Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-two

As the wooden ball sailed through the air, all the hopeful children clutched their hands together and held their breath. Minerva held her breath along with them. And she didn’t even care for pineapples.

Go in, she willed. Go in.

It didn’t go in.

When the ball bounced off the basket’s rim and thudded to the ground, she couldn’t resist joining the collective groan of disappointment.

Colin shrugged and pushed a hand through his air. “Sorry, lads and lasses. Did my best.” He was good-natured in defeat. A gracious loser, as always. But she could tell he was disappointed, too. Not over his bruised pride, but on account of the children. He wanted to give them a treat to remember, and who could blame him?

Thrusting caution and frugality aside, Minerva pushed her way to the table and addressed the booth’s mistress. “How much for the pineapple? Will you take three shillings?”

The woman’s eyes flared with greed, but her mouth was firm. “It’s not for sale.”

“I’ll have a go, then.” A well-dressed young gentleman stepped to the fore. He looked to be the local version of a dandy—probably the son of some country squire, unleashed on the fair with a generous allowance of pocket money and an inflated sense of self-importance. He was flanked by a couple of friends, both of whom looked eager to be amused.

“Sorry, gents.” The stout woman crossed her arms. “This booth is closed.”

“Pity,” said the suave-looking young gentleman, casting a superior glance at Colin. “I’d rather looked forward to showing this fellow up.”

His friends laughed. Meanwhile, the children gathered around Colin, as if they’d claimed him for their own and must come to his defense. It was terribly sweet.

“Well,” said Colin amiably, “you’re still welcome to have a go. If it’s a contest of marksmanship you’re after, one can be arranged. With targets and pistols, perhaps?”

Excitement whispered through the assembled children. Apparently, the promise of a shooting match was an effective balm to their disappointed pineapple hopes.

The young man looked Colin up and down, smirking. “I warn you, I’m the best shot in the county. But if you insist, I should be glad to trounce you.”

“Then you should be glad to take my money, too. Let’s place a wager on it.”

“Absolutely. Name your bet.”

Colin rummaged through his pockets, and Minerva grew alarmed. He might well be an excellent shot, but surely he wouldn’t risk all their money.

“Five pounds,” Colin said.

Five pounds?

“Five pounds?” the young gentleman echoed.

Minerva couldn’t help herself. She went to his side, whispering, “Five pounds? Are you mad? Where do you mean to come up with five pounds?”

“Here.” From his innermost pocket, Colin drew a small, folded square of paper. “Just found it in my coat pocket. Must have been there for months. I’d forgotten it.”

She unfolded the paper and adjusted her spectacles. It was indeed a bank note for five pounds.

Five pounds. All this time she’d been fretting over how to stretch their shillings and pence, and he’d been carrying five pounds in his pocket. The impossible knave.

“You can’t risk this,” she whispered. “It’s—”

“It’s a wager.” The dandy pulled out a coin purse and shook loose five sovereign pieces. He dumped them into Minerva’s hand. “Five pounds.”

Oh dear. She didn’t have a good feeling about this.

They made a veritable parade, the whole group of them trooping to the edge of the fairgrounds, where a shooting contest could safely be staged. Dusk was gathering by the time a straw-stuffed target had been mounted, and a sizable crowd had amassed to watch—not just the children, but adults, too.

“One shot each,” the overconfident dandy said, tilting his head toward the bull’s-eye lodged in the center of a freshly plowed field. “Closest to center wins.”

“Sounds fair,” Colin said. “You first.”

The younger man made a show of cleaning and loading his expensive, polished double-barreled pistol. It was a Finch pistol, Minerva noted with some amusement. Her friend Susanna would have a good laugh at that.

With pomp and an undue air of gravity, the self-styled dandy leveled his pistol and made his shot. A dark circle appeared on the target, several inches left of center.

The younger man accepted the smattering of applause with a bow. Minerva rolled her eyes. The ladies of Spindle Cove could shoot better than that.

Surely Colin could, as well.

For once, Colin didn’t attempt any showmanship. He merely shook off his coat and swept a hand through his wavy hair. And those two small gestures were enough to make him the desire of every woman, the envy of every man, and the idol of every child in attendance. Good heavens, he was beautiful.

