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

by Tessa Dare

When a girl trudged through the rain at midnight to knock at the Devil’s door, the Devil should at least have the depravity—if not the decency—to answer.

She might very well be plain, bookish, distracted, and awkward—but she was determined. Determined to be acknowledged, determined to be heard.

She exhaled, letting her patience stretch. And stretch. Until it expanded just enough to accommodate a teasing rake with a sieve-like memory. And stunningly well-defined shoulders.

“I’ll admit,” he said, “this is hardly the first time I’ve answered the door in the middle of night and found a woman waiting on the other side. But you’re certainly the least expected one yet.” He sent her lower half an assessing look. “And the most muddy.”

In it blazed a fire large and fierce enough to do a Norman warrior proud.

Remarkable. The longer she stared at him now, the more she could actually feel her intelligence waning.

“You don’t deserve her,” she told Lord Payne. “True enough. But none of us get what we truly deserve in this life. Where would God’s sport be in that?”

It was the nicest thing he’d ever said to her. She thought it might be the nicest thing anyone had ever said to her. Certainty becomes you.

A man might engage in flirtation with disinterest, even disdain. But he never teases without affection.”

I’ve no doubt you meant well, but your good intentions land like mortar shells.

Colin scarcely recognized her as the girl who’d visited him last night. The bold, witty young woman who’d let down her hair by his hearth and spoken with such captivating self-assurance. Where had that girl been, all these months?

“Honestly? When I look at you . . .” His thumb stroked her lower back. “I think to myself something like this: God only knows what trials lie down that path.”

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

“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.”

And there are women in the Bible, you know.” “Yes. As I recall it, they were trouble, every last one.

It couldn’t hurt to pretend, could it? Not in secret, in the dark.

Jesus. Jesus Christ and Mary Magdalene. Delilah, Jezebel, Salome, Judith, Eve. Trouble, every last one. Add Minerva Highwood to the list.

Colin knew she didn’t respect him. But now that he was seized with lust for her, she ought to at least reciprocate with a grudging-yet-helpless infatuation. So much would only be polite.

This was it. This was ruination in the making. Roast beef and boiled carrots and ugly, peeling wallpaper.

“It’s only a few harmless exaggerations.” He walked her slowly toward the carriage. “Think of it like running down a slope. If you attempt to slow down and choose your steps, you’re bound to trip up and stumble. But if you simply let yourself run with the story, everything will come out fine.”

She turned to him and said simply, “Colin.” Her wide, dark eyes held a frantic plea for reprieve. Don’t make me do this. He felt a twinge of conscience, but he wouldn’t intervene. He’d come to recognize that look in her eyes. Her eyes always caught that wild, desperate spark just before she did something extraordinary.

Men never hesitated to declare their presence. They were permitted to live aloud, in reverberating thuds and clunks, while ladies were always schooled to abide in hushed whispers.

“I should have known I’d pay for it somehow. Whenever you touch me, I end up humiliated.”

“You’re ruining this journey,” she all but shouted. “You ruin everything.” “Well, I beg your pardon, but I believe you signed on to be ruined!”

Emmeline sighed. “It’s like a fairy tale.” Yes, Minerva thought. Just like a fairy tale. Absolute rot, from beginning to end.

“Min, show him. Shoot that birch tree over there.” “I’m not firing at a tree! I’d waste my shot, and I haven’t more powder. Then what help would I be? Really, Colin.” “See?” Colin said to the suffocating man. “She knows what she’s doing.”

“All right,” she said, glaring down at the highwayman. “So where do I stab him?”

What do people see when they gaze at the sky? Inspiration? Beauty?” She heard him sigh. “Truth be told, this view always intimidated me. The sky’s so vast. I can’t help but feel it has expectations of me. Ones I’m already failing.”

“At least Sir Alisdair would remember my name.” “Perhaps.” He closed the distance between them, standing so near his chest grazed her breasts. “But could he kiss you so hard, you forget it?”

It was just grotesquely large, its windows deep-set and hooded, like leering eyes.

No doubt Sir Alisdair Kent likes his women looking prim and demure, but you chose me as your travel partner. I have a reputation to maintain.”

