Minerva's Match Page 3

  A warm hand wrapped around each of her shoulders. “Breathe, Minerva. The thought isn’t worthy of your tears.”

  He didn’t know. He couldn’t understand what it meant to her. She had to concentrate so as not to burst into sobs of joy and thus confirm that she was the overly emotional woman he suspected her to be. A spot on her shoulder warmed where his thumb rubbed a circle as he tried to steady her.

  Minerva looked into James’ eyes. Where she remembered them as flinty, now they were a clear bright sky she could lose herself in, and they stared back with concern. She smiled through the tears still clinging to her lashes and watched as crinkles formed beside those eyes. Now they fairly danced with happiness. “There’s a girl. Better now?”

  She nodded, still not trusting her voice. A few deep breaths, and she shrugged from his hands. It was best not to rely on him too much. She had already had too many lessons in disappointment with men.

  “I need to see about a room,” she managed to huff out.

  “How will you pay for it? There are unscrupulous people who will take advantage of a woman in your position. I won’t allow that to happen. Never mind. I will handle this.” He hoisted his bag and stomped into the inn.

  “But…” It made no difference. The man was gone. and she was left standing in the street. Still, a bubble of golden happiness had lodged in her chest, and she was loath to pluck it out. She knew she should. It didn’t serve her well to have too much hope. Still, there was something about the man that made hope seem possible.

  Chapter Four

  James Lathrop, Earl of Lansford, considered himself a smart man and had no idea how the hell all this had happened. He didn’t know whether to laugh or cry. One impossible little woman had brought him to his knees. Well, maybe not his knees, but she’d gutted him like a fish. He needed to think, but all he could do was remember the way her eyes had shone in admiration of him, in relief that he was going to present their ideas. If she weren’t the most impossible woman he’d ever met, he would admire her. Right now though, he was ready for Bedlam.

  He caught the innkeeper’s eye and nodded at the man. All he could think to do was the unthinkable. That was a measure of just how crazy she had made him.

  “Good sir, I’ve got a bit of a situation. You see, I’m here with this girl…”

  “Me boy, say no more.” The man tucked his thumbs in his braces and gave a hearty laugh. “Brought the girl here, and now she has cold feet?” Good God, the man thought they were eloping. Cold sweat formed on James’ brow at the thought of it. Except that the man’s assumption did solve a few of their problems, and no one would ever know what he was about to do. It wasn’t as if he were enthralled with the girl, or she him. Well, not in a way that would lead to marriage. He would have the damned thing annulled as soon as they got back to London, and none would be the wiser.

  “Yes, something like that. You see how it is. If I take her back now…”

  “Yes, yes. Not like I haven’t seen this before. Sometimes they just don’t know what’s good for them.” James gulped at the thought of what he was doing. He was only marrying her. He wasn’t going to force himself on her. She would never know. He wasn’t acting like his father at all. He was doing the honorable thing. Wasn’t he? Part of James wanted to raise an objection, but he was taking advantage of the man’s ignorance.

  “In my experience,”—the man gave him a wink— “it’s a little like dealing with a skittish colt. Sometimes, to get the bridle on, you have to go real easy like. Not let them think too much about what you’re doing. She does want to be here, yes? It’s not good business to have too many girls married against their will.”

  “No, no. Nothing like that. As you say, she’s just a little skittish. A case of cold feet and all. So how do you go about this? I’d heard the customs were a bit more casual in Scotland.”

  “Just leave everything to me. Here, sign the register. And where’s your girl?”

  Minerva chose that moment to walk into the inn. The interior of the coaching inn was run-down and too dark for James’ taste. The innkeeper did a lively business in his tavern. James guessed the darkness helped some of the women ply their trade. A shiver of repulsion raced down his spine.

  He’d never been one to visit light-skirts. When one understood how disease worked and saw the telltale scabs on some of these women, it would be impossible for one to enjoy any experience there. Worse, he knew they could be sick and show no signs. His fear of disease, combined with the debauchery of his father, had sealed his fate.

  James looked back at Minerva. Even in the dim light, she had a glimmer, like bottled sunshine. She removed her plain bonnet, and the gold of her hair truly shone, as if gathering all the candlelight in the room.

  That goddess-like glamour made the insane idea of marrying her more palatable. No one would know, if the innkeeper could be believed, not even Minerva. When all this was over, he’d have his man of business file the papers for an annulment. It wasn’t as if it would be any kind of real marriage, but at least this way, if something should happen, if she needed help, he was within his rights as her husband to do so. The ninny, traveling without a chaperone. She was too smart to do something so foolish.

  “Were you able to get rooms?” Minerva said softly beside him.

  “Oh yes, miss,” the innkeeper answered for him. “Everything is all worked out. If I can just have you sign here.” The innkeeper leaned over the registry, covering the majority of the big book. “Just write your full name, miss, and everything will be fine.”

  James watched as Minerva signed her name, the looping swirls of her signature almost making him smile. How he had looked forward to her letters about their project. The way that they had challenged him, spurred him on.

  The innkeeper cleared his throat, pulling him from his daze. “There now, that wasn’t so hard was it? I should ask though. You are here of your own accord?”

  “Of course, I am. We’re here to claim the prize.”

  The man smiled wide, revealing a missing tooth. “Ah, it is a prize you’ll be getting, lass.” The man gave James a smile and a wink as he closed the registry and handed him a room key.