She was so dazzled by his good looks, Minerva nearly forgot to work herself into a state of sheer anxiety. Before she knew it, he’d stepped up, leveled the pistol, and made his shot. As the smoke cleared, she whipped off her spectacles to stare at the target.

Dead center, of course.

The children went wild with whoops and hollers. A few of the older boys tried, unsuccessfully, to lift Colin on their shoulders for a victory salute.

And Minerva curled her fingers over the small fortune in her hands. Ten pounds. Ten pounds changed everything. Now they were truly back on schedule. They would make it to Edinburgh. Francine would have her day.

When Colin untangled himself from the jubilant children and turned to her, grinning . . . oh, she could have kissed him. Right in front of all these people.

But the defeated dandy wanted words with him first.

“You’re a cheat.” The young man stared Colin down. “I don’t know what kind of swindler you are, but my father’s the magistrate in these parts. I think he’ll need to have a talk with you. And that five-pound note will need to come along, as evidence. Surely you’ve stolen it.”

Stepping back casually, Colin slid his arms into his coat sleeves. “I don’t want any trouble.”

The man’s friend stepped forward, brandishing a fist. “Well, you’ve found some.”

Minerva knew that in a fistfight Colin could take one or both of these young men easily. But if the dandy were truly a magistrate’s son, a brawl would be a very bad idea.

And must they always flee a scene in the mayhem of violence and rioting? Could they walk away just this once, with ten pounds in their pocket and some levity in their step? Just this once?

“Listen,” Colin said, clapping each man on the shoulder. “Perhaps you’re right, and it wasn’t very sporting of me. But surely we can settle this without involving magistrates. How about this—just to prove I’m a decent fellow, I’ll give you a chance to win it all back. Double or nothing.”

The dandy sneered at him. “If you think I’m going to—”

“No, no,” Colin replied, speaking in a smooth, conciliatory tone. “Not you and me. We’ll have our seconds shoot it out. Your man here”—Colin tapped the friend on the shoulder—”against my girl.” He looked to Minerva.

Oh, no. Colin, don’t do this to me.

“Against your girl?” The dandy chuckled.

“She’ll even remove her spectacles.” Colin raised open hands in a gesture of surrender. “I told you, I don’t want trouble. You can lead me away in shackles and throw me in the stocks, but you won’t get any richer. There’s five pounds in it for you this way.”

The dandy pulled straight and smiled. “All right, then. As you say.”

“Double or nothing.” Colin called Elspeth to his side, picked her up by the waist and set her atop the fence. “Little Elspeth here will hold the purse.” He took the ten pounds from Minerva and put it in the girl’s hands.

The young gentleman raided his coin purse and borrowed a few pounds from his friends. Finally, he’d cobbled together his portion and gave it to smiling Elspeth, who knotted it all in a handkerchief.

He handed his pistol to his eager companion, who quickly proved to be a middling marksman as well. He hit the target, but well wide of the center.

It was Minerva’s turn. Her nerves did a frantic jig in her stomach.

“Give us a moment,” Colin said to the gentlemen, smiling. “Let me show her how the thing works.”

The men had a good laugh amongst themselves as Colin drew her forward, to the shooter’s mark.

“Colin, what were you thinking?” she whispered, trembling. “What am I to do?”

“You’re going to shoot, of course. And you’re going to hit the target, dead center.” With confident fingers, he removed her spectacles, folded them, and tucked them into his coat pocket.

He put the reloaded pistol in her hand. Then, approaching her from the back, he wrapped his arms around hers and raised the gun, as though teaching her how to shoot.

“After you make your shot,” he murmured in her ear, “you grab the purse from Elspeth. I’ll get Francine. And we’ll run, as hard as we can, down that lane.” He pointed the pistol to the side, indicating the direction. “Don’t stop for anything. Don’t even pause to look back. I’ll catch up to you, promise.”

She leaned back, savoring the comfort of his strength and warmth. “But . . . but what if I miss?”

