Minerva's Match Read online

  Table of Contents

  Front piece

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Chapter Twenty-Eight

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Excerpt of Chaos's Consort

  Excerpt of Hera's Husband

  endplate

  Copyright © 2015 by L.C. Giroux.

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law. For permission requests, write to the publisher, addressed “Attention: Permissions Coordinator,” at the address below.

  L.C. Giroux

  P.O. Box 177

  Medway, ME 04460

  www.lcgiroux.com

  Publisher’s Note: This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are a product of the author’s imagination. Locales and public names are sometimes used for atmospheric purposes. Any resemblance to actual people, living or dead, or to businesses, companies, events, institutions, or locales is completely coincidental.

  Book Layout ©2017 LC Giroux

  Ordering Information:

  Quantity sales. Special discounts are available on quantity purchases by corporations, associations, and others. For details, contact the “Special Sales Department” at the address above.

  Minerva’s Match/ L.C. Giroux -- 1st ed.

  Author’s Note:

  I confess, I wrote this story and this series for myself. I am and always have been a complete sucker for historical romances with unrepentantly difficult women, and series centered around Regency Gentlemen’s clubs, the quirkier the better. It seemed only fair to combine them. I was struggling through writing another contemporary romance when my classics loving daughter gave me the title of this series. In short order these character could not be contained and this book is the happy result. I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it.

  If you’d like more info on the books I write or even me you can find it on my website lcgiroux.com While you are there sign up for my newsletter. I give away short stories, novels and even exclusive content to subscribers. It is the best way to keep up with what is going on.

  Lisette Giroux

  Prologue

  Minerva Wright sucked a breath of spring country air deep into her lungs, and nearly choked. Her tearing eyes caught on the shrubbery surrounding her. The Duke of Northford’s country estate was a marvel of agriculture. She curled her fingers into the thick boxwood of the maze to stave off her frustration at the partner she was saddled with. The cool green color helped calm her as did the verdant fragrance. Buxus sempervirens, the Latin name for the shrub, rolled through her mind. This particular cultivar, “Rotundifolia,” grew to a height of five feet. She searched her memory for a few more facts, the repetition of which calmed her, but not enough to stop her from coming up with a plan to save herself.

  She was just going to have to stab the man. Really, there wasn’t a single other logical course of action. Minerva patted the sleeve of her pelisse. She had just the knife to do it too. Who could blame her after the way he’d ridiculed her ideas?

  “What are you woolgathering about now?” The Earl of Lansford snapped at her. Stabbing him would put a crimp in the house party, but could any of her friends, the Heiresses of Eris, blame her? Truly the nickname they’d given themselves in finishing school seemed silly now that they were older. The sun was past its zenith, and she was looking forward to the drinks at the luncheon. As if this nobcock would listen to her? Being male, he probably wouldn’t. Which irritated her all the more. Back to her plans of murder.

  There was the not-so-insignificant matter of him being a peer to consider. Bother. Perhaps… Could she make it look like an accident? She stepped toward a particularly vicious-looking branch and touched her finger to the point of it. Hmm, not nearly sharp enough to be believable. Perhaps if she stabbed him and just dabbed a bit of his blood on it, no one would think too hard.

  “Not that way,” the earl bellowed. “I determined the exit to be through this allée.”

  “You’re wrong.” The words were said under her breath. She didn’t even bother looking at him as she said them. In fact, she hadn’t looked at him since his diatribe at that first dinner on how she was wrong about the soil composition in this village. She figured he’d just keep talking, as if she hadn’t uttered a word. That was most men’s reaction to her. If she wasn’t going to at least pretty up the scenery, what good was she to them?

  A small smile curled the corner of Minerva’s mouth. Mr. Lathrop, on the other hand, did not ignore her. He thought her ideas on crop rotation fine and commendable. Just remembering his praise gave her a spark of joy. She had taken to thinking of him as the father she wished hers was. She could imagine a trim white beard on him, Mr. Lathrop encouraging her where her own father was dismissive. Her pleasant thoughts were interrupted by the rustle of the hedge as the earl ran his hands through it, stalking toward her.

  “What did you say?” The heat coming off him gave her gooseflesh. The way he bore down on her stilled the air in her lungs. He was nearly on top of her now, leaving her no choice but to look at him. His hair was a perfect mix of loam and sand, thick and free of sticky pomade. She had a sudden urge to run her fingers through it to test its texture. She shook away the renegade thought. That action merely drew her attention to his eyes. Crystalline agate, light blue irises with a dark gray rim, jet black centers that flared larger as he huffed at her. She steeled herself against the tremor that worked from her weak knees up to her shaking fingers. Dear God, the last time she’d felt anything like this was with…

  Minerva stopped her hand as it rose to touch him. What in blazes had made her want to do that? He had her confused and spellbound. His skin looked sun bronzed, unfashionable yes, but so very intriguing on him. She wondered what it would feel like warmed with the sun. Was that the reason heat seemed to radiate off him? Looking at his face was dangerous; better to stare at his neckcloth.

