Chapter Thirty

Chapter Thirty

Colin flattened her to the wall, greedily clutching her everywhere he could reach. Pressing fervent kisses to her brow, her cheek, her lips.

He needed this. Needed her.

Needed it now.

He yanked the buttons of her shift loose. Unfastening some, simply popping others from their threads. Soon the frail linen garment lay discarded at her feet.

“Minerva.” With a resonant sigh, he pressed the full length of his clothed body to her nakedness. Bracing his hands against the wall, he nudged her thighs apart with his knee. Bending his head, he kissed and licked her neck, all the while grinding his desperate erection against her heat.

A groan welled in his chest. “I need you, Min. Need you so much.”

“I’m here,” she breathed. Her arms draped over his shoulders. “I’m yours.”

I’m yours. A sweet pang of emotion wrenched his heart. Still, he kept his hands braced on the wallpaper—not trusting himself to touch her yet.

He backed up a bit, wanting to see. To admire.

She reached for him. “Colin . . .”

“Wait.” His voice shook with desire. “Let me look at you.”

She fell back against the wallpaper, displaying herself for his view. He’d never dreamed a woman could be so beautiful.

She looked more luminous against this wall than a Dutch master’s painting ever could. Her flawless skin would make a porcelain shepherdess weep bitter, envious tears. And her breasts . . .

He didn’t have a decorative parallel for her breasts. But they made him hard as the parquet floor. Her breasts were every bit as wildly arousing as the first time he’d glimpsed them in that London inn.

He kissed his way down her elegant throat, pausing to suckle each of those luscious nipples as he sank to his knees. When his knees met the floor, he made himself comfortable there, resting on his haunches. Pressing light kisses to her navel. Nuzzling her thigh. Settling in for a nice long visit.

“God.” He nudged her legs apart and sifted through her dark curls. “I’ve been wanting this forever.”

She laughed nervously. “We’ve been traveling a week.”

“It’s been forever.” He parted her with his fingers, exploring her folds and circling his thumb over her swollen pearl. “You can’t know, Min. You can’t know how long I’ve been waiting for you.”

He pressed a single, chaste kiss to her sex. Just a prelude, so she wouldn’t be too shocked.

Then he slid one arm under her knee, hooking it over his shoulder. With his hands, he bracketed her hips, reaching toward her sex with both thumbs to spread her wide to his view. To his kiss.

She made a strangled noise. “Colin—”

“Shush.” He blew the word over her delicate flesh. “You had your chance to explore every bit of me. Now it’s my turn.”

And explore he did. Most thoroughly. He ran his tongue—just lightly—over every flushed, dewy petal of her sex. Down one side, up the other . . . until he centered on that swollen bud at the crest. Again, teasing lightly. Just lightly. Until her breath went ragged and she arched her hips, digging her heel into his back to pull him close.

Yes. That’s it. Hold me close and tight. Claim me. Make me a slave to your pleasure.

But something wicked in him wouldn’t give her what she craved. Not yet. He kept up his light, teasing attentions. Until she rocked against his mouth in an urgent rhythm, and needy whimpers eased from her throat.

“Oh, Colin. Oh, God.”

So blasphemous, but he loved being classed above the divine in her universe. Even if only for a brief, wanton second.

“Yes, darling?” he murmured, between slow, languid strokes of his tongue.

“I need . . . I need something.”

“This?” He dipped his tongue inside her.

She gasped and bucked. “More.”

Her grip twisted in his hair. Her heady taste lingered on his tongue. He needed more, too. And he couldn’t wait a moment longer.

Lowering her leg to the ground, Colin pushed to his feet and hastily stepped out of his unfastened trousers. He pulled his shirt over his head and cast it aside. Clutching her backside in both hands, he lifted her against the wall. He pinned her with a fierce gaze, determined to read her every emotion.

“Do you want me, Min?”

“Yes.”

“Need me?”

“Yes.” She writhed against him, wild and slick and hot.

“Love me?” His voice was so hoarse with yearning, the words got lost in his throat. He slid into her, pushing his hard length into her tight body. “Love me,” he grunted, driving the words home on a thrust. “Love. Me.”

“Yes.” She gasped with pleasure, canting her pelvis to take him deep. “Yes.”

He pumped her steadily, driving into her at just the angle he knew she craved. “Love me. Don’t ever stop. You hear me? It won’t be this good with anyone else. Only me, Min. Only me.”