“You won’t miss.” He pressed a kiss to her earlobe, then stepped back, releasing her arms. “Go on, then. Make me proud.”

Minerva leveled the pistol at the target, giving her eyes time to focus. Her hands trembled. She tried to remember all the tips Susanna and Miss Taylor had given her. Like all the Spindle Cove ladies, she’d learned to shoot—but her marksmanship had never been especially consistent. Mama had made no secret that she found Minerva’s participation in the activity laughable.

A mostly blind girl, armed with a pistol? Mama would say. My dear, the gentlemen already keep their distance. There’s no need to frighten them off with guns.

Minerva took a deep breath and tried to banish the sounds of laughter.

“Francine,” she whispered, “this is for you.”

And just as she began to squeeze the trigger, a voice called out about the crowd’s hushed silence—freezing her finger in place and turning the blood in her veins to ice.

“That’s him, right over there!”

No. It couldn’t be.

“Go get him, boys!” the voice shouted. “There he is! It’s Prince Ampersand of Crustacea!”

Stunned, Minerva lowered the gun and looked to Colin.

“Shoot,” he said, eyes wide and fierce. “Now.”

“Right.”

With a sudden, stone-cold certainty, Minerva raised her arms, took aim, and fired the pistol. Without pausing to see how her shot had landed, she grabbed the money from Elspeth and ran. The children’s wild cheer of triumph told everything she needed to know. What she’d already known, in her bones.

She’d hit dead center. Just as Colin had said.

Grinning to herself, she ducked her head, pumped her arms and legs, and raced down the lane.

Her breath and heartbeat pounded so loud, she could barely hear her own boots slapping the dirt. But soon she became conscious of another set of footfalls behind her. She didn’t dare slow or turn to ascertain whether they belonged to Colin. She just kept running like the Devil was on her heels.

And it occurred to her, as she made that mad dash down the lane—clutching a blazing hot pistol in one hand and a fistful of money in the other—that this surely must mark some turning point in her life. Really, there was no going back from this.

Today, all her mother’s judgments had been proved false. She wasn’t plain, but pretty. She wasn’t distracted and awkward, but confident and a crack shot.

Most of all, Minerva was not hopeless. She had twenty pounds. She had an important scientific discovery.

And she had Colin, the most handsome, charming devil in England, coming fast on her heels. Save for the ransom-minded highwaymen and angry magistrate’s son chasing after them . . .

Life had never been so good.

“This way,” he called, overtaking her as they neared the town’s borders. He had Francine lifted in his arms, leading the way as he turned down an alleyway. They clattered down the narrow, shadowy corridor, then found an arched passage that led through the churchyard wall and out into the countryside.

Carrying Francine between them now, they ran into the sunset. Only when they’d covered two meadows, vaulted a stile, and crested a hill did they pause for breath and dare to look back.

They saw no one.

“How did you get away?” she asked.

“Elspeth and her army. They provided a diversion. But we’re not safe yet.” Panting, he nodded toward a nearby hut. “Over there.”

It wasn’t a dwelling proper. Just a cramped shelter for shepherds to sleep in while their flock grazed these fields. Tonight, it was empty. Likely all the sheep had been penned somewhere so the shepherds could enjoy the fair.

Colin had to stoop to fit through the small doorway. Inside, they found just a small cookstove, a lamp, various crooks and other shepherding implements . . . and a narrow cot.

Still breathing hard from exertion, Minerva found a flint and lit the lamp. “Do you want to know something?” As the yellow light warmed the space, she turned her gaze to Colin. “Today is my birthday.”

He laughed. “Really?”

“No. Not really.” She giggled helplessly. “But if it were, it would have been the best one ever. Colin, you were unbelievable.”

“You were amazing.” He took her by the waist. His chest rose and fell with a resonant sigh. “You are amazing.”

His words of praise gave her gooseflesh. But as he pulled her close, a strange round obstacle squished between them.

His brow wrinkled in confusion.

“Oh,” she said, laughing. Pulling back a bit, she fished the obstacle out of her overskirt pocket and held it up for his view. “I saved you a peach.”

He looked at the peach. Then he looked at her.

