A Week to Be Wicked (Spindle Cove #2)(13)

“Not very well.”

His eyebrow quirked. “This is true.”

Minerva curtseyed to the wrong corner, colliding with the lady her to her left. Offering the woman a breathless apology, she overcorrected—and stomped on Lord Payne’s foot.

“Good God,” he said through gritted teeth, holding her close to his side as they moved forward and back. “You weren’t exaggerating.”

“I never exaggerate. I’m hopeless.”

“You’re not hopeless. Stop trying so hard. If we’re going to manage this, you must let me lead.”

The dance parted them, and Minerva was left reeling. She tried to convince herself this meant he’d agreed to her plan. He would take her to Scotland, because he chose her. He chose her over Diana. Why else would he offer to dance with her, but to create the impression of some attraction between them? But her thoughts were quickly plowed under by thunderous footfalls and wild fiddling.

She bumbled her way through another series of steps. Then came a lovely few measures where she didn’t need to do anything but stand still and clap.

Then it was forward again. To him.

He pulled her close. Indecently close.

“Say ouch,” he murmured.

She blinked up at him. What?

He pinched the tender underside of her arm, hard.

“Ouch!” she exclaimed. “Why would you—”

He slid an arm around her waist. Then flexed it, causing her to stumble. Her spectacles went askew.

“What’s that, Miss Highwood?” he said loudly, theatrically. “You’ve turned your ankle? What a pity.”

A few moments later, he had her stumbling through the Bull and Blossom’s red-painted front door. They made it a few steps away from the entrance. He rushed her so, her slipper caught on a rock and she tripped in earnest.

He caught her just before her knee hit the turf.

“Are you hurt?”

She shook her head. “Nothing bruised but my pride.”

He helped her steady herself. But he didn’t release her. “That didn’t go as I planned. I didn’t realize your . . . difficulty with dancing. Had I known, I would have—”

“No, this is fine. This is good. The dance, our leaving it. You . . . embracing me in plain view.” She swallowed hard. “It’s all good.”

“It is?”

She nodded. “Yes.”

His arms felt good indeed, wreathed about her waist. And the complex, fiery warmth in his hazel eyes was swiftly melting her intelligence to slag. One more minute of this, and she’d be a certifiable simpleton.

She cast a glance at the door. Surely someone would follow them. Or peep out the window, at least. Weren’t they the least bit concerned for her reputation? Or her ankle, if nothing else? Someone needed to see them together, if they were going to make a convincing elopement. Otherwise, this dangerous, confusing embrace would be for nothing.

“Why?” she asked, unable to help herself. “You could have Diana.”

“I suppose I could. And if I decided marry her, you could not stop me.”

Her heart pounded so fiercely in her chest, she was sure he must feel it. “But you chose me tonight. Why?”

An ironic smile tugged at his mouth. “You want me to explain it?”

“Yes. And do it honestly, not . . .” Not like last night.

“Honestly.” He mused on the word. “Honestly, your sister is lovely, elegant, demure, kind. It’s easy for a man to look at her and imagine a whole lifetime stretched out before him. Wedding, house, china, children. It’s not an unappealing prospect. But it all looks very settled and fixed.”

“And when you look at me? What do you see then?”

“Honestly? When I look at you . . .” His thumb stroked her lower back. “I think to myself something like this: God only knows what trials lie down that path.”

She twisted in his embrace, pushing against his arm. “Let me go.”

“Why?”

“So I can hit you.”

“You asked for honesty.” He chuckled, but kept her close. “This . . . this struggle is precisely my point. No, you don’t fit the beautiful, elegant, predictable mold. But take heart, Marissa. Some men like to be surprised.”

Marissa?

She stared at him, horrified. And thrilled. And horrified at being thrilled. “You. Are. The most—”

A bell jingled. The Bull and Blossom’s door swung open, and a handful of giggling village girls tumbled forth, riding a wave of music and warmth. Minerva’s breath caught. If the girls turned this way, she and Payne would be seen. Together.

“Surprise,” she whispered.

Then she pressed her lips to his.

Chapter Four

Surprise, she said.

Surprise indeed.

Sweetness. That was the first surprise. He’d heard so many tart words from these lips . . . but her kiss was sweet. Cool and sweet, with a hint of true decadence beneath. Like a sun-ripened plum at the height of summer. Ready to fall into his hand at the slightest inducement.

The falling. That was surprise the second. As she leaned into the kiss, she fell into him. He tightened his arms around her waist, pulling her close.

Their bodies met.

But that wasn’t the right word. Their bodies had “met” some months ago, that night in the Summerfield gardens. Now their bodies renewed the acquaintance. The sense of intimacy was immediate, startling. The jasmine scent of her hair cocked a trigger, deep inside him. A memory stored not in his mind, but in his blood.