held in place with a great number of pins that glittered and glinted, catching the light from outside and flashing quite painfully.

“Coffee.”

Her lips thinned but she reached into a leather satchel at her feet and pulled out the clay jug she must have waved beneath his nose.

“You’ll have to drink it from the jug.”

Godric let go of the strap, reached out a shaky hand, and began to slide off the seat.

“Well, bugger,” she snapped, putting her free hand on his chest, as if her puny little arm could stop him from falling. Godric fumbled with the strap and caught himself, but not before he drove her to her knees in the small space between them.

“Bloody hell,” she cursed, shaking the hand that had been holding the jug and sending glinting diamonds of coffee flying. She glared up at him while she sucked the skin between her thumb and forefinger. “You clumsy oaf, you made me spill.”

Godric felt his mouth pulling into a smile.

“Think that’s funny, do you?” She lifted the jug and took a noisy slurp. “Mmmm.” She lowered the jug and wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. “Delicious.” Then she slammed the bung into the jug with her fist and placed the coffee back in the bag before scrabbling up onto the seat, never removing her eyes from his.

His stomach growled loudly enough to be heard over the wheels of the carriage. His foggy brain snagged on the thought: a carriage.

He forgot all about coffee. “We’re in a carriage.”

“Can’t slide much past you, can I?”

“Where are we going?”

“To Liverpool.”

Godric squinted. He could not have heard her correctly. “What?”

“I’ve sold you to a cruel and brutal merchant captain.” She paused, her mouth twisting oddly. “His name is Captain Blackclaw and his ship is called The Torment.” She sucked her lower lip into her mouth, white teeth resting on pink softness. And then a snort broke out of her pretty mouth and she doubled over. “Oh, Lord! You should see your face, Visel.” She rolled around on her seat, howling with delight.

The woman was, Godric decided, every bit as crazy as she was reported to be.

Eva knew she was behaving badly, but she couldn’t help it. Mocking the haughty, handsome, and furious Lord Visel was simply too much fun to pass up.

“When you are finished amusing yourself, perhaps you might tell me where we are really going.” His voice was like an arctic blast and he was glaring at her through eyes that were almost as pale as her father’s. For one dreadful moment she experienced the same tightening in her chest she did when Lord Exley stared at her with such open disappointment. But then she recalled this man was in her power.

She crossed her arms. “I’ll tell you where we are going when you need to know it.”

His face darkened in a way that was decidedly satisfying.

“Right now the only thing you need to know is that you should behave yourself. Angering me would be ill-advised. In fact, it would be best if you kept me entertained—as you have been doing. Otherwise you shall find yourself tied up on the floor again.” She smirked. “With a rag stuffed into your mouth.”

He cut a glance down at his wrists and the red chafe marks on the tanned skin. Eva had not been happy about inflicting such pain on him. And of course James had almost suffered an apoplexy when he’d gone to loosen the bonds, insisting they remove them entirely rather than simply re-tie them. She’d let him have his way, but only after a very heated argument.

“That’s it, my lady. When he wakes up it will be the end. And if we don’t both swing for this—”

“Oh hush,” she’d told him irritably, tired of his incessant naysaying. Probably because she knew he had a convincing argument for almost everything he said. “You can ride on the box if you’re so terrified about what he will do when he wakes up.”

“It would serve you right if I did,” James snapped right back. “And what would you do when he woke up and found you all alone, I want to know?”

Eva had reached into the big leather satchel she’d taken from her brother Gabriel and produced one of her father’s dueling pistols.

James had howled so loudly it was amazing he hadn’t woken the dead, not to mention the dead-to-the-world peer tied up on the floor between them. “That is one of his lordship’s dueling pistols, isn’t it?”

“Well it certainly isn’t one of her ladyship’s.”

James had rapped on the roof.

“What are you doing?” Eva demanded.

“Riding on the box.”

That had made her frown. “You can’t. I forbid you.”

“You just told me to.”

Lord! But there was nothing she hated more than being proved wrong in the middle of an argument.

James opened the door when the chaise stopped.

“I order you to remain in here with me, James.”

He gave a rude snort.

“I shall discharge you for insubordination,” she threatened, waving the pistol.

James cut her a skeptical look and his calm brown gaze flickered to the pistol. “I hope that isn’t loaded, the way you’re waving it about.”

“I’m a crack shot.”

He rolled his eyes and hopped out.

“What am I supposed to do with him when he wakes up?” she asked.

“Hit him on the head—isn’t that what you told me?” He slammed the door before she could answer.

“You are the worst henchman ever,” she’d yelled after him.

That had been hours ago, just before dawn. Eva glanced from her captive to the window and realized they were passing some small cottages, a sure sign they were approaching civilization, which probably meant another inn. It was getting time for another change of horse.

Her hostage must have thought the same. “Where are we?”

“You needn’t concern yourself with such matters. I’ve taken care of all your transportation needs. All you have to worry about is behaving like a gentleman while we change horses. If you are good, I will see that breakfast is delivered to the chaise.”

His nostrils flared and he resembled a bull about to charge. “What’s to stop me from grabbing you, my lady? I might not be up to snuff, but I’m certainly well enough to grab you.”

“Hmmm.” Eva reached down into the bag without taking her eyes from him. When she sat up, she held a pistol.

“What the bloody—”

“Tut tut, Lord Visel. What kind of language is that to employ around a lady?”

His red-rimmed eyes narrowed. “I recall dancing with you at the Pentwhistle ball—you have a mouth like a sailor.”

His words pleased rather than insulted her, which, she suspected, had been his real intention. Eva recalled the night in question; she’d maneuvered him into asking her for the supper dance and he’d been surly and broody.

“I recall that evening, too, my lord. You weren’t much of a supper companion.”

He snorted.

“I believe you were hoping to eat your meal with The Kitten that night.”

His eyes narrowed, but he remained silent.

It was just as well—even thinking about The Kitten irritated Eva. The Kitten—or Lucinda Kittridge—was the most sought-after debutante of the Season. She was perfect and beautiful and rich and sophisticated. And she always looked at Eva as if she were some type of grub worm.

The Kitten had sunk her claws into Eva’s brother before Gabriel had been forced to marry Eva’s closest friend.

Eva looked at her captive and made a tsking sound. “I know you were only pretending to pursue The Kitten because you believe it annoyed Gabriel.”

The earl raised his eyebrows.

“You can look at me like that, but I know it’s true. It was plain for all to see you didn’t give two raps for The Kitten. Besides, even if you did, your grandfather would never countenance such a marriage.” She snorted. “The Duke of Tyndale’s heir marrying a butcher’s daughter? I think not—no matter how downy she is.”

His continued silence was beginning to irritate her, and she forced herself to hold the gun in a re