Chapter Three

Chapter Three

When Minerva lost herself in a book, her late father had once remarked, a man needed hounds and a search party to pull her back out.

Alternatively, a low-hanging tree branch could do the trick.

Thwack.

“Ouch.” Pulling up short, Minerva rubbed her smarting temple and adjusted her spectacles with one hand. With the other, she kept her page marked.

Charlotte gave her a pitying tilt of the head. “Oh, Min. Really.”

“Are you injured?” Diana asked, concerned.

Ahead of them, their mother wheeled and gave a despairing sigh. “Minerva Rose Highwood. For all your unnatural love of education, you can be remarkably stupid.” She walked over and grasped Minerva by the elbow, tugging her across the village green. “I will never understand how you came into being.”

No, Mama, Minerva thought, trudging her way along the path. I doubt you ever will.

Most people didn’t understand her. Even before last night’s humiliation, she’d long reconciled herself to the fact. Lately, it seemed the one who best understood Minerva wasn’t a person at all, but a place. Spindle Cove, this seaside resort for young ladies of gentle breeding and, well, interesting character. Whether sickly, scholarly, or scandalous—the young women here were all misfits of one kind or another. The villagers didn’t care if Minerva dug in the dirt, or wandered down the country paths with the breeze whipping through her hair and an open book before her face.

She’d felt so at home here, so comfortable. Until tonight.

The closer they drew to the tavern and the revelry within, the more her sense of dread increased. “Mama, can’t we go back to the rooming house? The weather’s so dire.”

“It’s mild, compared to last week’s rain.”

“Think of Diana’s health. She’s just recovered from a cold.”

“Pish. That was weeks ago now.”

“But, Mama . . .” Desperate, Minerva cast about for some other excuse. “What of propriety?”

“Propriety?” Mama held up Minerva’s ungloved hand, displaying the earth embedded under her fingernails. “You would speak to me of propriety?”

“Yes, well. It’s one thing to frequent the Bull and Blossom in the afternoon, when it’s a ladies tea shop. But after dark, it’s a tavern.” Minerva wouldn’t mention where she’d been last night.

“I don’t care if it’s an opium den. It’s the only hope of dancing in ten miles,” her mother replied. “And Payne is certain to be there. We’ll have a proposal tonight. I feel it in my bones.”

Perhaps Mama felt it in her bones, but Minerva’s reaction was more visceral. Her heart and stomach switched places, jostling inside her.

As they approached the tavern door, Minerva buried her face in her book. Be they novels or histories or scientific treatises, books were frequently her refuge. Tonight, the book was her literal shield, her only barrier against the world. She didn’t dare leave Diana alone tonight, but she didn’t know how she could bear to face Lord Payne again. Not to mention the hidden lover who’d laughed at Minerva’s foolish hopes. His “friend” could have been any woman in this crowded room. And whoever she was, she might have already related the story to everyone else.

As they entered the establishment and made their way through the throng, Minerva was certain she heard someone laughing.

Laughing at her.

This was the worst result of that disastrous midnight visit. For months now, Spindle Cove had been Minerva’s safe haven. Now she’d never feel comfortable here again. The echo of that cruel laughter would follow her down every country path and cobbled lane. He’d ruined this place for her.

Now he threatened to ruin the rest of their lives.

You could be calling me “brother” by Sunday.

No. She couldn’t let it happen. She wouldn’t. She’d stop it somehow, even if she had to hurl her book at the man’s head.

“Oh, he’s not here.”

Charlotte’s plaintive comment gave her hope. Minerva lowered her book and scanned the crowd. The militia volunteers filled the establishment, splashing bright red and gold against the lime-washed walls. She dipped her chin and peered over the lenses, focusing on the distant side of the room, where men and women crowded at the bar.

No Lord Payne.

Her breath came easier. She pushed the spectacles back up her nose, and she felt the corners of her mouth relax into some semblance of a smile. Perhaps he’d experienced an attack of conscience. More likely, he’d stayed behind in his turret to entertain his easily amused lady friend. It hardly mattered where he was, so long as he wasn’t here.

“Oh, there,” Mama said, swiveling. “There he is. He’s just come in the back way.”

Drat.

Minerva’s heart sank when she caught her first glimpse of him. He did not look like a man who’d experienced an attack of conscience. He looked dark and more dangerous than ever. Though he’d only just come through the door, he’d instantly changed the room’s atmosphere. A palpable, restless energy radiated from his quarter, and everyone could feel it. The whole tavern went on alert. An unspoken message relayed from body to body.

