A Week to Be Wicked (Spindle Cove #2)(33)

“He did ask her to dance the other night,” Diana pointed out.

“That’s true, they did dance,” Kate said. “But rather disastrously. Still, who could have guessed this?”

“No one. Because it’s not right.”

Corporal Thorne shoved back from the bar and rose to his feet, nearly bashing his head on the exposed, black-painted rafters. In heavy strides, he crossed to join their group. “Payne’s up to something, I warrant. I’ll go after them. If I ride out now, I can reach London by morning.” He looked to Diana. “If they’re anywhere on the Great North Road, Lord Rycliff and I will find them and bring your sister home.”

“No!”

Everyone swiveled to face the source of this objection: Mrs. Highwood. The woman remained frozen in place, palms pressed flat to the table, staring straight ahead. Kate wasn’t sure the matron had blinked once since Diana read the letter.

“No one is going after them,” the older woman said. “I’ve known from the first, Lord Payne would be my son-in-law. My friends always tell me, my intuition is unparalleled.” She pressed a hand to her bosom. “Of course, I thought it would be Diana who’d catch his eye, lovely as she is. But it seems I discounted Minerva’s cleverness.” Blue eyes gleamed. “I can’t imagine what the cunning girl did to snare him.”

“Surely Minerva’s the one who’s been snared,” Charlotte argued. “I tell you, she never would have run off with Lord Payne. She might have been kidnapped!”

“I doubt she’s been kidnapped, Charlotte,” Diana said. “But Mama, you must admit that this turn of events is highly unexpected.”

“Unbelievable, more like.” Thorne crossed his arms. “He’s up to no good.”

“Perhaps he’s in love,” Kate argued. “Like the letter says.”

Thorne shook his head. “Impossible.”

“Impossible?” Kate was highly annoyed on Minerva’s behalf. “Why is it impossible that a man should fall in love with an unlikely girl? Perhaps Minerva’s not the prettiest girl in the room. But maybe Lord Payne saw something of beauty in her curious mind, or her independent spirit. Is it truly so unfathomable, that an imperfect girl might be perfectly loved?”

The Highwoods looked away in awkward silence, and Kate knew she’d said too much. This was about Minerva, not her. Their situations weren’t the same. Minerva might not be the prettiest girl in the room, but she was still a gentlewoman of good family and modest fortune.

Kate was alone and poor, atop being cursed with physical imperfection. No dashing lords had proposed to elope with her, nor even asked her to dance. But foolish as it might be, she held fast to the hope of love. She’d been holding on to that hope all her life, after all. She could scarcely uncurl her grip now.

“Minerva is my friend,” she said simply. “And I’m thrilled for her.”

“If she’s your friend, you should be concerned.” Thorne’s glare was intense. “She needs rescuing.”

Kate hiked her chin and gave him her profile. Her imperfect, port-wine-stained profile. “Shouldn’t that be her mother’s decision?”

Mrs. Highwood grabbed her elbow. “Yes, Miss Taylor has the right of it! We should be celebrating. Imagine—my awkward, prickly Minerva, eloped with a viscount. Some might call it unexpected, unbelievable. But unless someone convinces me otherwise . . .” A smile spread across the woman’s face, making her look ten years younger. “I call it a miracle.”

Chapter Nine

Minerva woke in the night.

Tangled with him.

She knew a moment of pure, paralyzing terror, until she recalled exactly where and when she was . . . and with whom. Once she’d remembered that she was in a London coaching inn, and the heavy leg so casually thrown over both of hers belonged to none other than Lord Payne . . .

Then the true fear set in.

He sighed in his sleep, nestling closer. His arm cinched tight about her waist.

Oh, God. His arm was about her waist.

And that wasn’t the worst of it. He was all over her, and she was all . . . under him. His scent and warmth covered her like a blanket. His chin rested heavy on her shoulder, and his nose jutted against the soft place beneath her ear. Yes, the embroidered sheet still formed a soft, pliant barrier between their bodies. But aside from that, they were so closely intertwined, they might have been one creature.

She stared up at the ceiling. Her pulse pounded in her throat. The desire to move was unbearable, and yet she didn’t dare stir.

For untold minutes, she lay still. Just breathing. Staring into the darkness. Listening to the frantic beat of her heart and feeling the soft heat of his breath against her neck.

And then, suddenly, his whole body turned to stone. His grip around her waist tightened to a painful degree, making it difficult to breathe. The leg thrown over hers went rigid as iron. His warm breath ceased washing against her neck.

He began to tremble. So violently, he shook them both.

Minerva’s heart rate doubled in both speed and intensity.

What should she do? Wake him? Speak to him? Remain still and simply hope this . . . episode . . . passed?

This dreadful sense of helplessness wasn’t new. She felt the same whenever Diana was stricken with an asthma attack. Minerva could never do much to ease her sister’s suffering during a breathing crisis, except to stay at her side and keep her calm. To let her know she wasn’t alone.