Minerva's Match Read online

  He looped an arm around Minerva’s waist and pulled her closer. He reveled in the easy way she slid in next to him and the way she looked up at him with joy in her eyes. His heart twisted in his chest. He had no right, true, but then when had he ever had anything for himself? And want for this woman sung through him.

  “Oh yes, no problem there.” He wondered if the man would believe they’d talked of forage crops and legume varieties or the best manure to reinvigorate the soil. The man would probably want to explain the art of coupling to him. Just the thought made him ache with need.

  “Follow me then,” the farmer said, “and I’ll get you squared away.”

  James lay his coat down on the hay and sat, then he patted the space next to him for Minerva to follow. They’d enjoyed a fine supper, even if their host thought Minerva odd for not wanting any meat. His body ached with the miles they’d spent on the road, and he wanted to sleep. Last night had been so cold he’d spent most of the night with his teeth chattering. Luckily, the animals below helped warm the loft, where they would be sleeping tonight.

  Minerva plopped herself next to him, leaning her head sideways on his shoulder. His arm came around her naturally as if she were meant to be there. Perhaps she was? Despite all the chaos she caused, it was moments like this that made him want. How in God’s name was he going to live without her? “You’ve been quiet all evening.” He nearly whispered the words so as not to disturb their peace.

  “Sorry. It’s just…”

  “We’re going back to the real world.”

  She looked at him with such gratitude, it almost undid him. “Yes, that’s it exactly.”

  “Will we be in before your father arrives?”

  “We should. If we can find a hack, and I can get bathed and out of these clothes before he sees me, I should be fine. Can I ask a favor of you? It’s silly really, but I’d like to introduce you to him.”

  “Why? I’d think you’d want to hide any evidence of our association.”

  “I suppose you’re right. It’s just that… I’ve never felt like I mattered to anyone before. Maybe if he sees that I matter, just a little, to you…”

  “Minerva, you don’t matter just a little to me.” Her eyes flashed to his face, but she gave him a shy smile when she realized he was teasing her. Damn him for a weakling, but he couldn’t resist any longer. He held her chin in his fingers and tilted it up so she had to look at him. “You matter a great deal to me.” And then he sipped at her lips until need overtook him and sipping wasn’t nearly enough. She was the ocean, and he wanted all of it.

  In short order, he pulled her into his lap so they could be closer. When her cold fingers fought their way through the gaps in his shirt to touch him, he gasped. He popped the first button on her jacket, and she seemed to coo at him. How easy it was to imagine his Min as a snowy white dove. He ran his tongue along the seam of her lips and her jaw softened to invite him in. She tasted of sweet water and yeasty bread. The thought was like a lightning strike that made straight for his cock. His ardor was further aroused as she slid the buttons of his waistcoat through their holes. She wasn’t moving nearly fast enough, so he tore it off himself to her laughter. She stopped laughing and just stared at him as he moved over her, pinning her to the hay beneath them.

  “Min, tell me to stop,” he whispered. He needed a strong dose of sanity.

  “Don’t. Don’t stop, I mean. Please, don’t stop. I want to remember us, like this, always.” Her words had their intended effect and spurred him on. Bit by bit, he undressed her and she him, until there was nothing between them, except for their affection. He worshipped her slowly, thoroughly, until she was moaning for him. “Please, James!”

  “Anything for you.” He meant it. He wanted to show her just how much she meant to him. He thrust into her and stilled at her gasp. “Did I hurt you—”

  “No. More.” She clawed at his back, trying to pull him closer, deeper. He thrust again and thrilled at the feminine moan of desire she released. He could make love to her forever. His hips worked faster as she panted beneath him. His head bent to her breast, and he suckled there as she pressed her hips to meet his. God, he was close. Another hard pull at her nipple, and she arched against him and found her release. Her convulsions were so earth-shattering, so breathtaking, he nearly spilled deep inside her. He pulled from her and spent against her thigh. He lay there shocked to his core. He’d wanted her tied to him. For a moment, he’d actually considered taking away her choice of whether she could leave him. A child between them would tie her to him forever.

  And then he’d be no better than his own father.

  But dear God, he wanted her round with their babe. The two of them, marveling over every movement and change. Even now, the thought revived his flagging erection. She would be glorious, like a warrior angel.

  Still coming to grips with his thoughts, he stroked her hair, kissing her tenderly as she drifted off to sleep. Dear God, she deserved better than he could give her. All he could do was be an ever-vigilant protector, encourage her work, give her a life of the mind, when what she deserved was to be draped in jewels and furs. She should have fine houses and beautiful horses, not some borrowed wagon and a tumble in a hayloft. In her sleep, she burrowed closer for warmth. As he tucked a loose wave of hair behind her ear, he whispered words he’d never thought to say to any woman. Words he desperately wished he could say to her, have her say back, but all he could do was murmur, “I love you,” as he dropped off to sleep himself.

  Chapter Twenty

  Minerva woke on a sob. She startled, as James slept on. It was still dark although morning was racing at them as fast as her thoughts. How she wanted to stop the sun rising. This night, the whole of this trip, had been beyond her imaginings. She wanted to laugh at her fatherly notions of what “Mr. Lathrop” would be like. What did she know of fathers? Hers could barely take the time to enjoy an evening with her.