Something is about to happen.

The musicians struck up the prelude to a country dance. Around the room, couples began pairing off.

Lord Payne, however, was in no hurry. He raised a flask to his mouth and tipped it. Minerva swallowed instinctively, as though she could feel the liquor burning down her own throat.

He lowered the flask. Capped it. Replaced it in his pocket. And then his gaze settled, hot and unwavering, on the Highwoods.

The little hairs on the back of her neck stood on end.

“He’s looking at you, Diana,” their mother murmured with excitement. “He’s sure to ask you to dance.”

“Diana shouldn’t dance,” Minerva said, unable to take her eyes off him. “Not a reel like this. Her asthma.”

“Pish. The sea air has worked its benefit. She hasn’t had an attack in months now.”

“No. But the last one was brought on by dancing.” She shook her head. “Why must I always be the one to look out for Diana’s well-being?”

“Because I’m looking out for yours. Ungrateful thing.”

Mama’s gaze pierced her. As a girl, Minerva had envied her mother’s blue eyes. They’d seemed the color of tropical oceans and cloudless skies. But their color had faded over the years since Papa’s death. Now their blue was the hue of dyed cambric worn three seasons. Or brittle middle-class china.

The color of patience nearly worn through.

“There are four of us, Minerva. All women. No husband, father, or brother in the portrait. We may not be destitute, but we lack true security. Diana has the chance to catch a wealthy, handsome viscount, and I won’t allow you to stand in her way. Who else is going to save this family? You?” She laughed bitterly.

Minerva couldn’t even summon a response.

“Oh, he’s coming,” Charlotte squeaked. “He’s coming this way.”

Panic fluttered in Minerva’s breast. Did Payne truly mean to propose tonight? Any man with sense would. Diana was always beautiful, but tonight she looked radiant, dressed in an emerald silk gown with ivory lace trim. Her flaxen hair glowed incandescent in the candlelight, and her ethereal composure gave her the air of a lady.

She looked like a viscountess.

And Lord Payne looked every inch the powerful lord. The man strode across the room toward them, cutting his way through the crowd in a straight, unswerving path. People leaped out of his way, like startled crickets. His gaze was intent, determined, focused on . . .

On her. On Minerva.

Don’t be a ninny.

It couldn’t be. Surely it was just a trick of her spectacles. He was coming for Diana, naturally. Obviously. And she hated him for it. He was a horrid, horrid man.

But her heart would not stop pounding. Heat gathered between her breasts. She’d always wondered what it would feel like to stand on one end of a ballroom and watch a handsome, powerful man make his way to her. This was as close as she’d ever come to it, she supposed. Standing at Diana’s side. Imagining.

Suddenly anxious, she looked to the floor. Then the ceiling. Then she chided herself for her cowardice and forced herself to look at him.

He drew to a halt and bowed, then offered a hand. “May I have this dance?”

Minerva’s heart stalled. The book slipped from her hand and fell to the floor.

“Diana, pass me your reticule,” Mama whispered. “Quickly now. I’ll hold it while you dance.”

“I don’t believe that will be necessary,” Diana answered.

“Of course it’s necessary. You can’t dance with that bulky reticule dangling from your wrist.”

“I’m not going to dance at all. Lord Payne has invited Minerva.”

“Invited Minerva. Of all the ideas.” Mama made a disbelieving, indelicate snort. Which became a strangled gasp, when the woman looked up and finally noticed that Lord Payne’s hand was indeed outstretched to Minerva. “But . . . why?”

He said simply, “Because I choose her.”

“Truly?”

Oh God. Truly? As in, had Minerva truly just said that aloud?

At least she’d stopped herself from voicing the rest of the thoughts running through her addled brain, which went something like, Truly? That whole determined, dangerous saunter across the room was for me? In that case, would you mind going back and doing it all over again? Slowly this time, and with feeling.

“Miss Minerva,” he said, in a voice smooth and dark as obsidian, “may I have this dance?”

She watched, mute and entranced, as his ungloved hand clasped hers. His grip was warm and strong.

She held her breath, feeling the eyes of the whole village on them.

Please. Please, don’t let anyone laugh.

“Thank you,” she forced herself to say. “I would be most . . . relieved.”

He led her to the floor, where they queued up for the country dance.

