“Charlotte has years before her debut,” she said. “She can weather a bit of scandal. And as for Diana . . . sometimes I think the kindest thing I could do for my sister is ruin her chances of making a ‘good’ marriage. Then she might make a loving one.”
He sipped his wine thoughtfully. “Well, I’m glad you’ve worked all this out to your satisfaction. You have no compunction ruining your reputation, nor those of your sisters. But have you given a moment’s thought to mine?”
“To your what? Your reputation?” She laughed. “But your reputation is terrible.”
His cheeks colored, slightly. “I don’t know that it’s terrible.”
She put her left forefinger to her right thumb. “Point the first. You’re a shameless rake.”
“Yes.” He drew out the word.
She touched her index finger. “Point the second. Your name is synonymous with destruction. Bar fights, scandals . . . literal explosions. Wherever you go, mayhem follows.”
“I don’t really try at that part. It just . . . happens.” He rubbed a hand over his face.
“And yet you worry this scheme would tarnish your reputation?”
“Of course.” He leaned forward and braced his elbows on his knees. He gestured with the hand holding the wineglass. “I’m a lover of women, yes.” Then he lifted his empty hand. “And yes, I seem to break everything I touch. But thus far I’ve succeeded in keeping the two proclivities separate, you see. I sleep with women and I ruin things, but I’ve never yet ruined an innocent woman.”
“Seems like a mere oversight on your part.”
He chuckled. “Perhaps. But it’s not one I mean to remedy.”
His eyes met hers, unguarded and earnest. And a strange thing happened. Minerva believed him. This was one snag she never would have considered. That he might object on principle. She hadn’t dreamed he possessed a scruple to offend.
But he did, evidently. And he was baring it to her, in an attitude of confidence. As though they were friends, and he trusted her to understand.
Something had changed between them, in the ten minutes since she’d pounded on his door.
She sat back in the chair, regarding him. “You are a different person at night.”
“I am,” he agreed simply. “But then, so are you.”
She shook her head. “I’m always this person, inside. It’s just . . .” Somehow, I can never manage to be this person with you. The harder I try, the more I get in my own way.
“Listen, I’m honored by your invitation, but this excursion you suggest can’t happen. I’d return looking like the worst sort of seducer and cad. And justly so. Having absconded with, then callously discarded, an innocent young lady?”
“Why couldn’t I be the one to discard you?”
A little chuckle escaped him. “But who would ever believe—”
He cut off his reply. A moment too late.
“Who would ever believe that,” she finished for him. “Who indeed.”
Cursing, he set aside the wineglass. “Come now. Don’t take offense.”
Ten minutes ago, she would have expected him to laugh. She would have been prepared for his derision, and she wouldn’t have allowed him to see how it hurt. But things had changed. She’d accepted his coat and his wine. More than that, his honesty. She’d let down her guard. And now this.
It cut her deep.
Her eyes stung. “It’s unthinkable. I know that’s what you’re saying. What everyone would say. It’s inconceivable that a man like you could be in—” She swallowed. “Could be taken with a girl like me.”
“I didn’t mean it that way.”
“Of course you did. It’s preposterous. Laughable. The idea that you might want me, and I might spurn you? I’m plain. Bookish, distracted, awkward. Hopeless.” Her voice broke. “In a geologic age, no one would believe it.”
She wriggled her feet into her boots. Then she pushed to her feet and reached for her cloak.
He rose and reached for her hand. She pulled away, but not fast enough. His fingers closed around her wrist.
“They would believe it,” he said. “I could make them believe it.”
“You horrid, teasing man. You can’t even remember my name.” She wrestled his grip.
He tightened it. “Minerva.”
Her body went still. Her breath burned in her lungs, as though she’d been fighting her way through waist-deep snow.
“Listen to me now,” he said, smooth and low. “I could make them believe it. I’m not going to do so, because I think this scheme of yours is a spectacularly bad idea. But I could. If I chose, I could have all Spindle Cove—all England—convinced that I’m utterly besotted with you.”
She sniffed. “Please.”