“Colin.” She dug her nails into his shoulders and pulled herself off the wall, confronting him face to face. Her tongue made a quick, hungry swipe at his. “I love you. Stop talking.”

Fair enough.

He pressed her back against the wall. No more discussion. Only joining and clasping and thrusting. And kissing, hot and wet and deep. Only this desperate, visceral need to get closer, in every possible way.

Without warning, her body bowed and tensed. She clung to him as the crisis hit, crying out against his ear. Her intimate muscles tightened, sending pulsing waves of friction down his cock.

This time, he didn’t hold back. Couldn’t, even if he tried. He rode the crest of her pleasure, thrusting frenzied as her climax pulled him straight into his own.

When he came inside her, the sheer blinding joy of it was like nothing he’d ever known. It took him outside himself. Sent him spinning into a strange, dark place. He was lost there, for a moment, stranded in bliss. But soon, her soothing caress led him back.

She would always lead him back from the darkness.

How could she not? She held his heart.

“Minerva.” Spent and trembling, he buried his face in her neck. “I need to ask you something.”

“You do?”

“Yes. This is a very important question. One I’ve never posed to any woman before. I want you to think carefully about your answer.”

She nodded.

“After all this madness is over, and I see you safely back home . . . do you think you could see fit to . . .” He swallowed hard and lifted his gaze to hers. “To let me court you?”

Her lips fell apart. “Court me. You . . . you want to court me?”

“Yes. Very much so. More than anything.”

“Colin, you do realize you’re currently inside me.”

“I’m exquisitely aware of that, yes.”

Her fingers sifted through the hair at his temples. “Then the horse is through the gate, isn’t it? Don’t you think formal courting would be an unnecessary bother at this point?”

“Not a bother at all.” He kissed the confused twist from her lips. “And I think it’s necessary indeed. You deserve to be courted, Min. Flowers, picnics, walks in the park, and all the rest of it. And if I do say it myself, I have a suspicion I’ll be rather brilliant at courting, once I apply myself.”

“I’m very sure you will be, but—”

“The season will be in full swing soon.” He gently withdrew from her, then set her back on her toes. “I’ll convince your mother to send you to London, so I can lavish attention on you in front of the entire ton.”

“How on earth would we manage that, after we’ve returned unwed from this scandalous journey? Even with your cousin’s help, the gossip will be vicious.”

He tsked. “Even if there is some scandal and we’re denied vouchers at fusty old Almacks, what of it? We’ll be welcome any number of other places. Balls, opera, the theater, Vauxhall. We’ll be the talk of London.”

“Yes, I can imagine. They’ll all be wondering what that awkward little bluestocking slipped in your wine to make you go so addled.”

“No. Don’t speak that way.” He propped a finger under her chin. “I hate it when you speak ill of yourself, Min. I’d visit bodily harm on anyone who dared insult you, but I don’t know how to guard you from yourself. So kindly do me a favor, and just . . . don’t. All right?”

“All right.”

Her bottom lip trembled. He traced it fondly. “Spoiling you will bring me so much pleasure. I’ll make you feel like a queen. I’ll do everything I can to win you.”

“But Colin, don’t you realize . . .” Affection warmed her brown eyes. “There’s no need to win me. I’ve told you, I’m yours.”

He scooped her into his arms and carried her back to the fire, setting her on the carpet. Her chemise was rumpled and torn, so he retrieved his shirt and helped her into it. He fit it over her head, lifting her dark, lovely hair through the collar and arranging the locks about her face. His shirt looked well on her, the open collar offering a saucy glimpse of her unbound breasts. Her eyes shone, and a pretty blush kissed her cheeks.

God, he loved the look of her well tumbled. His heart and his loins argued he should marry her at once and keep her here, so he could start enjoying this sight every day. Every night.

But for once, he was going to let his brain make the decisions. When he acted on impulse, even his best intentions went bad. A hasty marriage, tempting as it sounded, simply wasn’t the right way.

He pulled on his discarded trousers and sat cross-legged with her, before the fire.

“You’re so young,” he began.

“I’m only five years younger than you. When my mother married, she was seventeen and my father was forty-three.”

“You’re young,” he insisted. “And this week has been tumultuous, to put it mildly. I want to give you some time, back in the normal world, to make sure of your feelings.”