“Relieved?” he murmured with amusement. “Ladies usually find themselves ‘delighted’ or ‘honored’ to dance with me. Even ‘thrilled.’ ”

She shrugged helplessly. “It was the first word that came to mind.”

And it had been honest, at the time. Though as she took her place across from him and the first bars of the music began, her relief evaporated. Fear took its place.

“I can’t dance,” she confessed, stepping forward.

He took her hands and twirled her round. “But you’re already dancing.”

“Not very well.”

His eyebrow quirked. “This is true.”

Minerva curtseyed to the wrong corner, colliding with the lady her to her left. Offering the woman a breathless apology, she overcorrected—and stomped on Lord Payne’s foot.

“Good God,” he said through gritted teeth, holding her close to his side as they moved forward and back. “You weren’t exaggerating.”

“I never exaggerate. I’m hopeless.”

“You’re not hopeless. Stop trying so hard. If we’re going to manage this, you must let me lead.”

The dance parted them, and Minerva was left reeling. She tried to convince herself this meant he’d agreed to her plan. He would take her to Scotland, because he chose her. He chose her over Diana. Why else would he offer to dance with her, but to create the impression of some attraction between them? But her thoughts were quickly plowed under by thunderous footfalls and wild fiddling.

She bumbled her way through another series of steps. Then came a lovely few measures where she didn’t need to do anything but stand still and clap.

Then it was forward again. To him.

He pulled her close. Indecently close.

“Say ouch,” he murmured.

She blinked up at him. What?

He pinched the tender underside of her arm, hard.

“Ouch!” she exclaimed. “Why would you—”

He slid an arm around her waist. Then flexed it, causing her to stumble. Her spectacles went askew.

“What’s that, Miss Highwood?” he said loudly, theatrically. “You’ve turned your ankle? What a pity.”

A few moments later, he had her stumbling through the Bull and Blossom’s red-painted front door. They made it a few steps away from the entrance. He rushed her so, her slipper caught on a rock and she tripped in earnest.

He caught her just before her knee hit the turf.

“Are you hurt?”

She shook her head. “Nothing bruised but my pride.”

He helped her steady herself. But he didn’t release her. “That didn’t go as I planned. I didn’t realize your . . . difficulty with dancing. Had I known, I would have—”

“No, this is fine. This is good. The dance, our leaving it. You . . . embracing me in plain view.” She swallowed hard. “It’s all good.”

“It is?”

She nodded. “Yes.”

His arms felt good indeed, wreathed about her waist. And the complex, fiery warmth in his hazel eyes was swiftly melting her intelligence to slag. One more minute of this, and she’d be a certifiable simpleton.

She cast a glance at the door. Surely someone would follow them. Or peep out the window, at least. Weren’t they the least bit concerned for her reputation? Or her ankle, if nothing else? Someone needed to see them together, if they were going to make a convincing elopement. Otherwise, this dangerous, confusing embrace would be for nothing.

“Why?” she asked, unable to help herself. “You could have Diana.”

“I suppose I could. And if I decided marry her, you could not stop me.”

Her heart pounded so fiercely in her chest, she was sure he must feel it. “But you chose me tonight. Why?”

An ironic smile tugged at his mouth. “You want me to explain it?”

“Yes. And do it honestly, not . . .” Not like last night.

“Honestly.” He mused on the word. “Honestly, your sister is lovely, elegant, demure, kind. It’s easy for a man to look at her and imagine a whole lifetime stretched out before him. Wedding, house, china, children. It’s not an unappealing prospect. But it all looks very settled and fixed.”

“And when you look at me? What do you see then?”

“Honestly? When I look at you . . .” His thumb stroked her lower back. “I think to myself something like this: God only knows what trials lie down that path.”

She twisted in his embrace, pushing against his arm. “Let me go.”

“Why?”

“So I can hit you.”

“You asked for honesty.” He chuckled, but kept her close. “This . . . this struggle is precisely my point. No, you don’t fit the beautiful, elegant, predictable mold. But take heart, Marissa. Some men like to be surprised.”

Marissa?

She stared at him, horrified. And thrilled. And horrified at being thrilled. “You. Are. The most—”

A bell jingled. The Bull and Blossom’s door swung open, and a handful of giggling village girls tumbled forth, riding a wave of music and warmth. Minerva’s breath caught. If the girls turned this way, she and Payne would be seen. Together.

“Surprise,” she whispered.

Then she pressed her lips to his.