  James would be a good father to his children, protective, thoughtful, loving. The thought made her breath catch. An image of the two of them with their children etched into her soul. Some other woman would have his children, not her. He needed a rich wife to rebuild his estate, and she was too wrong for what he needed. That sob fought to work its way free again.

  He might enjoy their time together, even treat her tenderly. Yes, he’d said he wanted to marry her, but that had been his misplaced propriety. While he might profess to care, he hadn’t ever said he loved her. As well he shouldn’t. The differences in their stations alone made them an unsuitable match. Still. If she could find someone like him who was just an academic?

  But he wouldn’t be James.

  Her chest ached. A dull physical pain that sucked the air from her lungs. If this was something like love, then the poets had gotten it all wrong. That Pyramus and Thisbe was a tragedy now made much more sense.

  She had fairly begged James to continue their collaboration, but could she do it? The thought of things going back to the way they’d been before this trip made her ill. But they would have to. Polite, measured letters discussing crops and soil enrichment with the occasional tidbit about his private life until he informed her that he was to marry, and her world came crashing down. Because any foolish woman could see that, despite being penniless, he was a good man, a better man than any she had ever known.

  She turned to face him now. His hair had fallen over his brow in his sleep. She could imagine him, falling asleep at his desk while working late on some problem. She would come in and take his quill from his hand and kiss him awake. He’d smile at her as she led him off to their bed. No. Not their bed. Some other woman would wake him with kisses, have his children, share in his successes and fight his battles with him.

  Good God, it hurt. A physical rending of her body couldn’t hurt as bad as this. Nothing in her life had, not all the times she’d pined for Oliver to return or to even send her a letter, only to realize she had given him her chastity to simply be cast aside. The miscarriage of their mis
begotten child had been more shock than this crushing pain. Her father’s abandonment had only registered as such in hindsight. She had thought all parents ignored their children.

  This pain was why love was untenable, and she refused it.

  She hurt now, but if she just ignored it long enough, it would subside. She had Oliver to thank for that knowledge too. James was a better man, but the fault was with her heart, not his. She would just have to find a way to continue, and when he inevitably found a woman to share his life with, she would survive that too.

  With that thought, she burrowed into him for warmth one last time. If she ignored the tears that sprang unbidden, who was to know?

  Chapter Twenty-One

  They’d finally arrived at their destination. If anything, Minerva had become more difficult the closer they’d come to her father’s house. Now she’d run upstairs with the housekeeper, clucking behind her to bathe and change before her father’s imminent arrival. James had been left to cool his heels in what functioned as their front parlor. He’d come to some decisions over the last several hours. Minerva had to be one of the most difficult women he’d had the misfortune of knowing. He was also in love with her, and if he had to choose Bedlam with her or high society without, Bedlam won, hands down.

  She wanted to introduce him to her father. Yes, he very much wanted an introduction, and then he had every intention of telling her father that he would be courting the man’s impossible daughter until she saw fit to say yes to marrying him. He couldn’t wait for the sparring matches to start. She knew very well he was tenacious in pursuit of an answer. She was about to find out that was him at his most relaxed.

  Pleased with his plan, he decided to look for clues to the family life of a successful classics academic and his daughter. Of the academic, he found much. Framed letters commending him, texts in Latin he might be able to parse out with enough time, but not a scrap of evidence that the man had one bit of family. Judging from this room, which he assumed also served as the man’s study, he might as well have been a bachelor. There was no miniature of a beloved dead wife, no charcoal sketch of a dear living daughter. Minerva had wanted to introduce him to her father to show that someone cared about her. The full import of just what she’d meant finally started to sink in. James half considered calling his cousin and begging him to help abduct her.

  He could imagine the scandal, but what was the point of having a scandalous family reputation if you couldn’t use it? Still, it would be better for them both to do this the traditional way. Though he could tip the needle in his favor. He pulled the notes he’d carried in his pockets and began counting them. First the winnings from the scientific prize, pittance though it was. Next came the winnings from the show and the fight they had put on at the inn. A smile spread across his face unbidden. He’d never felt more alive than he had that night, except for later that evening and every time he’d touched the woman since. Just thinking of her upstairs bathing left him sweating in anticipation.

  To those piles, he added the racing bets Minerva had won and given him. They’d spent little of the money they’d made, but all totaled, it still came to just less than the first scientific prize had. But it was close. His decision made, he neatly ordered the one pile.

  At that moment, both doors, front and back, to the parlor opened. Minerva stood at the back with her housekeeper, Adeline, and at the front stood a man who must have been her father.

  “Father! You’re home. I want to introduce—”

  Minerva’s father didn’t let her finish the sentence, just launched into his own thoughts. “Dear, remember I was telling you I had a surprise for you? Something I’d bring back with me from the conference.”

  “Yes, Father.” She looked at James, beseeching him to understand this break in etiquette. The fault wasn’t hers in the least. Minerva held out her hands to receive her expected book and then gasped when her father grabbed her hands.