“Oh, don’t sell yourself short. I think you’ll do very well indeed. You see, a mistress is a sharp, savage little creature. When it suits her, she can make a man feel as though he’s irresistible, desirable, endlessly fascinating. The only man in the world.” He leaned closer, lowered his voice to a dark whisper. He was too near for comfort or clarity, just a blur of male ferocity. “She moans as if she means it. And when she’s got what she wanted, she’ll make it bitingly clear that the man means nothing—absolutely nothing—to her at all. I think you were born to that role. Don’t you?”

Winterset Grange looked austere and forbidding from the outside, its interior resembled something out of Ancient Rome at its peak of debauchery and excess.

It’s in the name of science. Hah. That was a first-rate line, that was. Ranked right up there with, “You could save my life tonight,” and “Darling, teach me what it means to love.”

she’d been prepared to go back ruined and disgraced. But she didn’t know that she could live with going back defeated.

Expectations lead to disappointments. If you expect nothing, you’re always surprised.” “But you’re never really satisfied. You never experience the joy of working toward a goal and achieving it.”

And must they always flee a scene in the mayhem of violence and rioting? Could they walk away just this once, with ten pounds in their pocket and some levity in their step? Just this once?

And it occurred to her, as she made that mad dash down the lane—clutching a blazing hot pistol in one hand and a fistful of money in the other—that this surely must mark some turning point in her life. Really, there was no going back from this.

She couldn’t “heal” him. No woman could. Events that far in the past just couldn’t be undone. But perhaps he didn’t need a cure, but . . . a lens. Someone who accepted him for the imperfect person he was, and then helped him to see the world clear. Like spectacles did for her.

He rolled onto his back, rubbing the bridge of his nose. “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.”

He would prove to her—to himself—that he could be good for her.

Minerva took refuge behind the screen. She was surprised her pounding heartbeat hadn’t knocked it over.

If he couldn’t see this journey through, how could he ask her to trust him with the rest of her life? Good intentions and pretty compliments weren’t enough. He had to prove this to her, and to himself.

“Oh, Colin. This is why I love you.” His hands went to her waist. “For God’s sake. Because my adolescent mind always wandered to ribald places when I should have been attending my studies?” She shrugged. “Did I need a better reason?” “I should think so. Yes.” His brow met hers, and his voice dropped to a raw whisper. “That’s why I’m here, Min. You must know that’s why. You need a much better reason to love me, and I’m trying like hell to give you one.”

“Colin, you do know how to drive this thing, don’t you?” He smiled. “You keep asking me that.” “You keep refusing to answer.”

The landscape rolling by was green and lushly curved. A recumbent goddess, awakening from her winter sleep. The wind, by contrast, was a cold, cruel witch.

I’m a woman who knows a great deal about rocks. I suggest you find the stones to deal with it.”

“Minerva, I love you. I’d been waiting to tell you so at a better moment. In some more romantic time and place.” He threw a glance at their surroundings. “But here and now will have to do.” “Here is fine,” she managed. “Now is good.” He squeezed her hands. “I love you. I love that you’re clever and loyal and curious and kind. I love that you’re often so fearless and bold and strong—but I also love that you’re occasionally not, because then I can be strong for you. I love that I can tell you anything. Anything at all. And I love that you always have something surprising to say. I love that you call things by their right names. That you aren’t afraid to call a tit a tit, or a cock a—”

“As I was saying, pet. I love that you call things by their right names. That you’re bold enough to call a tit a tit, and a cock a cock. But most of all, I love that even after this mad, reckless week with me—even with your heart and reputation and future hanging in the balance—you were brave enough to call love love.” His hands framed her face. “Because that’s exactly what this is. I love you, Minerva.” A look of exultant joy lit his eyes, as though he’d just unearthed the scientific discovery of a lifetime. “We love each other.” A knot rose in her throat. “Yes. We do.” “I want to be with you, for the rest of our lives.” “I want that, too.”

His fingers went to the signet ring on his little finger, and he twisted it back and forth. And back and forth. He grimaced. “This may take a moment.” “Colin, really. You don’t have to—” “Almost have it,” he said through gritted teeth. His face was red and contorted with effort. “Wait . . . wait . . .” He turned away and crouched, still tugging at the ring. Minerva began to grow worried for him. “There.” Panting for breath and wearing an expression of triumph, he held up the ring for her inspection.