A Week to Be Wicked (Spindle Cove #2)(91)

Once he’d wrestled out of his wet coat and draped it over her lap, Colin unknotted his neck cloth. He slid the length of fabric free, using the drier bits to swab his face and neck.

She watched him with concern.

“I’m fine,” he said. “It won’t be long. I gave the postilion explicit directions. He’ll return soon, and we’ll be on our way. Everything will be fine.”

“Then what are you doing with the pistol?”

As she looked on, he retrieved the gun from under the seat and began to load it with ball and powder.

“Simple precaution,” he said. “Stuck like this, we’re a sitting target for thieves.”

She didn’t know how to interpret his dark mood. This was more than just the closeness of the carriage. He seemed to be blaming himself for everything, the weather included. And she was angry with herself for letting him goad her into heaping yet more recriminations. None of this was his fault.

“Colin, this entire journey was my idea. I’m sorry to have put you—”

“We don’t need to discuss it.” He recapped the powder horn.

She tried to respect his wish for silence, but it wasn’t easy.

After a minute, he said lightly, “It’s just a shame it’s not better weather. His fingers drummed against the windowpane. “All sorts of impressive crags and boulders in this area. You’d be in heaven.”

She flicked a glance at the window and the square of gray downpour it held. “So you’ve journeyed this way before.”

“Oh, countless times.”

Countless times? That made no sense. She thought he’d avoided the country, ever since . . .

“Oh dear.” The chilling realization sank into her bones. She reached for his hand. “Colin. We’re not close to your home?”

The silence confirmed what he wouldn’t say. Her heart pinched. So this was why he knew where the postilion could find fresh horses. He’d simply sent the man to his own estate.

“Was it very near here?” she asked. “The accident?”

He drew a slow breath that seemed the product of great effort. “Actually, no. It wasn’t terribly near.”

But neither was it terribly far, she imagined.

Overwhelmed with emotion, she nestled close, lacing her fingers tight with his. He was in a cramped, stuffy carriage with her, with night coming on, stuck on the very same roads that had claimed his parents’ lives and destroyed his innocence.

This was as close as Colin Sandhurst could come to walking barefoot down the brimstone avenues of hell, and he was doing it for her.

For her.

She clutched him tighter still. Thank you, she wanted to say. Thank you for believing in me. For braving this for me. If I didn’t love you so madly already, I surely would now.

But she knew tearful professions were hardly what he needed at the moment. This situation called for distraction.

She said, “I’m sure it won’t be long. What shall we do with ourselves to pass the time?”

“Why don’t you read me your presentation again, and I can pretend to pose thoughtful questions?”

She laughed a little.

His voice warmed. “No, truly. I like listening to it. I can’t pretend to understand every word in your presentation, but I don’t have to be an expert to know you’ve something important to say. I don’t need to be a geologist to understand that it’s well-written and carefully reasoned. And the way you pronounce all those polysyllabic words?” His thigh nudged hers. “Makes me rock hard, every time.”

She blushed. Not just at the carnal suggestion, but at his honest appreciation for her scholarship. For all his teasing over the months, she had to give him this: he’d never once suggested she lacked a mind of her own, or insinuated her sex must be an intellectual handicap. How many men of his rank and importance would so readily recognize a young unmarried woman as their academic superior?

She supposed she’d find out when they reached Edinburgh.

If they reached Edinburgh.

“We will make it,” he insisted, as though he could read her thoughts. “Go ahead, read through the presentation again.”

“It’s growing too dark for me to read my notes.”

“Oh.” Looking drawn and tense, he leaned against the carriage wall. He tugged at his open collar. “Night will be coming on soon, I suppose.”

Drat. Minerva winced. Of all the stupid things to say.

He was working mightily to conceal his physical discomfort, but she knew this was misery for him.

“Colin, why don’t we just get out and walk?”

“Because it’s pouring rain.”

“A little wet won’t hurt us.”

“It would chill you. And it would demolish Francine. In a lighter rain, the trunk might keep her dry. But a downpour like this? You know the rain will pound right through the seams. The plaster would disintegrate.”

“So we’ll just leave her here in the carriage.”

He snorted. “Out of the question. I’ve done far too much and come much too far with that scaly old girl. She’s not getting out of my sight now. I’m fine. I can do this, Min. The postilion will be back soon with fresh horses, and we’ll be moving on.”

The tone of his voice would brook no argument.