A Week to Be Wicked (Spindle Cove #2)(15)

“So when do we leave?” she asked.

“Leave for where?”

“Scotland, of course.”

“Scotland?” He laughed, surprised. “I’m not taking you to Scotland.”

“But . . .” She blinked furiously. “But just now, inside. You said you chose me.”

“To dance with. I chose you as my dancing partner.”

“Yes. Precisely. You chose to dance with me, in front of all those people. To pull me outside and hold me improperly close. To kiss me, in the middle of the lane. Why would you do all that if you didn’t mean to elope?”

“For the last time, you kissed me. As for the rest . . . I regretted that scene last night in my quarters. I felt I owed you some apology.”

“Oh. Oh no.” She pressed a hand to her chest. “You’re telling me it was a pity dance? A pity kiss?”

“No, no.” He sighed. “Not entirely. I just thought you deserved to feel appreciated and admired. In front of everyone.”

“And now, for a second time in as many nights, you’re revealing that it was all deceit. So I can feel rejected and humiliated. In front of everyone.” Red rimmed her eyes. “You can’t be doing this to me again.”

Oh, for the love of tits. How did this happen to him? He had the best of intentions, and then somehow . . .

Your good intentions have the impact of mortar shells.

“That’s it,” she said, balling her hands in fists. “I’m not letting you out of it this time. I insist that you take me to Scotland. I demand you ruin me. As a point of honor.”

The bell on the tavern door jingled. They jumped back from each other a pace.

The party had outgrown the tavern, it seemed. Merrymakers spilled out from the Bull and Blossom, taking to the green.

Sniffing, Minerva crossed her arms over her chest.

“Listen,” he said low. “Is there some time and place we can talk? Someplace that’s not my quarters at midnight.”

After a pause, she straightened her spectacles. “Meet me at the head of the beach path tomorrow morning, just before dawn.”

“Before dawn?”

“Too early for you?”

“Oh no,” he replied. “I’m a very early riser.”

“You’re late,” she said, the next morning. The first rays of dawn glinted off her spectacles. “I’ve been waiting.”

“Good morning to you too, Marianna.” Colin rubbed his bleary eyes, then his unshaven jaw. “I had to bid my cousin farewell.”

His gaze slid over her frock—a murky, shapeless abomination of gray fabric, buttoned to the hollow of her throat.

“What on earth are you wearing? Did you take orders in a convent since we spoke last? Little Sisters of the Drab and Homely?”

“I thought about it,” she said dryly. “It probably would have been the wise course of action. But no. This is my bathing costume.” She raked him with a look. “I don’t suppose you have one.”

He laughed. “I don’t suppose I do.”

“You’ll just have to strip partway, I suppose. Come along, then.”

He followed her down the rocky path to the cove, bemused but undeniably intrigued. “If I’d known disrobing would be involved, I would have been more punctual.”

“Quickly, now. We must hurry, or the fishermen will see us.”

They reached the beach. The air whipping off the sea had a bracing, sobering effect, clearing some of the cobwebs from his brain. The world began to take on crisper edges.

He stopped at the water’s edge. The sea lapped at his boots. He took a long moment to inhale deeply, then surveyed the boulder-studded cove in the misty dawn. He’d never appreciated this view before, at this hour of morning.

It looked timeless. Almost mystical.

Seawater splashed him in the face.

“Wake up,” she said, removing her spectacles and placing them into a small oilcloth pouch looped over her wrist. She strode past him into the gentle waves. “Time’s wasting.”

He watched, incredulous, as the stark raving mad girl sank into the water. Knee-deep. Then waist-deep. Then all the way to her neck.

“Come out of there,” he said, sounding distressingly like a nursemaid, even to his own ears. “This instant.”

“Why?”

“Because it’s April. And freezing.” And because I’m suddenly curious to see you wet, without the mud. I didn’t have a chance to appreciate the view the other night.

Her shoulders lifted in a shrug. “It’s not so bad, once you grow used to it.”

For God’s sake, look at the girl. Teeth chattering, lips turning blue. Beneath that horrid garment, her ni**les were probably freezing to little icicles. And she seriously expected him to join her? Him, and all his precious, highly-susceptible-to-extreme-temperatures bits?

“Listen, Madeline. There’s been some misunderstanding. I’m not here for a swim. We need to talk.”

“And I need to show you an inlet, around those rocks. There’s no other way to get there but to swim. We’ll talk when we arrive.” She cocked her head. “You’re not frightened, are you?”

Frightened. Ha. What was that he heard, splashing into the water? Must have been a gauntlet.