“I am sure of my feelings.”

“You deserve to be courted. You deserve to know you have choices before you go committing your life to anyone—least of all a blighter like me. You deserve a look at Sir Alisdair Kent. He might not be so warty after all.”

She touched his face. “I love you, Colin. Nothing’s going to change that.”

“Dear, sweet girl.” He gathered her in his arms and held her imprudently tight.

I love you. Nothing’s going to change that.

Oh, how he wanted to take that bold, unequivocal statement and grasp it as truth. Carve it in stone, tattoo it on his flesh, spell it out in little mosaic tiles embedded in this very floor. The Gospel According to Minerva, never to be doubted. But he’d learned too much—from her, from life—and he knew well how little she’d seen of the world. His jaded soul craved assurance. At least a few months’ worth of it.

Of all people, she ought to understand the value of a scientific test.

“If what you say is true . . .” He pulled back to look her in those dark, beautiful eyes. “Then there’s no harm in waiting, is there?” He caressed her cheek, trying to coax a smile. “I’m no stranger to impulsive decisions. They don’t turn out well. When I marry you, I want everyone to know—and that includes the two of us—that it’s not a rash, impetuous whim. I want to wait until after my birthday, so there’ll be no suspicion that gaining control of my fortune had something to do with it, either.”

“After your birthday? You’re suggesting we live separately, for months?”

He nodded. “I suppose so, yes.”

“What about the nights, Colin? How do you plan to get through all those nights?” She swallowed hard. “I don’t think I could stand it if . . .”

He hushed her with a kiss. “The wedding vows must wait. But I swear to you here and now, Minerva”—he took her hand and pressed it to his heart—“so long as I live, I won’t pass a night in any other woman’s arms. I can’t pretend waiting for you will be pleasant, but I’ll muddle through. It’ll be a great deal easier to stand the darkness if you’re the warm, lovely beacon of light at the end of it.”

She looked disappointed, and he hated himself for that. But of all the things he’d ever done in his life, he needed to take care and do this right. If that meant moving at the pace of a sea snail, so be it.

“Don’t worry,” he said. “This is ideal, you’ll see. We do everything backward. It’s just how we are. We began with an elopement. After that, we made love. Next, we’ll progress to courting. When we’re old and silver-haired, perhaps we’ll finally get around to flirtation. We’ll make fond eyes at each other over our mugs of gruel. We’ll be the envy of couples half our age.”

She smiled. “Oh, Colin. If they could see me right now, I’d be the envy of every woman in England.”

“A few in Scotland, too. You forget, I was raised very near the border.”

He made the comment lightly, but its import sent a shiver of excitement through his bones.

Scotland.

The change in Colin was immediate. Minerva watched the expression on his face shift from warm affection to cold determination, in an instant.

She dragged a coy, sensual touch down his chest, hoping to change it back.

It didn’t work.

He pushed to his feet, offering her a hand. “Come, now. Quickly.”

“What? Why?”

“I’ll explain on the way upstairs. We’ve no time to lose.”

Bewildered, she accepted his hand. He helped her up, then gathered all their discarded clothes. “By now your rooms will be prepared. They’ll have fetched your trunks from the road. I’ll see you to your suite, then send a maid to help you bathe and dress.”

“In the middle of the night?”

He glanced out the open window. “Dawn will be coming on soon.”

He put a hand to the small of her back and gathered her close, leading her out of the room and to a grand, sweeping staircase. As they rushed up the steps, Minerva tried not to think too hard about the fact that she was tiptoeing barefoot through one of England’s grandest, most historic estates in nothing but Colin’s lawn shirt. Scandal personified.

But then . . . someday she would be this house’s mistress. Perhaps. Assuming the courtship went smoothly.

Lord, she was so confused.

“And while I’m bathing and dressing, where will you be?”

“I’ll be doing likewise,” he said. “Bathing, dressing. And then seeing to the horses.”

“Horses?”

“Yes. We’ll need to leave as soon as possible.” He stopped. “Which door was it . . . ? Aha. Here’s your suite.”

He led her into an exquisite sitting room decorated in ivory and sage green. Minerva could barely spare a glance to admire the carved moldings, or to emit a sigh of pleasure, as her travel-weary toes sank into the plush carpet pile.

“Colin, we just arrived here. We’ve barely slept in days. Can’t we at least rest before we go dashing off again? This is the most beautiful room I’ve ever seen.”

