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 br**sts. 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.”