  Unfortunately, her glance went straight to his chest, its broad thick muscles apparent, even under his jacket. Dear Lord, the man was built like a bull. Her eyes darted up to his shoulders, and she remembered one of her friends saying that the Duke of Northford, the earl’s cousin, was built to pull a plow. The Earl of Lansford looked like the bull you put to stud. Her breath caught fire in her lungs. The physicality of the man made her thoughts fly. Fear, not of him, but of what he brought out in her, gripped her in the presence of his masculinity. Her eyes darted to his as he growled in indignation. He had asked her a question, but she was damned if she remembered what it was.

  “Pardon?” Minerva squeaked, and then realizing that would never do, she squared her shoul
ders and stared him down. Any other man would’ve been taken aback at her challenge, not so this earl.

  “I asked you to repeat what you said.”

  “Oh, is that all? I said, you were wrong, my lord.” She watched his nostrils flare like those of a rutting stallion. Oh dear. Maybe she didn’t want that particular image in her head.

  “Do you have any idea…”

  “Oh yes. I think this way is correct.” It wasn’t the answer to the question he’d been about to ask, but she didn’t care. When she moved to take a step away from him, his hand clasped her elbow to stop her. Heat surged up her arm and tingles raced to dangerous places.

  “You dare contradict me?” he asked after pulling her around to face him.

  “When you’re patently wrong? Of course, my lord.”

  “You little peahen,” he hissed under his breath. With her free hand, she almost reached for the knife hidden in the sleeve of her pelisse. Minerva wished for just one little poke to this blowhard nobcock. But of course, she shouldn’t say those things to him. Oh no, he was a peer, and she was just a lowly academic’s daughter. An avowed bluestocking. Still, his comments stung, even if she had purposefully turned herself into that peahen. Blast propriety! This man got her blood up.

  “Better a peahen than some coxcomb corinthian.” Minerva smiled her most insincere grin. He dropped her arm as if it were a snake. Good. She’d shocked him. A perverse sort of happiness stole over her when he stepped back and reappraised her. She wasn’t going to wait around for him to gather what little wits he had.

  She strode away, not the mincing little steps she usually took to make herself appear smaller and unobtrusive, but full strides. Good God, it felt divine to stretch her legs. He was by her side in two steps.

  “Just who do you think you are?”

  Minerva rounded on him then. “A woman who dares to think she is the equal of most men. No, that is not true. To be their equal, I would have to have half my brain removed. No, my lord,” she couldn’t help snarling the title of this fool of a peer who dared question her ideas when the leader in her field of research praised them. “I am smarter than most men I have met, and with all due respect for your title, I suspect I’m smarter than you.” She pulled away from him then.

  He sputtered behind her as she went in search of an escape. She needed this “game” over and to be away from him. She would’ve enjoyed besting him, all of them really, in running the maze. But Northford had suggested they work in teams, and Eleanor had begged the Heiresses for mixed pairs. In most cases Minerva would assume their Eris, goddess of chaos was plotting something. Unfortunately, hers and Northford’s desires were transparent. Minerva had no doubt they had found somewhere secluded to talk, while she was yoked to this puffed-up peer, who only delayed her progress. She was desperate to retreat to the comfort of her books, her letters from Mr. Lathrop. She needed to get away from this insufferable rogue and all the confusing sensations he made her feel.

  Not two minutes later, he found her again. “There is nothing more useless to society than a woman with a brain in her head.”

  She turned on him with fire in her eyes. How dare the man!

  “Better a woman with a brain than another useless, profligate peer!” She watched his throat work even under his cravat. Color rose from his neckcloth to his cheeks. The thought that it set off the hue of his eyes crossed her mind, a testament to her lunacy around this man. She should be running for her life, for all the ire the man brought out in her. She had worked hard to master this kind of passion. Her focus on knife work had honed her responses until she could simply assess a situation, and determine the least course of action to remedy it. Except knives were of no use when the enemy seemed to be her own base desires.

  She twisted away from him and ran down the nearest opening. Her long legs ate up ground. Unfortunately, in her haste, she had gotten turned around and lost in the maze. It was some minutes before she calmed and worked out the puzzle in her head. Having seen the maze from Eleanor’s window, she recalled the path to take in her mind. That done, she walked swiftly toward the exit. Seeing the earl exit a row near her, she resolved to ignore him.

  “Foolish chit,” he mumbled under his breath.

  That tore it. She was many things, but foolish wasn’t one of them. At least not anymore. They were at the exit now, and thank God for that! She burst past the last hedgerow. “You, sir, are a horse’s arse! We could have won this if you had just listened to me!”

  “You are the worst harpy in all of Christendom! You wouldn’t know which way to fall out of a tree!”

  “You bounder! Take that back!”

  “Better a bounder than an ape-leader!”

  Minerva gritted her teeth. He was a dead man. She reached into her pelisse, her fingers closing on the warm handle of her favorite knife. She barely heard the other Heiresses’s screams as strong arms yanked her far from her intended victim. The earl looked ready to defend himself, having taken a fighting stance she had seen her friend Louisa use when practicing her boxing. Really! She hadn’t even unsheathed the knife.

