A Week to Be Wicked (Spindle Cove #2)(57)
Author: Tessa Dare

She blushed, just as she supposed any fetching country lass would.

He yawned. “How long have you been out of bed?”

“An hour. Perhaps more.”

“And I didn’t wake?” His brow wrinkled. “Remarkable.”

The maid brought a breakfast tray. While Colin rose from bed and went about his own toilette, Minerva feasted on coddled eggs, buttered rolls, and chocolate.

“Did you save me any?” he asked, strolling back into the room some quarter-hour later.

She looked up, saw him, and let her spoon clatter to the table. “Now, that’s just unfair.”

Fifteen minutes. Twenty, at most. And in that time, he’d bathed, shaved, and dressed in a spotless pair of new breeches and a crisp, laundered shirt.

Perhaps she looked ‘pretty,’ or ‘fetching.’ But he looked magnificent.

He adjusted his cuff. “I always keep a few items of clothing here. No coat though, unhappily. I’m stuck with the same one I’ve been wearing.”

It was petty of her, to take that as some consolation. But she did.

“Now.” He sat down across from her and plucked a thick slice of toast. “About last night.”

She flinched. “Must we discuss last night?”

He buttered his toast in slow, even strokes. “I think we must. Some apologies are probably in order.”

“Oh.” Nodding, she swallowed hard. “I’m sorry for taking advantage of you.”

He choked on his bite of toast.

“No, really,” she went on. “You were exhausted and more than a little drunk, and I was unspeakably shameless.”

He shook his head and made noises of disagreement. He washed his toast down with a quick sip of tea.

“Minerva.” He reached across the table to touch her cheek. “You were . . . a revelation. Believe me, you have absolutely no reason to apologize. The shamelessness was all mine.” His eyes grew troubled. “I don’t think we should continue this journey, pet. I told myself I’d see you to Scotland unharmed. But if we continue sharing a bed, I’m at serious risk of harming you. Irrevocably.”

“How do you mean?”

One eyebrow lifted. “I think you know what I mean.”

She did know. He meant that he wanted her, more than he’d wanted any woman in his debauched, misspent life—and he wasn’t certain he could honor his promise not to seduce her.

Her pulse pounded. With exhilaration, with fear. “But we can’t go back now. We can’t just give up.”

“It’s not too late,” he said. “We could be back in London tonight. I’d take you to Bram and Susanna’s house, and we can tell everyone you’ve been their guest all this time. There may be some talk, but if my cousin throws his name behind you—you won’t be ruined.”

She stared at the tablecloth. The thought of simply turning around and returning to Spindle Cove, without ever reaching Edinburgh . . . she’d been prepared to go back ruined and disgraced. But she didn’t know that she could live with going back defeated.

And how could she return to her old life, and just pretend none of this ever happened? Impossible.

“Min . . .”

“We can do this, Colin. We can reach Edinburgh in time. And I can keep you in your place, if that’s what you’re worried about. I’ll go back to being shrewish and unattractive. I—I’ll stash a cudgel under my pillow.”

He laughed.

“Anyway, I’m satisfied now. You know, in terms of my curiosity. After last night, I’m sure I’ve seen all there is to see.”

His voice darkened in a thrilling way. “Believe me. You haven’t seen a fraction of what I could show you.”

Oh, don’t. Don’t tell me that.

“Colin, please.” She squeezed her eyes shut, then opened them. “Think of the money. Think of the five hundred guineas.”

He shook his head. “It’s not the money, pet.”

“Then think of Francine.”

“Francine?”

“Think of what she represents. What if long ago, before the first man ever drew breath, there were creatures like her everywhere? Giant lizards, roaming the earth. Even flying through the air.”

“Er . . .” She could tell he was struggling not to laugh.

“I know you find it amusing, but I’m being serious. Discoveries like her footprint, they’re changing history—or at least, our understanding of it. And there are a good many people who don’t like that. Geologists might seem boring, but we’re really renegades.” She smiled. “I know you’ve been with a great many women, but Francine just might be the most scandalous, heretical female to ever share your bedchamber.”

He did laugh then, good-naturedly.

Impulsively, she grabbed his hand. “Colin, please don’t take this from me. This is my dream, and I’ve already risked so much. I’d rather fail than forfeit.”

He drew a deep breath.

She held hers.

“Halford never rises before noon,” he said. “We should slip out as soon as possible, to avoid questions.”

The relief seeped through her, warm and sweet.

“Oh, thank you.” She reached for his hand and squeezed it. “But we have so little money. Where will we go?”

He bit into his toast and chewed. With a shrug, he eventually answered, “North.”

It was truly amazing, she thought, how far a man could travel on charm alone. By midmorning, Colin had wheedled them a chain of rides with tradesmen and farmers, working them toward a place where they could rejoin the Great North Road.

After pausing to chat with a local gentleman farmer, he strode back to Minerva where she waited by a rail fence.

He squinted at her through the bright morning sunlight. “He says he can offer us a ride to Grantham this afternoon, in exchange for a few hours’ work this morning. He has his farmhands thatching a cottage roof. If we help, we can have space in his wagon afterwards.”

“A ride all the way to Grantham? That would be wonderful. But . . .”

“But what?”

She tilted her head. “I take it he doesn’t realize you’re a viscount.”

“A viscount? Wearing this?” Smiling, he indicated his dusty, bedraggled topcoat. The fabric retained just a memory of its original deep blue. His boots hadn’t been blacked in days. “Not a chance. He assumes us to be common travelers, of course.”

“But . . .” How to put this in a way that wouldn’t offend his pride? “Colin, have you ever thatched a roof before?”