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“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.”
“This is true valor, I hope you know. Legends have sprung from less. All Lancelot did was paddle about in a balmy lake.” She smiled. “Lancelot was a knight. You’re a viscount. The bar is higher.” He gave a raspy chuckle, breathless from the cold. “Why is it,” he asked, nearing her, “that you only display that delightfully wicked sense of humor when you’re chilled and wet through?” “I . . .” Her eyelashes fluttered so fast and so hard, she might have been trying to take flight with them. “I don’t know.”
“It’s all right,” she said. “You’re through.” “Jesus,” he finally managed, pushing water off his face. “Jesus Christ and John the Baptist. For that matter, Matthew, Mark, Luke, John.” Still not enough. He needed to reach back to the Old Testament for this. “Obadiah. Nebuchadnezzar. Methuselah and Job.”
“Don’t bother. I can’t imagine anything that would make this moment better.” But that was a lie. There was one thing she wished she dared ask of him. If she could have anything she desired, she would ask only this. Love me. Love me, and let me love you.
“I know. And as a grown man, I understand that, rationally. But . . .” But he’d never managed to rid himself of the notion. It was as though he needed someone else to confirm his innocence. Someone very intelligent and logical. Someone he could trust to always give him the unvarnished truth. Someone like Minerva. “It wasn’t my fault,” he said. “No,” she answered. “It wasn’t.”
“Do you know something?” he asked drowsily. “I’ve always thought my parents’ death was like something from a ballad. They loved each other so very much. Even as a boy, I could see it. It seems almost fitting that they met such a poetic end. Always together, united even in death. As tragedies go, you must admit—it’s a rather romantic one.” She was quiet for a long time, but he knew she wasn’t sleeping. Her fingers teased through his hair. He’d almost drifted off when he heard her reply. “If you write the verse, I’ll sing it.”
She reached for her spectacles every morning, first thing. Because she could make no sense of the day without them. Colin reached for her.
“Minerva, I can’t decide which of us you’re insulting more. After last night, you should have expectations.” “Expectations of what?” She swallowed hard. “Of me.” “I thought you were the one who argued against having any expectations at all. Isn’t that your grand life philosophy? You said expectations lead to disappointments. That if you expect nothing, you’re always surprised.” He gave a bark of laughter. “In that case . . .” He turned to her. His hazel eyes sparked with intensity. “Surprise.” He kissed the tip of her nose. “You’re marrying me.”
All you had to do was glance my direction, and my heart would go all fluttery. Every time I tried to say something witty in your presence, it came out shrewish or dull. I’ve always considered myself an intelligent person, but I vow, Colin—no one has ever made me feel so stupid.”
“I’ve fallen in love with you,” she said, with quiet resignation. “If I appear changed somehow, I can only imagine that’s why.”
“Well, we must have some distraction in the meantime.” She perked. “I know. Let’s list naughty-sounding mathematical terms.” In her most tarty, breathy voice, she whispered, “Parabola.” After a pause, his fingers squeezed hers. “Tessellation.”
“Tell me the truth,” he said. “Do you see a pleasant future with me?” She reached for him, teasing her fingers through his hair. “Honestly?” “Honestly.” “When I look at you, my thoughts are something like this: God only knows what trials lie down that path.” Smiling, she slipped her arms around his neck. “But take heart, Colin. Some women like to be surprised.” He was silent for a long, breathless moment. “Well, then,” he said darkly. He caught her up in one swift motion. “Surprise.”
Smiling, he laced her arm through his, leading her into the chapel. And that was how the grand, epic story of their future—the tale they’d tell friends and dinner party guests and grandchildren for decades to come—ended. Just as a proper fairy tale should. With a romantic wedding, a tender kiss . . . And the promise of happily ever after.