  Eleanor’s brother held Minerva trapped, and the redheaded giant who had been tormenting Louisa restrained the earl. She fought against her captor but finally stilled. “Please let me go.” The earl’s eyes flashed in challenge when Edward acquiesced. She wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of a fight. Minerva turned on her heel and strode back to the house.

  A look over her shoulder showed Eleanor laughing with the Duke of Northford. Despite all of Eleanor’s promises to never marry, anyone could see she was falling in love with him, and he with her. Fools, both of them. Men were trouble, and the woman who forgot that was at her own peril.

  Better a life of the mind than the sensations the damnable earl raised in her. Mr. Lathrop wouldn’t have that effect on her. Life with him would be one of quiet contemplation and study. A man of his dedication and sophistication would be happy to know a woman of her intelligence and forthrightness.

  A tremor of relief rolled through Minerva. One more day left of this damnable house party, and then she would never have to see the earl again.

  Chapter One

  Three Months Later

  The autumn wind nearly lifted Minerva’s bonnet from her head before she was able to slap it back down, nearly knocking her glasses from her face. Bonnets were a bother. Men were a bother too, though her friends seemed to have forgotten that. Their group’s Eris, goddess of chaos, otherwise known as Eleanor, was now happily married to the Duke of Northford, and their Hera, Louisa, had found her Zeus. Though thankfully, Colin was much more in love with Louisa than Zeus had cared for Hera.

  That left only three single Heiresses: the newest member, Katie, who they’d christened Atalanta for her racing prowess, and Virtue, who was as beautiful as any Venus. Anyone could see that Virtue would be snapped up by some man despite her unknown father. And then there was herself. Well, she was named Minerva for the goddess of logic and reason, the virgin goddess.

  She had named their band of friends, but she was the only one whose name had been given to her at birth. Her name had seemed painfully inappropriate these past six years, but there wasn’t anything to be done about it now. A man she’d thought had loved her had taken her innocence and left her with a miscarried child. Minerva wasn’t the first woman to be in that position, and she doubted she’d be the last. Still, the circumstances of that unfortunate incident had given her wisdom. Men were not to be trusted, but the most untrustworthy instrument of destruction had always been her own foolish heart. And she would never let that organ dictate her actions again.

  But why was she thinking about something so melodramatic and useless as love when she was finally on an adventure? It was as if Fate itself had intended for her to be here.

  A rescue mission to Scotland for Louisa had provided the perfect cover while her father attended a conference of his own in Bath. As long as Minerva was home by the twentieth, he would never be the wiser. She had written Mr. Lat
hrop posthaste that she indeed would be able to meet him at the conference to see him present their work in Edinburgh after all. Shame about Eleanor’s father taking ill, and Minerva truly hoped it wasn’t anything grave, but she refused to let that put a crimp in her plans. There was a twinge of guilt at her lie of omission to Mr. Lathrop, but she had no doubt that the man would accept her, just as he had her ideas. Perhaps he’d already guessed. She did have very feminine penmanship.

  She had saved some money, and with the money from the prize Mr. Lathrop had assured her they would win, she could purchase passage home. She would just have to throw herself on Mr. Lathrop’s charity to house her for the few days they would be here. She had every expectation that, as generous and warm as he’d been in his letters, he would agree.

  Minerva couldn’t help quivering in anticipation at finally meeting her collaborator, the esteemed professor, J. A. Lathrop. She still couldn’t believe the man had not only sent her a letter after she’d written him, but had suggested they collaborate on the project they were going to present at this conference. It was only then that she realized the wind had ripped the direction to Katie’s, the newest Heiress to join the club, right out of her hand while she’d been fixing her bonnet.

  Minerva had a moment’s panic. What would she do…? She patted the sleeves of her pelisse and calmed at the feel of the steel there. She could take care of herself. It would be fine. Her collaborator would be here momentarily, and if he wasn’t, she had a good book with her. She was just so happy to be here in Edinburgh, she couldn’t help it and gave a squeal of delight. The passersby looked at her oddly, and she wanted to hide her face, but if she did she’d never find Mr. Lathrop. She took a steadying breath. Her plans were all a muddle now, but she needed to see their research presented to the Society. If her father found out she’d snuck out and locked her up, so be it. She was determined to let nothing stop her from seeing their research presented.

  Her attention was caught by a man standing on the other side of the door to the coaching inn. He seemed to be looking for someone too. He was just a little taller than she, but she towered over most women. His back was to her, so she could only admire the breadth of his shoulders and the way his coat tapered to his hips. Good Lord! She was becoming as bad as Eleanor and Louisa, and they were now married women, the traitors. She had no business noticing the way his breeches hugged his… or the way his stance seemed to speak of power and control. She’d played that game once and lost. Badly. She wouldn’t be playing it again. Men were a bigger bother than bonnets.