A Week to Be Wicked (Spindle Cove #2)(5)

She settled languidly into the armchair and raised her hands to her hair, finding and plucking loose her few remaining pins. With slow, dreamy motions, she finger-combed the wet locks and arranged them about her shoulders, the better to dry evenly.

He stood and watched her for a moment. Then he went to pour more wine.

A sensuous ribbon of claret swirled into the glass. “Mind, I’m not agreeing to this scheme. Not by any stretch of the imagination. But just for the sake of argument, how did you see this proceeding, exactly? One morning, we’d just up and leave for London together?”

“No, not London. The symposium is in Edinburgh.”

“Edinburgh.” Bottle met table with a clunk. “The Edinburgh in Scotland.”

She nodded.

“I thought you said this was the Royal Geological Society.”

“It is.” She waved the journal at him. “The Royal Geological Society of Scotland. Didn’t you know? Edinburgh’s where all the most interesting scholarship happens.”

Crossing back to her, he peered at the journal. “For God’s sake, this takes place less than a fortnight from now. Marietta, don’t you realize what a journey to Scotland entails? You’re talking about two weeks’ travel, at the minimum.”

“It’s four days from London on the mail coach. I’ve checked.”

“The mail coach? Pet, a viscount does not travel on the mail coach.” He shook his head, sitting across from her. “And how is your dear mother going to take this news, when she finds you’ve absconded to Scotland with a scandalous lord?”

“Oh, she’ll be thrilled. So long as one of her daughters marries you, she won’t be particular.” Minerva eased her feet from her wet, muddy boots and drew her legs up beneath her skirts, tucking her chilled heels under her backside. “It’s perfect, don’t you see? We’ll stage it as an elopement. My mother won’t raise any protest, and neither will Lord Rycliff. He’ll be only too happy to think you’re marrying at last. We’ll travel to Scotland, present my findings, collect the prize. Then we’ll tell everyone it simply didn’t work out.”

The more she explained her ideas, the easier the words sprang to her lips and the more excited she grew. This could work. It could really, truly work.

“So you’ll just return to Spindle Cove unmarried, after weeks of travel with me? Don’t you realize you’d be . . .”

“Ruined in good society? I know.” She looked into the roaring fire. “I’m willing to accept that fate. I had no desire for a society marriage, anyhow.” No hopes of one, to put it finely. She didn’t relish the thought of scandal and gossip. But could it really be so much worse to be cut off from fashionable society than to feel forever squeezed to its margins?

“But what of your sisters? They’ll be tainted by association.”

His remark gave her pause. It wasn’t that she hadn’t thought about this possibility. To the contrary, she’d considered it very carefully.

“Charlotte has years before her debut,” she said. “She can weather a bit of scandal. And as for Diana . . . sometimes I think the kindest thing I could do for my sister is ruin her chances of making a ‘good’ marriage. Then she might make a loving one.”

He sipped his wine thoughtfully. “Well, I’m glad you’ve worked all this out to your satisfaction. You have no compunction ruining your reputation, nor those of your sisters. But have you given a moment’s thought to mine?”

“To your what? Your reputation?” She laughed. “But your reputation is terrible.”

His cheeks colored, slightly. “I don’t know that it’s terrible.”

She put her left forefinger to her right thumb. “Point the first. You’re a shameless rake.”

“Yes.” He drew out the word.

She touched her index finger. “Point the second. Your name is synonymous with destruction. Bar fights, scandals . . . literal explosions. Wherever you go, mayhem follows.”

“I don’t really try at that part. It just . . . happens.” He rubbed a hand over his face.

“And yet you worry this scheme would tarnish your reputation?”

“Of course.” He leaned forward and braced his elbows on his knees. He gestured with the hand holding the wineglass. “I’m a lover of women, yes.” Then he lifted his empty hand. “And yes, I seem to break everything I touch. But thus far I’ve succeeded in keeping the two proclivities separate, you see. I sleep with women and I ruin things, but I’ve never yet ruined an innocent woman.”

“Seems like a mere oversight on your part.”

He chuckled. “Perhaps. But it’s not one I mean to remedy.”

His eyes met hers, unguarded and earnest. And a strange thing happened. Minerva believed him. This was one snag she never would have considered. That he might object on principle. She hadn’t dreamed he possessed a scruple to offend.

But he did, evidently. And he was baring it to her, in an attitude of confidence. As though they were friends, and he trusted her to understand.

Something had changed between them, in the ten minutes since she’d pounded on his door.

She sat back in the chair, regarding him. “You are a different person at night.”

“I am,” he agreed simply. “But then, so are you.”