Page 74 of Outrageous

“What if they don’t give them to you? Then what will you do?”

He opened his mouth, but no words came out.

“After you’ve asked for them and they say no, it will put them in a difficult position. But if you don’t ask, then . . .”

His expression was one of dawning amazement. “You want me to steal them, don’t you.” It wasn’t a question.

“I want you to liberate them. If you want to be accurate, they stole them from us.”

“Er, not really, because we stole them from Flynn—at least two of them.”

She shook her head, utterly stupefied. “Are we really having this conversation?”

He raised his hands in a placating gesture. “Fine. Our guns.”

“Good. So, what’s your plan?”

“Plan? Plan?” He goggled at her. “This is your idea. What’s your plan?”

With Godric indisposed, Eva was going to have to do everything. She could see that.

Yes, and we all know how well you handled the last matter of any importance.

All right, she could accept that kidnapping Godric might not have been the best way to resolve the problem he’d posed.

A loud crack of thunder made them both jump.

“Here’s the plan: you go down there in the morning, when both of them are busy, and search their rooms.”

“What?”

It took another fifteen minutes to convince him, and Eva’s head was pounding by the time he stomped off and slammed the connecting door, but he’d given his word that he’d fetch the guns.

Of course now that all that was handled, she could go back to brooding and stewing about the idiot downstairs, and wondering what the devil he was doing, and whom he was doing it with.

* * *

Godric knew he’d not sleep a wink tonight. That was how it was with his blasted insomnia: sometimes even five or six hours were enough to get him up to fettle. And so he’d decided to leave Eva to cool her heels a bit. And then he’d proceeded to while away the longest hour and a half in recent memory playing piquet with Andrew. For a smart young man, he really seemed incapable of grasping even the rudiments of the game.

When Godric could suppress his screams of frustration no longer, he’d suggested they share a glass of brandy and have a comfortable coze.

After reassuring Andrew he’d assist in the delicate task of finding him a new position despite the fact that he possessed no letters of recommendation, the boy had yawned and then blushingly apologized. Godric had expressed his—dishonest—intention to read for a while and waved him off to bed.

Once the boy went up, Godric rang the bell, relieved that it was Norton—who appeared strangely nervous—rather than Mrs. Crosby who answered.

“Yes, my—er, Mr. Fleming?”

So, that answered the question as to whether the innkeeper had rumbled Godric’s real identity. Oh well, it was past worrying about now.

“I wonder if you have a road book or map of the area?”

“Er, yes?”

Godric frowned. Why the hell was the man so nervous? Just because he knew Godric’s identity and felt anxious about housing a duke’s heir? He supposed that might be possible. After all, the Greedy Vicar was not the kind of inn set up to cater to the carriage trade. The stables were small and Andrew said there’d been a buckboard, an older cart horse, and stalls for a half dozen others.

“I should like to borrow it,” Godric said when the big man—easily two inches taller than Godric’s six feet, and at least four stone heavier—continued to stare.

“I’ll fetch it, sir.” Norton began to turn.