A low groan rattled loose from his chest.
“I’m thinking,” he said, “that last night was inevitable, and I should have known as much the day we left Spindle Cove. I’m thinking that what I ought to do, as a gentleman, is call an immediate halt to this journey and make swift arrangements for a proper wedding.” He stayed her objection with a touch to her lips. “I’m thinking what I’d like to do is push you back on that bed, bar the door, and spend the next week learning your body from the inside out. But mostly, Min . . .”
He pushed her spectacles back up her nose, so that she could focus on his face.
“I’m thinking that I made you two promises. To get you to your symposium, and to do so without seducing you. I’ve broken one of those. But I damn well mean to make good on the other.” He rose from the bed and offered her a hand. “So I’m thinking this conversation will have to wait. We have no time to waste.”
With a bewildered shake of her head, she took his hand. “All right.”
Taking a leather bucket from the shepherd’s hut, Colin fetched water from a nearby stream. While Minerva performed her ablutions inside the dwelling, he doused himself in the frigid water—shirt and all.
His shirt needed washing, and he needed a bracing, icy bath to punish his lustful loins into submission. He’d taken her virtue last night. Then he’d taken her again this morning. He’d broken all his own rules, forsaken what few remaining principles he held. No matter what objections she raised or how many of his own stupid words she threw back at him, his conscience insisted there was only one course of action.
He must marry her.
But he had to get her to that symposium first.
She didn’t want to marry him simply because he’d ruined her, and Colin didn’t want that either. No, he wanted her to marry him because he’d helped her triumph. He would prove to her—to himself—that he could be good for her.
As he submerged himself in the cold water, an insidious, shadowy doubt swirled through his thoughts.
The road to Edinburgh is paved with good intentions.
He forced the doubt away, rising to the surface and pushing the water from his face. This time was different. Today, everything was different. For God’s sake, he hated the country—and yet, here he was in the middle of a pasture, making his way to a shepherd’s hut, absurdly wishing he could lease it as a summer home.
When he returned to the hut, soaked and shivering, Minerva gave him a baleful look through her spectacles. “You’ll catch cold.”
He shrugged, wringing out his shirttails. “The sun will dry it soon enough. First order of business when we reach York”—he yanked his breeches up and fastened them under his dripping shirt—”is fresh clothes.”
“Are you sure it’s even possible to make the symposium?” She counted the days on her fingers. “Only three more nights between now and then.”
“We will make it. We’ll reach York tonight. From there, with our replenished funds, it’s a new journey. We’ll take just a few hours to eat and shop and hire a post-chaise, and then we’ll be off.”
“But you’ll be miserable. Post-chaises are so small and cramped. Not to mention expensive. We won’t have enough funds to rent you horses past York.”
“They’re the fastest way. If we travel straight through, we’ll make Edinburgh just in time.”
“Travel straight through? We won’t stop for nights?” Her eyes filled with concern.
He shook his head. “There won’t be time.”
“But Colin—”
“And we haven’t time to debate it, either.” He picked up one side of Francine’s trunk. “Let’s be on our way.”
Money made everything easier. They found a proper breakfast, a ride to the next coaching town, and from there, Colin rented a horse to ride alongside her coach. His last horse of the journey.
They reached York in late afternoon. He sought out the largest and best of the coaching inns. Holding Minerva close at his side, he approached the innkeeper.
“What can I do for you, sir?” the distracted innkeeper asked.
“We’ll need a good dinner. A few hours’ use of a room, just to rest and change. And then I’ll need to inquire about hiring a post-chaise to take us north.”
“How far north are you traveling?” the innkeeper asked.
“Edinburgh. We mean to travel straight through.”
“Is that so?” The man eyed them with suspicion, his rheumy eyes ranging over their bedraggled attire.
“I’ll pay in advance,” Colin offered.
“Oh, indeed. That you most certainly will.” The innkeeper cocked one eyebrow and rubbed the top of his head. He named a figure, and Colin counted out the money.
He leaned forward and addressed the man in low tones. “Listen, perhaps you can help me with something else. My lady here’s been parted from her baggage. Before we continue, I need to find her a new gown. Something pretty.”