“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.