“Minerva.”

Awareness tingled over every inch of her skin. The hunger in his eyes, the smoldering heat between their bodies . . . this wasn’t a lesson, or an experiment to satisfy scientific curiosity. It wasn’t pretense of any sort.

This was real.

He bent his head by slow degrees, teasing out the moment. Making her reach for him, stretch for him, ache for him. Until finally, his hand slid to cradle her neck and he took her mouth in a deep, passionate kiss.

She let the peach slip from her fingers and tumble to the straw-covered ground, the better to fill her hands with him. They kissed and grappled, tangling tongues and weaving their fingers into each other’s hair. It seemed they couldn’t get close enough, couldn’t kiss deeply enough, couldn’t press enough skin to skin.

Her nipples came to tight points. She felt the hard ridge of his erection, jutting against her belly. And her mind slowly caught up to what their bodies already knew. There was only one way to satisfy this need. Only one means of achieving the closeness she craved.

“Minerva.” He slid his tongue from her throat to her ear. “I want to make love to you.”

Just at the words . . . that bold, unequivocal statement of intent . . . fire raced through her veins. Hot, powerful, consuming.

There were a dozen reasons why she might refuse him. But they were all someone else’s reasons. Her mother’s, her peers’, society’s. She’d already left all those expectations behind. If Minerva consulted herself, there was no question. Her body craved the feel of his skin against hers. Her ever-curious intellect was eager to experience physical passion, with him. And her heart . . .

Oh, her heart was already his for the breaking.

His hands went to the knotted overskirt ties. With deft motions, he untied them and slid the garment free. Then he started on the row of hooks down her back.

His voice grew rough with need. “I promised you I wouldn’t do this. Hell, I promised myself I wouldn’t do this. But I can’t help it, Min. I want you so badly.”

She kissed his throat and pressed her body to his, hoping to show him what she couldn’t quite find words to say. That she wanted him, too. Needed his touch. As he worked the closures of her gown loose, she tangled her fingers in his wavy hair.

“Colin,” she sighed.

His hands went to her shoulders. His gaze searched hers. “If you don’t want this, tell me so.” He swallowed hard. “Say the word, and I’ll stop.”

In answer, she merely drew the sleeves of her gown down her arms and pushed the blue silk to her feet. He took one of her hands to steady her as she stepped free of the gown.

Standing back a pace, he made a wistful noise in his throat. “Just look at you. So lovely.”

She warmed with pleasure as he surveyed the items she’d drawn from her trousseau that morning. Her lacy white chemise, bosom-flattering corset, and silk stockings. If she’d been saving them for anything other than this moment with him, she couldn’t remember it. This mad, triumphant day at the fair; this snug, humble place to spend the night. The unveiled desire in his eyes as he regarded her.

This felt like all she’d ever wanted.

She opened her trunk and found those embroidered sheets she’d stitched and saved for some unlikely wedding night. Together, they spread them on the narrow cot.

Even if she went to her grave a spinster, she would still have known more passion in this one night than some women experienced in a lifetime. She vowed to savor every touch. Remember every caress. Keep her eyes open for each and every moment. Even now, as he kissed the soft place beneath her ear.

He took her by the waist and spun her around. With her back to him, she trembled as he worked the laces of her corset loose. At last, the restrictive garment fell away from her body, and she drew a deep, intoxicating breath.

With a soft groan, he gathered her close. The solid muscles of his chest supported her weight as he lifted and cupped her breasts through her chemise. Her breath quickened as he stroked and caressed the soft globes, thumbing her nipples to taut, eager peaks.

She turned in his embrace, wanting her turn to touch. Sliding her hands under his lapels and toward his shoulders, she cleaved the coat from his body. He shook the heavy garment down his arms and tossed it aside. She gathered the loose fabric of his shirt and yanked it free of his waistband, sliding her hands beneath to explore the smooth, muscled contours of his torso.

