“I demand to know what was in this letter.” Wearing a devilish grin, Colin chased her up the coaching inn staircase.
Minerva cringed. She never should have mentioned it. “Can we move past this, please? You plagued me all through dinner. I’ve told you, I don’t recall.”
“And I told you, I don’t believe you.”
“It doesn’t matter whether or not you believe me.”
She opened the door to their chambers. While they’d been eating downstairs, a manservant had been dispatched to fetch a few gentlemen’s necessities for Colin. And the finest secondhand gown three pounds could purchase had been laid out by the maid. A surprisingly lovely muslin frock—ivory, block-printed with tiny pink sprigs.
A banked fire smoldered in the hearth. And the bed, heaped with pillows and quilts . . . oh, how Minerva’s road-weary body yearned to sink into that bed and stay there for days.
“I’m going to change before our post-chaise is ready.” She ducked behind a dressing screen in hopes of hiding from this conversation.
“Then I’ll have a shave.” She heard him cross to the washstand. “But I’m going to keep on deviling you, until you confess everything. Did I compose pages of description? Compare your eyes to Brighton diamonds?”
“They’re Bristol diamonds. And no, you did not.”
“Aha. So you do remember the contents.”
She huffed out a breath. “Very well. Yes. I do remember. I remember that letter word for word.”
Water splashed in the basin, and she heard the scratch of his shaving brush against his stubbled jaw. The familiar scent of his shaving soap filled the air. It smelled of cloves.
“I’m listening,” he prompted.
Behind the screen, she picked at a ragged fingernail. “You wrote that you’d been studying me, when I wasn’t aware of it. Stealing glances when I was lost in thought, or when my head was bent over a book. Admiring the way my dark, wild hair always manages to escapes its pins, tumbling down my neck. Noting the warm glow of my skin, where the sun has kissed it. You wrote that you’re consumed by a savage, visceral passion for an enchantress with raven’s-wing hair and sultry lips. That you see in me a rare, wild beauty that’s been overlooked by other men. Sound familiar?”
“Oh, you didn’t.” He muttered a curse and tapped his razor on the washbasin. “You couldn’t have remembered everything I said that night.”
“Certainly I could. And what better words to fill a forged letter from you? They were all yours, after all.” She sniffed. “You wrote that I was the true reason you’d remained in Spindle Cove all those months. And the letter ended with the sweetest words. ‘It’s simply you, Minerva. It’s always been you.’ ”
He was quiet for a long time. For as long as it took her to undo fourteen hooks at the back of her abused blue silk gown and pick loose the knots of her corset laces and unbutton all the tiny closures of her shift. For as long as it took for him to finish shaving and cross the room in slow, measured footfalls.
She heard a creak as he flung himself on the bed. “God, I was such an ass.”
She didn’t offer any argument to the contrary.
“And do you know the most ironic thing about it, Min?”
“What’s that?”
“I always liked you.”
Minerva paused in the act of tying her garter. She allowed herself one moment of absurd, heart-pinching hope before making a loud sound of disbelief. “Please.”
“No, really,” he insisted. “All right, perhaps I didn’t always like you.”
See? She yanked her petticoat laces tight.
He went on, “But you have to admit, there was something between us from the first.”
“Something like antagonism, you mean?” She stepped into the new gown and bounced on her toes, tugging the fabric over her petticoats and stays. The fit was rather tight. “The hostility of two barn cats fighting in a sack?”
“Something like that.” He chuckled. “No, it’s just . . .” His voice went thoughtful. “I always felt that you could see me, somehow. In a way no one else did. That with those fetching little spectacles, you could peer straight through me. And you made no secret of the fact that you despised what you saw, which marked you as far cleverer than most. I couldn’t rid myself of this fascination with you. Your sharp gaze, your enticing mouth, your complete invulnerability to all my charms. If I treated you poorly—and I know I did, to my shame—it was because I always felt rather hopeless around you.”
Her spine snapped straight. She couldn’t believe what she was hearing.
She poked her head around the dressing screen and stared at him. He lay on the bed, freshly shaven and washed, legs crossed at the ankles and arms propped behind his head. His posture said, Yes, ladies, I truly am this handsome. And I don’t even have to try.
“You,” she said. “Felt hopeless around me? Oh, Colin. That is too much.”
“It’s the truth.” His gaze was sincerity itself.