“You look beautiful in it.” Leaving her standing in the center of the carpet, he made a circle of the room. First, he pulled back the drapes. A silver glimmer of dawn filtered through the floor-to-ceiling windows. “Your dressing room’s here,” he said, indicating an open door. “And the bedchamber’s through that. I hope you’ll have more time to explore it the next time we come through.” He passed closed doors, pointing. “Bath. Closet.”

She closed her eyes, then opened them again. “Colin. Where on earth do you mean to take me?”

“To Scotland. To the symposium.”

“But . . . it’s too late. The symposium is today.”

“I know. That’s why we must hurry. We’ll arrive late. It can’t be helped.”

“How would we even arrive at all? No more coaches, Colin. We can’t.” She knew how miserable he’d been in the post-chaise last night. She wouldn’t put him through that again, ever.

“I have a plan,” he said. “You’ll see.”

“But Francine—”

“Still exists. Plaster cast or no plaster cast. Her footprint exists. She left her mark on the world.” He approached and took her hands in his. “And so will you, Min. Perhaps you won’t be assured the prize without the evidence in hand. But you’ll be there, and you’ll make your impression.”

She didn’t know what to say.

A maid appeared in the bathing-room doorway. She cleared her throat and bobbed in a curtsy. “My lady, your bath is prepared.”

Colin dismissed the servant with a nod.

He squeezed Minerva’s hands. “We’ve come this far. We’re not giving up now. This is the story of our future—the one we’re going to tell our friends and dinner guests and children and grandchildren—and the story doesn’t end with defeat. It ends in triumph. Your triumph.”

He lifted her hands to his lips. Kissed one, then the other.

She melted inside.

“Just trust me to get you there,” he said. “And then make me proud.”

“This?” An hour later, Minerva stood on the Riverchase front steps, dressed in her best remaining traveling habit, made of a dark green twill. She hoped she looked optimistic, if she didn’t quite feel it. “We’re journeying to Edinburgh in this?”

She peered into the misty dawn. In the drive sat the highest-sprung, most richly upholstered and gaily-painted phaeton she’d ever seen in her life. The narrow seat, built to accommodate only two persons—one driver, one passenger—must have hovered at least six feet from the ground. The little sporting carriage was hitched to two of the finest, most perfectly matched black warmbloods Minerva could imagine. They looked more like racing stock than coaching beasts.

“That can’t be safe,” she said.

“It isn’t exactly the family model.”

“We’ll glow in the dark.” She winced as the first ray of sunlight hit daffodil-yellow lacquer.

“It’s garish and flashy and reckless, yes.” Colin tugged on a bit of leather tack, testing its strength. “But it is the fastest conveyance to be had in England. Won it in a game of cards, a few years back.”

“You won it. But do you know how to drive it?”

He shrugged and smiled. “We’ll find out.”

Minerva approached the phaeton with no small degree of trepidation. But she forced the nerves down, determined to be brave. Colin was putting all his faith in her. She had to make this worth it.

With a groom’s assistance, she managed to climb into the seat. The team danced with impatience, and the phaeton swayed on its springs. Minerva’s head spun.

Don’t look down, she told herself.

Of course, the next instant she looked down. Did such prohibitions ever work?

Hoisting himself into the seat, Colin landed next to her. He pulled down the brim of his hat and gathered the reins. “Seventy-three miles. That’s the distance to Edinburgh. If the weather holds, we can cover twelve miles an hour, easily, in this phaeton. Fifteen, if I press. With any luck, we’ll arrive by noon. We can do this, Min. We really can.”

She nodded. “You do . . .” Threading her arm though his, she swallowed hard. “Colin, you do know how to drive this thing, don’t you?”

He smiled. “You keep asking me that.”

“You keep refusing to answer.”

He turned his gaze to the road and flicked the reins, nudging the team into a walk. “I don’t like to ride in carriages. Driving is a different matter.”

Once they’d rounded the turn in the drive, Colin snapped the reins and gave the horses their head, urging them into a canter.

They didn’t canter. They flew.

“Oh!” The wind took her startled laughter and whipped it across the sprawling grounds of Riverchase.

This must be what a bullet feels like.

Powered by those two majestic, elegant animals, the phaeton rocketed down the straight gravel drive like the angels’ divine chariot. The seat was so lightly sprung, Minerva scarcely felt the ruts in the road.