  “He was one of my best pupils, and now he’ll be part of the family!” Her father almost squealed with glee. James had a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach.

  “What? Who? Father, I don’t understand.”

  A second man, a younger man whom James disliked on sight, stepped out from where he’d been hidden. Though young and, judging from his clothing, not well-off, he carried himself with an affected air and strutted in with a silver-topped walking stick.

  Minerva saw the other man and went pale. James started to step forward because she looked as though she would swoon any moment. “Oliver?”

  Bile filled James throat as his head whipped back to look at the man again. This was the man who had taken advantage of Minerva’s innocence? He was handsome in a florid way. Too-long black hair carelessly tossed back with shocking blue eyes in his pale face. Good God, the man looked like a callow youth. The man was a scoundrel of the worst sort. Her father embraced the two of them and pulled them into him.

  “I can tell you my secret now, dear. Oliver and I have been corresponding. He’s secured a wonderful position in the States and has consented to marry you.”

  “But I…” Min stuttered on any kind of answer.

  “I’m sure you’re overwhelmed, Vera,” Oliver said. Minerva flinched at the nickname. James couldn’t say he thought much of it either. “But I can make good use of your talents.” Didn’t the man teach the classics? What need did he have of her research in agronomy? But wait, he was going to take her to the States! “You always had such lovely penmanship, and while the position is prestigious”—he smiled at Minerva’s father, who fairly shivered with delight—“I’m afraid it doesn’t include enough for a copyist. And you know how horrible I was at organizing lessons. We will make a capital team again.”

  James was afraid he’d cast up his accounts then and there. The man thought to wed to gain a secretary! Surely Minerva would speak up, if not to tell them he had already offered for her, then to put a stop to this nonsense for her own well-being.

  “Oh, James.” Minerva’s voice, always so strong and so resonant, was barely a whisper. “Father, Oliver, this is…”

  “I’m her—” James choked on an explanation that wouldn’t get the woman in trouble. He looked over at her as her eyes traveled up and down Oliver. They weren’t much different in age, he and this pompous arse. When his eyes caught Minerva’s, the pleading look in them stilled the words he was about to speak.

  Dear God, she actually cared what this man thought. Could this have been why she had refused his offers, because she was still in love with this arse?

  He started again. “I’m interested in some of the work she is doing. Name’s James Lathrop.” If he had taken one of Minerva’s knives and opened a vein, it couldn’t have hurt as much as this did now. She still loved the man? After everything he’d done, everything they’d done together.

  “Work? Vera, are you a copyist already? Capital! That will make it better, since you’ll know the ropes.” The bastard could couch an insult as a compliment with the best of them. Why in blazes didn’t Minerva stand up to the bastard like she ought to? Good Lord, like she had taken him on when they’d been at the house party, or when they’d met in Scotland and she wouldn’t take no for an answer, but had insisted on knowing if he was going to present the blasted work? No, now she wouldn’t even tell them what the hell she did with her time.

  “Minerva has some excellent ideas on increasing crop yield. We’ve discovered that if you—”

  “Crops?” Oliver said. “You must be kidding. You? Farming? Your father had mentioned your little gardening hobby, but I expected flowers or herbs. But actual crops? You should leave the heavy thinking to the men, Vera. No sense taxing yourself, don’t you think?” The bastard laughed at his own joke. James wanted to call him out right there. Enough of this drivel.

  “Oh, it’s nothing really.”

  James swung around to stare at her, mouth agape. This was some kind of bad dream. He’d fallen from the carriage and knocked his head. It had to be. He shook his head and
looked closely at her. No, he was of sound mind, and she really was acting the coquette, or as like as she was capable.

  “Oliver, Father must be so happy to see you again.”

  “No, Vera,” Oliver said, and James thought he might gag. “I came back for you, just like I promised I would.” Min turned even paler if possible.

  Her father piped up. “Oliver wrote that he’d be attending the conference I went to and he shared his wonderful news of the position he has. Some minor college, was it?”

  “Harvard. And the only thing that could make it better is if I could bring you along as my wife.” The blighter dropped to one knee in front of Minerva, taking her hand in his. “Please say yes.”

  “But you didn’t write…”

  Ah, finally, she was coming back to herself. Now she’d lambaste him. James couldn’t wait to see the man running out the door with his tail between his legs, affected walking stick and all.

  “I’m sorry for that,” Oliver said. “I was just so busy. But still, you’ll marry me, of course?”

  Surely the man had a better excuse than that? James wanted to rub his hands together while he waited for her response, but the longer she took to answer, the less sure he was as to what her response would be.

  Finally she stood up straighter and pulled her hand from the nobcock’s. Here it came.

  “Of course.”

  James had to have heard her wrong. She had spoken the words so softly that perhaps she meant something else entirely. Like “Of course, you are an idiot to think that.” Or maybe she wanted to say, “Of course, you are the fool I knew you to be.” But she just stood there, looking lost and alone. Everyone else seemed to be suspended in time, except for him.

  “What did you say?” James asked almost as a rhetorical question.