“Don’t come for me at the rooming house,” she said. “Too much chance of being intercepted. I’ll walk out and meet you by the road.”
Colin massaged his jaw, releasing a faint groan. He was a libertine with prodigious experience. She was a naïve bluestocking still tasting her first kiss. This was an exceedingly bad idea. No matter how much he wanted to leave Spindle Cove, no matter how much she claimed to want this journey . . .
It could not happen. Because now he wanted her.
“Colin?”
He shook himself. “Yes?”
She met his gaze. The vulnerability shining in her eyes plucked at his conscience.
“Please,” she said. “You will be there, won’t you? You won’t play me another cruel trick and leave me the laughingstock, standing all by myself while the coach passes by?” She swallowed hard. “Should I be worried about you?”
Yes, pet. That’s just it. You should be worried indeed.
Chapter Six
He wasn’t coming.
Minerva stared off in the direction of the castle. Then she checked her timepiece for the fourth time in as many seconds. Two . . . no, three minutes past six.
He wasn’t coming.
She should never have dreamed otherwise. She ought to have known he’d let her down.
The ground shivered beneath her. A rumble of hoofbeats reached her ears. Here it came, the coach. And it would pass her by. Leave her standing on the side of the road—an awkward fool of a girl, all dressed up with nowhere to go.
Hopeless.
She stared down the road, just waiting for the black shadow of the coach to crest the distant hill. So strange. The hoofbeats grew louder and louder, but no carriage appeared. By this point, she could actually feel the earth’s low rumble in her shinbones. Still no coach. She whirled, feeling confused and frantic.
And there he was. Lord Payne.
Colin.
Charging toward her on horseback, dashing through the early-morning mist. The wind rippling through his wavy hair. The sight was just like something from a fairy tale. Oh, he wasn’t riding a white stallion, but rather a serviceable, sturdy bay gelding. And he was dressed not in shining armor or regal attire, but in a simple, well-tailored blue topcoat and buckskin riding breeches.
No matter. He still took her breath away. As he slid from his horse, he was magnificent. Resplendent. Without a doubt, the most beautiful man she’d ever seen.
And then he spoke.
“This is a mistake.”
She blinked at him. “A mistake?”
“Yes. I should have said as much yesterday, but better late than never. This journey would be a mistake, of catastrophic proportions. It can’t happen.”
“But . . .” Looking around, she realized he had nothing with him. No valises. No bags of any kind. Her heart sank. “Yesterday, in the cave. Colin, you promised.”
“I said I’d be here at six. I didn’t promise I’d leave with you.”
Minerva reeled in her half boots. Deflated and numb, she dropped to sit on the edge of her largest trunk.
He surveyed her baggage. “Good God. How did you bring three trunks all the way up here by yourself?”
“I made three trips,” she said weakly. Three cold, hard slogs through the mist. For nothing.
“Three trunks,” he repeated. “What could possibly be in them all?”
“Why do you care? You’ve just said you won’t go.”
He crouched in front of her, sinking to her eye level. “Listen, Michaela. This is for your own good. Did anyone notice we’d gone missing yesterday? Did anyone see us kiss the other night?”
She shook her head. “No.”
No one seemed to suspect a thing. Which ought to have made her feel better, but was somehow the most humiliating part yet.
“Then you’re safe, so far. And there’s too much at risk for you in this undertaking. Not just your reputation, but your safety. Your happiness. And it all might come to naught.” He tipped her chin.
She stared into his eyes. They were red-rimmed and weary. Little lines creased the space between his eyebrows. He hadn’t shaved. From a distance, he’d appeared handsome and dashing, but up close . . . “Goodness. You look horrible.”
He rubbed his face. “Yes, well. I had a hard night.”
“No sleep?”
“Actually, I did try to sleep. That’s the problem. I ought to know by now, that never ends well.”
Here it came again, that wave of sympathy rolling through her chest. She wanted to touch his hair, but settled for plucking a little burr from his coat sleeve.
“All the more reason you should want to come with me.” She tried to make it sound like the only obvious and logical solution, though she knew it really wasn’t. “Before the fortnight’s out, you could have enough money to return to London and live as you please.”
He shook his head. “I don’t know how to say this kindly, so I’ll just put it bluntly. Forget about me. Never mind your sister. To the devil with the five hundred guineas. Think of yourself. You’re betting your reputation, your family harmony—your entire future—on a queer-shaped hole in the ground. I’m a gambler, pet. I know a bad wager when I see one.”