When they reached the end of the drive, Colin slowed the team and guided them onto the main road with skill and ease. He looked as though he’d been born with reins in hand.

She leaned closer, forced to shout over the roar of wind and hoofbeats. “Teasing man. You do know how to drive it.”

“Four-in-Hand Club!” he called back, giving her a sly wink. “All the rage in Town.”

Laughing, Minerva clapped a hand over her bonnet, was too exhilarated by the rush of wind and speed to complain. Yes, of course. The rascal was a member of every club that would have him. Gentlemen’s clubs, boxing club, gambling club, adventurers club. Why not a driving club, too?

That was his life, in London. All those clubs. All those friends. All those glittering, opulent amusements.

All those women.

As they raced northward, her mind spun faster than the phaeton wheels.

His suggestion of a public courtship thrilled her, to be sure. Attending balls and operas on the arm of the dashing, handsome Lord Payne? The thought alone made her heart skip beats. And she believed him when he said he cared for her. He wouldn’t lie about that.

He’s driving breakneck to Scotland for you, she told herself. Of course he cares.

Then again . . . just a few days ago he’d devoted an afternoon to thatching a cottage roof. He’d thrown himself into the menial labor with strength and enthusiasm and good humor. But he hadn’t pledged to spend the rest of his life doing it. Was his sudden attachment to Minerva just a product of the extreme circumstances?

And if she was doubting his attachment, maybe he doubted her love.

Or maybe he simply doubted her. Perhaps he doubted she could make a proper viscountess, and who could blame him? For God’s sake, think of that enormous, beautiful house and estate. Who would ever think Minerva could be its mistress? She’d already left the drawing room a shambles and dripped rainwater all over the entry carpet. The servants would hate her.

She couldn’t help but worry over a hundred separate things. Colin must be worried, too. He’d admitted his uncertainty. That’s why he wanted to wait.

Waiting was wise, she reasoned. Delaying an engagement was the sensible, prudent course of action.

So why did it terrify her?

They stopped thrice to change horses and take refreshment, always hurrying back to the road at the first possible moment. The landscape rolling by was green and lushly curved. A recumbent goddess, awakening from her winter sleep.

The wind, by contrast, was a cold, cruel witch.

Minerva huddled under a woven rug for warmth, but the chill clawed straight through it. When the road straightened and he could spare some slack on the reins, Colin drew her close, putting his arm about her shoulders. She nestled into his side, comforting herself with his familiar warmth and scent. Watching his gloved hands guide the team with arousing, confident motions.

She slid an arm about his waist, hugging him tight. It didn’t matter what happened today, or tomorrow. This—just this—was worth everything.

They neared Edinburgh just as the midday sun reached its zenith.

“Almost there,” he said, climbing back into the seat after stopping to ask directions of a tradesman. “Ready for your grand moment?”

“I . . .”

I don’t know, I don’t know. They don’t know I’m a woman. I’ve lost all my notes and sketches. They won’t believe me about Francine without the evidence. And after traveling seventy miles in a single morning, my hair must be a perfect fright.

They’re all going to laugh. Oh God. I just know they’ll all laugh.

Terror had her insides knotted. But she refused to give her fears a voice. She’d promised Colin she wouldn’t speak ill of herself again.

“I think so. If you’re with me, I’m ready for anything.”

He drew the horses to a halt, right in the middle of the street.

“Are we there?” she asked, looking about.

“Not quite.” With a single gloved fingertip, he turned her face to his. “But I didn’t think I should do this on the doorstep of the Royal Geological Society.”

He bent his head and kissed her. Right there in the street and with such sweet, tender passion, all her worries receded, pushed aside by the swelling emotion in her heart.

“Better?” he asked, gathering the reins.

She nodded, feeling her confidence return. “Thank you. I needed that.”

Another few minutes’ travel down crowded, cobbled streets, and Colin pulled the team to a stop in front of a stately brick edifice. He tossed the reins and a coin to a waiting boy before rounding the phaeton to help her alight.

“Hurry, now. You’re just in time to make a fashionably late entrance.”

Arm in arm, they raced up the steps. Minerva was so occupied trying not to trip over her skirts, she didn’t notice a doorman—or anyone, for that matter.

Until a deep voice drew them to a halt.

“I beg your pardon. Just where do you think you’re going?”