Page 91 of Outrageous

She considered asking him to be more specific but knew that would be cruel.

The cupboards turned out to be shockingly empty and she found the key hanging from a nail at the back of one of them.

Her hands fumbled and slipped as she tried to jam the heavy skeleton key into the hole. Was that a wagon? Voices? The sound of horses?

She groaned, wrenched the key violently, pulled open the door, and came face-to-face, once again, with her own pistol.

* * *

Godric swam in warm, thick treacle, his limbs oddly light but non-responsive to his will.

Something unpleasant poked and prodded and worried at his arm and he groaned and slapped it away.

“Lord Visel, you must wake up. Please, Godric. We must go after Eva, sir. I can’t—I can’t do it without you.”

The name Eva made him pause, but the swirling mist surrounded him before he could discover why that should be so.

“Oh, God. I hope you won’t shoot me for this, but—”

Freezing water shocked him out of his warm cocoon. “Lord. Visel.”

Godric’s head snapped to one side with a loud slap, the grinding pain in his temple yanking him the rest of the way from his slumber.

“Please, Godric.”

Once again his head snapped to one side, and this time the action made his eyes open.

“Stop. Hitting. Me.”

“Thank God!” Hands landed on his shoulder and shook him until his teeth rattled. “Mrs. Crosby has kidnapped Eva and I believe she means to kill her.”

The words were more shocking than ice water or slapping, and Godric gritted his jaws against the haze that threatened to claim him. “H-how long?” he asked in voice he didn’t recognize.

“I don’t know—perhaps four hours, maybe longer. She locked me in the still room. I screamed for hours before somebody came—it was Mr. Norton’s son, Anthony. It turns out he’s soft in the head, so Norton never could have sent him. He’s a kind boy, but it took at least an hour to convince him to let me out and—Godric? Are you falling back to sleep?”

Godric’s eyes fluttered open and he saw Andrew raise his hand for another slap. “No,” he wheezed, gathering every speck of strength he could find and pushing himself upright. The room spun and he pitched forward and immediately lost his breakfast.

He continued to do so until nothing came up. Andrew, who’d been wisely standing some distance away, ventured closer. “Could I, er, get you anything?”

“Coffee.” Godric pushed off the bed and swayed drunkenly, his eyes seeing four of everything as he scanned the room for his clothing.

“I don’t think you should—”

“Go!”

The boy fled, and Godric dropped to his hands and knees and crawled toward his clothing, which Eva had laid out for him earlier.

My God, Eva. If any thought could fight its way through whatever Mrs. Crosby had given him—likely laudanum—it was the thought of Eva alone with her. Thanks to his idiocy.

By the time Andrew arrived, he’d managed to pull his shirt on, backward, and tangle his legs in his robe and nightshirt, which he’d pushed down rather than up.

The first cup of coffee immediately came back up, but Andrew had had the foresight to bring a pot, and only half of the second cup suffered a similar fate. By the time he had on his shirt, waistcoat, leathers, and boots, he was working on a third cup, his head still feeling as if it were stuffed with a huge wad of wool, but at least he wasn’t drifting in and out of consciousness.

Andrew approached him with a cravat and Godric waved him away. “Tell me again,” he ordered, pouring his own cup this time, his hands as weak as a babe’s while he listened to the same recitation as twice before. But now he was much more lucid.

By the time Andrew had finished, Godric heaved himself to his feet. The room swam, but it settled quickly enough. He shrugged into his coat and snatched up his hat and gloves. When he opened the door, he ran smack into a huge, soft body.

“Good Lord!”