A Week to Be Wicked (Spindle Cove #2)

“How dare I risk my life to save yours, when you all but threw yourself to the highwayman. How dare I bring you to a comfortable house, where we can find food and a night’s shelter after a day of rambling woods and fields. How dare I.”


His hands slid up her shoulders and stopped halfway between her head and neck. As though he were trying to decide whether to kiss her or throttle her.

She would put up a fight, either way.

“We’re going to go into that card room now. We will eat, drink, and play their game. As soon as we’re able, we’ll slip upstairs and have a good night’s sleep. I swear to you, you’ll leave this house tomorrow morning with both your virtue and that disapproving personality intact—tucked safe inside your little shell—so long as you do two things.” He gave her head a little shake. “Stay close to me and play your part.”

“The part of a cold-blooded assassin? I could get inspired for that.”

“The part of my lover.” His fingers slid up and through her hair, dragging exquisite sensation over her scalp. “Search deep inside this clever mind, and try to see if you can’t dredge up the imagination to pretend. To convince those around us that you find something in me to admire. That against all odds, you actually prefer my company to a clod of dirt.”

The ragged hurt in his voice took her by surprise. So here was the reason for his changing moods and erratic behavior. Somehow, in attempting to guard her own fragile emotions, she’d managed to make him feel lower than dirt.

“Colin . . .” She stroked his lapel. “I can convince them I like you. That won’t require imagination.”

This thumb traced her jaw, and his voice went husky. “Won’t it?”

“But no one will believe we’re lovers. You heard those women laugh. You said it yourself, back in Spindle Cove. No one will believe you want me.”

With a groan, he slid his hands down her back. Cupping her backside in two hands, he lifted her and pressed her into the nearest alcove. The possession in his manner thrilled her, and so did the press of his hard, muscled body against hers.

He pressed a kiss to her ear. “What if I said I was an idiot that night?”

“Then I would agree.”

“What if I told you everything’s changed?” He kissed her neck. “That in the past four-and-twenty hours I’ve wanted to murder three different men just for daring to touch you—one of them a duke. That I am desperate with longing, consumed with wanting you. As I’ve wanted no other woman in all my debauched, misspent life.”

His tongue traced her pulse, and her breath caught. “Then I would doubt you,” she breathed.

Why?”

“Because . . .” Because I doubt myself. “Because I know how easily you lie.”

He clutched her bottom, bringing her pelvis flush with his. His hardness ground against her, sending pleasure rushing through her veins.

“Feel that?” he growled.

She nodded. Good Lord, how could she not?

“I’ve been hard for you for days, Minerva. Since before we even left Spindle Cove. If you believe nothing else, believe this.” He rocked against her. “This doesn’t lie.”

Colin was done pretending.

He ushered Minerva into the card room. After he’d greeted the half dozen familiar faces assembled about the green felt tabletop and introduced his feisty foreign mistress-or-murderess Melissande, he took his own chair.

And taking Minerva by the hips, he put her on his lap. Nestled her sweet little backside on his left thigh, draped one arm about her shoulders, and let his hand dangle directly over her breast. With lazy motions, he traced the delicate border where her altered neckline chafed against her exposed décolletage.

“Stay close,” he whispered, nuzzling her ear. While he was in the neighborhood, he took the chance to catch her tiny earlobe with his teeth.

In sum, he made the two of them very, very cozy. Not to create appearances for Halford’s sake. Not to prove a point to her, or to anyone.

Simply because he wanted her. And he was done pretending otherwise.

“Well, Payne.” The duke reached for the deck of cards. “The game is brag.”

Colin surveyed the coins and gambling tokens scattered on the table. “Stake me a sovereign’s worth, will you? I’m not carrying much coin on me.”

“But of course.” The duke slid him two stacks of shillings, each ten pieces tall.

Minerva tensed in his lap.

“Hush,” he murmured against her hair. “Trust me.” She should understand this was necessary. A few hours at the card table earned their board and keep.

She made a doubtful noise in her throat. But she kept still.

“Be a good host, Hal, and have one of these liveried jackanapes fetch my lady food and wine? She could do with some nourishment.”

“So could you, from the looks of you.”

“Yes, well.” Colin grinned. “We’ve quite exhausted each other over the past few days.”

The gamblers around the table laughed heartily. The duke merely waved for servants to bring refreshments and began to deal the cards. Halford was always all business, in the card room.