Free Outrageous by Christina Dodd

and he followed. Stepping outside, she saw the moon still rode high through clusters of clouds. The trees still rustled, and the breeze brought her the scent of cottage pinks. The chill of an early spring night had deepened, but she didn’t shiver because of that. She shivered because of the warm memories waiting to pounce. Elaborately casual, she pretended she’d forgotten those heated kisses, forgotten the brief burst of wildcat passion. “The earl has arranged for a hunt tomorrow, and I’ll act as hostess. I’ll have no time for walking.”
    Griffith’s heavy brows snapped together. “A hunt?”
    She was startled at his surprise and even more at his displeasure. “Weren’t you told?”
    “Nay.”
    “You rode in yesterday, so I suppose Wenthaven thought you wouldn’t wish to come.” After she’d excused Wenthaven, she added, “You’re welcome nevertheless. The earl’s hospitality is never less than flawless.”
    She watched him, anxious to hear his reply. He studied her in return, looking first at her face, then at the overcoat and the length of calf below, but he seemed to find no pleasure in the sight of her. “You’ll not go dressed like that.”
    “What?”
    “You’ll not go on a hunt riding astride a horse like some loose woman without morals or upbringing.”
    Her “ What ?” wasn’t as astounded this time.
    “Just because you’ve borne a child out of wedlock, it’s no reason to live down to everyone’s expectations.”
    His gall took her breath away. All her pat answers, all her practiced replies, flew out of her head in the surge of rage. “You dare tell me how to behave?”
    “It appears someone must.”
    He sounded so insufferably stuffy and looked so sure of himself, she wanted to hit him. But she’d done so, and she’d regretted it. Instead she took a deep breath, calmed her fury, and annihilated him with a brilliant, cutting comment. “You aren’t my father!”
    She could have groaned. Where was her renowned wit?
    But he answered, and his answer was stupid. Stupider even than hers. He said, “If your father were here, he’d be horrified at the way you’re acting.”
    “If my father were here…” Head extended like a turtle, she stared at him. Didn’t he know? Didn’t he comprehend?
    But no, he didn’t. His expression set in self-righteous indignation, and just like that, she’d been given the power she sought. Using his own ignorance, she could have the last word. Triumphant yet bitter, she retorted, “My father is here. Didn’t you realize? I am the heir to Wenthaven. The earl is my father.”

4
    How odd, Griffith thought . He lay in the countess of Wenthaven’s bed. He lay in Marian’s mother’s bed and lusted after her daughter.
    It made him vaguely uncomfortable, as if the spirit of the countess peeked into his thoughts and caught him with his hands in Marian’s codpiece. Yet at the same time…well, surely the countess couldn’t approve of the way her daughter had turned out. Fighting with swords, dressing like a man, giving birth to a babe without the benefit of marriage.
    “Who do you suppose the father is?” Griffith murmured.
    At the foot of the bed, Art popped up like a child’s toy, comprehending Griffith’s mind with the ease of old friendship. “I was wondering when ye’d think about that. Could the child’s paternity have anything to do with Henry’s peculiar interest in Marian and Lionel?”
    “The woman hides her mysteries well.” Griffith leaned on his elbow. The room, so dim and dusty last night, looked cheery this morning. Even Art lookedgood, thought Griffith, although it baffled him how a one-eyed man with skin like wet leather could look good.
    “Ye’re looking better this morning,” Art said, unconsciously twisting Griffith’s thoughts. “The swelling on yer proboscis has almost disappeared.”
    Griffith touched the broken place with tender fingers.
    Art’s head bobbed on his skinny neck. “Maybe the countess cured ye