He lifted his arms overhead—as much as he could, with the low ceiling—and she drew the shirt up and over his shoulders. Once his shirt was removed, he directed her to do likewise. Minerva stretched her arms tall as he gathered the thin, gauzy fabric of her chemise and drew it up her body. Slowly, reverently. Until he pulled the shift over her head and arms. With a flick of one hand, he tossed it aside. Then his hands made a slow, languid sweep back in reverse—skimming down her stretched arms, over her breasts, her waist, her hips. Awakening every part of her with his touch. His palms were a little roughened from his thatching work that morning, but the delicious friction only increased her excitement.

It let her know this was real.

She stood before him bare, save for her stockings and garters. He ran one hand over her backside and down her thigh. She thought he would untie her garter, but instead he smoothed his hand over the delicate silk. Lifting her leg, he wrapped her thigh over his hip, drawing her close. Her breasts met his bared chest, and as they kissed she couldn’t help but rub them against his solid heat, easing their dull ache. He moaned into her mouth.

He worked a hand between them, gently cupping and stroking her sex. A muscle in her inner thigh quivered, and she felt herself growing damp.

He pressed two fingers inside her, pushing deep. Until the heel of his hand rested firm against her mound. Her body’s reaction was immediate, intense. As he rocked his hand back and forth, she moved with him, riding his motions and moaning in time to his gentle thrusts.

So close. She was already so close.

He withdrew his fingers, and she whimpered at the sudden loss.

As he lifted her and lay her down on the bed, his voice shook with need. “Damn it, I know I should be selfless. I should give you pleasure first. But I want to be in you. I want to be so deep inside you when you come.”

To that, she could muster no protest.

She watched him as he sat on the trunk and wrestled out of his boots and breeches. As his erection sprang free of his unbuttoned falls, she reached for the enticing, dusky curve. He made her free to explore, spreading his thighs wide so she could stroke his full length and cup the vulnerable sac beneath. He sighed deeply as she caressed him. She dabbed at the bead of moisture welling from his tip, spreading it with circling motions of her thumb.

He grabbed her wrist, staying her hand. With a hoarse chuckle, he said, “I can’t take much more of that.”

“Then come to me.” The words made her feel bold and seductive. She stretched sinuously on the cot, making her whole body an invitation writ in pale pink calligraphy.

He wasted no time accepting. He moved between her legs, spreading her thighs wide. The full length of his shaft teased up and down her sex, making her mindless with pleasure. By the time he positioned the broad, smooth head of his cock at her opening, she ached to be filled.

“You’re so wet,” he groaned, pushing forward. “So wet and so tight.”

At the slow, startling invasion, she couldn’t suppress a sharp cry of pain. Her eyes flew wide, and she gasped for breath.

It was done. He was in her. They were making love.

It felt . . . wonderful and terrible, all at once. The flood of sensations and emotions overwhelmed her. Her breasts molded to the firm weight of his chest. Her heart swelled with a poignant tenderness.

But mostly—between her legs, it hurt like the devil.

Colin knows what he’s doing, she told herself. Surely it would start to feel marvelous soon.

Any moment now.

He slid out a little, then pushed back in. Plunging deeper this time, and stretching her wider. She knew from her own explorations, he was thickest at the root. The further he advanced, the more the pain increased. She wavered on the brink of begging him to stop altogether.

“Can you . . .” She panted for breath. “Just wait. A moment.”

With a curse, he pressed his brow to her shoulder. “I hate that I’ve hurt you. I hate that I’ve done this to you at all.” He lifted his head. “God, Min. I’m so sorry. I’ll make it up to you, I swear. I don’t know how, but . . . I’ll make it right.”

“Just make it good.” She gave him a brave smile. “You do know how to do that?”

His mouth tipped in a lopsided, arrogant grin. “That much I hope I can manage.”

He didn’t press any deeper. Instead, he gave her the pause she’d requested and refocused his attention on matters close to hand. Balancing his weight on one elbow, he framed her breast in his cupped fingers and sucked her nipple into his mouth. He mouthed her lazily, swirling his tongue around and over the sensitive peak. With every flick of his nimble tongue, a shiver of bliss spread through her body.

