A Week to Be Wicked (Spindle Cove #2)(102)

“You?” Behind his gray beard, the man flushed an unseemly shade of red. “You would claim to be M. R. Highwood?”

“I would do more than claim it. I am Miss Minerva Rose Highwood. I can’t believe the name would be unfamiliar to you. My findings have been published in no fewer than five issues of the Royal Geological Journal in the past seventeen months.”

“Really, Min?” Colin’s hand brushed the small of her back. “Five times? That’s brilliant, darling. I’m so proud.”

She blushed a little. At least someone appreciated her accomplishment. Someone marvelously handsome and kind and intelligent and, against all odds, purportedly devoted to her.

This pompous oaf standing before her, waving his silly list . . . he couldn’t intimidate her. Not anymore.

“Madam, there must be some misunderstanding. The members of this Society are all gentlemen.”

“There has definitely been a misunderstanding,” she said, smiling patiently now, “but the misunderstanding isn’t mine. For the past two years, I’ve paid my dues and submitted my findings and engaged in written correspondence as a full member of this organization. I have never claimed to be male. If the membership made the mistaken assumption otherwise, I cannot be responsible for it. Now will you kindly allow me entrance? I have a paper to present.”

“I don’t think so.” He pulled up straight and turned to Colin. “We cannot allow this. Unless she has some—”

“Excuse me, why are you talking to him?” Minerva interrupted. “I’m standing right here, and I can speak for myself.”

The man sighed heavily. “My dear girl, I—”

“I’m not a girl. Nor am I ‘dear’ to you, unless—” Good Lord, she hoped this red-faced prig wasn’t Sir Alisdair. Sir Alisdair had seemed so much more reasonable than this. “Listen, Mr. . . . ?”

“Barrington.”

“Mr. Barrington.” She smiled with relief. “I’m here to present my findings at the symposium. I’m an esteemed member of the Society, with an impressive record of scholarship, and I have something of value to contribute to these proceedings. I also happen to be female. I’m a woman who knows a great deal about rocks. I suggest you find the stones to deal with it.”

Beside her, Colin choked on a laugh. “Well done, love. Brava.”

“Thank you.”

Mr. Barrington looked decidedly less amused. “This symposium is restricted to members of the Royal Geological Society and their guests. And as membership is restricted to gentlemen, so this door is barred to you.”

“Come now.” Colin intervened. She recognized him bringing forth his most commanding, lordly tone. “We can settle this some other way, surely. I happen to be rather fond of joining clubs. Now, what must a man do to become a member of your Society?”

“There’s a lengthy application process. A letter of inquiry must be made, including a personal statement of research interests and any relevant publications. References must be provided—three, at the minimum, and no more than—”

“Yes, yes. Here’s my application, if you’d be so good as to take dictation. I’m Colin Frederick Sandhurst, Viscount Payne. As for geological interests, I’m told my estate sits atop the largest vein of usable granite in all Northumberland. For references, I name my cousin, Lord General Victor Bramwell, the Earl of Rycliff. Second, my dear friend the Duke of Halford. And thirdly . . .”

Minerva cleared her throat. “Ahem.”

“Thirdly, M. R. Highwood,” Colin finished.

“Sir, I—”

“Ah.” Colin raised a finger. “I believe that’s ‘my lord’ to you.”

“My lord, I’m sure the Society is honored by your lordship’s interest. However . . .”

“Did I mention that in lieu of the regular dues and as a concession to my expedited application process, I’m willing to pledge an annual sustaining subscription of . . . say, a thousand pounds?”

Mr. Barrington seized.

“Oh, very well. You drive a hard bargain, Barrington. Make it three.” He smiled broadly in the face of silence. “Well. Now that that’s all settled, I’ll be entering the symposium. Miss Highwood will come as my guest.”

“But, my lord, unmarried women cannot attend as guests. It’s not proper.”

“For the love of ammonites, man! That’s just stupid. Why on earth would the Society need to protect unmarried women from bone-dry lectures regarding soil composition? Do your members find themselves whipped into some sort of dusty frenzy, from which no delicate lass would be safe?”

Mr. Barrington tugged on his coat. “Sometimes debate does get heated.”

Colin turned to her. “Min, can I just hit him?”

“I think that’s a bad idea.”

“Run him through with something sharp?”

“Probably a worse idea.”

“Then there’s no getting around it.” He sighed.

“I know. You’ll just have to go in and give the presentation for me.”

“What? No.” He shook his head. “No, I can’t do that.”

“Of course you can. You’ve heard me read it so many times. I know it contains a great many polysyllabic words, but you’ll rise to the challenge.”