As he transferred his attentions to the other breast, the pain where they were joined began to ease. Her intimate muscles relaxed around his girth, and the swollen bud at the crest of her sex ached for attention. Instinctively, she arched and rolled her hips, seeking friction. She found it—but the motion also pulled him deeper, brought them closer.

She gasped, surprised by the sudden pleasure. He moaned around her nipple.

All pain was forgotten as she tried to duplicate the sensation, writhing against him again. Then again, and again. Taking him deeper in tantalizing increments. With each motion, his pelvis rubbed hers just where she needed it, taking her arousal to new heights.

“Yes,” he said, shifting his weight and driving forward. “That’s it, love.” He slid one hand beneath her bottom, lifting her up and against him as he thrust deeper still. “It’s better now, is it?”

“Yes,” she whispered.

He thrust harder. “Yes?”

“Yes.” She clutched his shoulders. “Oh, Colin. It’s so good.”

Burying his face in her neck, he muttered something that sounded like, Thank God. He set a rhythm, strong and steady, probing just a bit deeper with every stroke. She felt him reaching places she hadn’t dreamed existed. And still, she craved more. When his full length was at last buried inside her, he rested a moment, holding their bodies close and joined.

His eyes shone with emotion. “I’ve been wanting this, Min. For longer than you could know.”

She touched his cheek. “So have I.”

He kissed her sweetly as he began to thrust again. Deep and steady. Real and true. She arched into his motions, growing desperate for more. At his silent urging, she wrapped her legs over his, and he slid deeper still. Now he stroked against some dark, sweet, essential place inside her, wrenching a joyful sob from her throat with each teasing thrust. She clutched at his back, digging her fingernails into his flesh. Her teeth scraped his shoulder.

Don’t stop. Please, don’t ever stop.

She rode the wave of pleasure higher and higher, until it broke. He held her tight, stroking on and on as she spiraled and tumbled through bliss.

He raised up on his arms, working her from a new, deeper angle. His pace accelerated, and the force of his thrusts increased. She loved feeling the need strung tight in his muscles. Loved knowing how much he wanted her, seeing the pained expression of desire on his face. Loved taking him just as deep and as hard and as fast as he wanted to go. As though if they collided hard enough, they might be meshed into one person.

They could be meshed into one person, if he didn’t take care.

“Colin,” she panted. “We must be careful.”

“I know. I know. You just feel . . .” He groaned on a deep, hard thrust. “So sweet. So right. So good. So . . . very . . . very . . . very . . .”

With a deep, guttural cry, he pulled free of her body. He slumped forward, shuddering in her arms. His seed spilled over her belly like a confession of some kind. A warm, vital secret.

She stroked his back as his breathing eased. He was so quiet. This was Colin in her arms, and he was never quiet. As he lay there, heavy and silent atop her chest, she began to worry. Had she . . . performed . . . well? Perhaps she hadn’t done enough, or maybe she’d done too much. Perhaps he would have wished her to be louder or bolder or . . . just different, somehow.

She was on the verge of apologizing and begging him to give her a second chance, when he rolled to the side.

“Oh, Min. That was unbelievable. I never dreamed how good it could be with . . .” He smoothed her hair back from her face. “With you.”

Tears of relief and happiness pricked at the corners of her eyes.

He flopped onto his back and propped his head on one arm. “You know, I probably shouldn’t say this. But you could ask me for anything right now—anything at all—and it would be yours.”

“Truly?” She giggled. “Whatever would I wish for? Gold, silver, pearls, rubies . . . ?”

“Done. And done and done and done.”

“The moon.”

“Yours. I’ll go snag it for you, just as soon as I’ve caught my breath. A few stars as well, if you’d like.”

She nestled close to him. “Don’t bother. I can’t imagine anything that would make this moment better.”

But that was a lie. There was one thing she wished she dared ask of him. If she could have anything she desired, she would ask only this.

Love me.

Love me, and let me love you.

The words burned on her tongue, but Minerva couldn’t give them voice. What a hopeless coward she was. She could pound on his door at midnight and demand to be respected as an individual. She could travel across the country in hopes of being appreciated for her scholarly achievements. But she still lacked the courage to ask for the one thing she wanted most.

To be loved, just for herself.