  “Minerva, this way.” She hadn’t spoken. She was a bright girl. Had she figured out what he was up to? Good God, could she explain it to him? He needed the few minutes it would take to negotiate the crowds and the stairs to pull himself together. He’d married the woman. It still didn’t feel real. There was no outward sign, no ring, no flowers to denote her as a bride. No frock coat or fancy boutonniere for him. Just their names on the marriage registry.

  “Mr. Lathrop?” she said. “You only have one key.” Well, this would be the perfect end to this disastrous day. Her screaming to kingdom come and back. He couldn’t wait.

  “They only had the one room left. I’d have left you here and gone to sleep in the stable, but I didn’t like the look of some of the others residing here.” Other than the one-room bit, the rest was completely honest. He hated lying. It smacked of the kind of hubris his family had been famous for. Say and do whatever is the most expedient, will cause the least uproar, and let others deal with the consequences.

  That attitude made him revile his own name and title, and it was why he couldn’t just leave her to her own devices. She’d come there trusting that Mr. Lathrop would be happy to meet her. Though there was the small matter of her being female and never mentioning it.

  He found the room number and unlocked the door. Thankfully, it had a lock. Plenty of inns with rooms to let didn’t. At least they wouldn’t have to worry about being robbed in their bed.

  Bed. The word resounded like an avalanche in his mind. He was absolutely not sharing a bed with Minerva. When he looked at her, she was staring at the smallish bed supposedly meant for the two of them.

  “I’ll sleep in the chair,” he mumbled.

  “That is insane. You are the one to present our work. You should take the bed, and I’ll sleep in the chair.”

  “I ca
n’t do that.”

  “Because I am a woman.”

  “To be blunt, yes.”

  “And if I were just a fellow collaborator?”

  “If you were a fellow”—he put extra emphasis on that word— collaborator, then, frankly, I’d probably just share the bed with you. It wouldn’t be comfortable, but it would be better than trying to sleep in the chair.”

  “Then that is what we shall do. I insist you treat me exactly as you would a man.”

  His jaw dropped open, then snapped shut with a click. She was maddening.

  “Miss Wright, may I point out that you are in no way a man. It is highly improper that we even be in this room together.”

  “Did you know you go a little white around the mouth when you speak to me?”

  He scrubbed his hands over his face. She had to be trying to drive him insane. “Minerva, focus. You are not a man.”

  “I am more than well aware of that, my lord. But neither am I ton. It makes little to no difference what happens to me.”

  “Don’t start that ‘my lord’ nonsense now. You have no more respect for my title than I do! And although I am aware you are not ton, unfortunately I am.”

  “Men of your status have taken advantage of women of my status since the dawn of time.”

  He wanted to shake her head clear off her shoulders, except he knew all too well how right she was. Still, this harridan thought she could dictate to him. She had just laid out the situation succinctly. Any other woman would be terrified at finding herself in a room with a man she barely knew, and with a single bloody bed, no less! “I am not that kind of man!” he growled.

  “I suspected as much.” She sat on the edge of the bed and rolled her shoulders, no doubt trying to release some of the tension in them. Eventually, she rooted in her traveling jacket and pulled a few coins from an interior pocket. “I’m afraid this is all I have, but you are welcome to it.” She tried to hand him the coins, which he refused. “Don’t be pigheaded,” she snapped at him. “I couldn’t have afforded the room.”

  “Nor can I, actually. I only had enough for the one night. I had thought to split the cost of a lesser place with, er, you, but I don’t think that is such a good idea now.” He truly didn’t. Those places would put her at risk of far worse than being robbed in her bed. With two men, there was still the chance of that, but with a woman? He couldn’t take the risk.

  “Fine, we’ll need to eat at some point, and I’ll save it for that.” Even in the face of lunacy, she still managed some odd kind of practicality. He found it strangely refreshing. He always seemed to be surrounded by frivolous women trying to get his attention all because he had a title, or colleagues who might be brilliant in their field but couldn’t seem to manage the simplest tasks outside it. This woman couldn’t be frivolous if she tried, and she wasn’t some scatterbrain either.

  “James?” His name on her tongue caught him off guard. The familiarity suddenly felt foreign and intimate at the same time. “Could you present the work to me as you will tomorrow? I’d like to hear how you will tell the story.”

  Chapter Five

  Minerva tucked her legs under her and sat up waiting for Mr. Lathrop, er, James, to begin. In her excitement, she bit her lower lip and noticed the man’s eye stick there. She promptly forced it from her teeth.

  “Why would you want to hear that?”

  Was the man mad? The whole reason she’d come here was to see and hear the famous J. A. Lathrop present work that she had contributed to.

  “What else would I be here for?”

  “Has anyone ever told you that you are a very singular woman?” Singular: a synonym for odd.

  “Of course.” Oliver, the cad, had said she was one of kind, a rare flower. But that had been before she had said yes. Before he had… left and never written, before she had truly learned what men meant when they said a woman was different. “I am odd. I embrace it. Are you going to tell me that you consider yourself ordinary?” He took half a step back and ducked his head. “I thought as much. Why is it a man is encouraged to think himself extraordinary in many areas of his life, but when a woman is unique, she is frowned upon? Unless she is a great beauty. Then of course that is all anyone can remark on.” Her friend Virtue had often told her that she envied Minerva for being plain and meant every word.

  His face was pinched, but he held his tongue a moment before speaking. “I hate to admit it, but you are correct. I know far too many men whose eccentricities have been encouraged in one way or another by their society.”

  “So you’ll show me your presentation?”

  “No.” At her huff, he laughed. “It isn’t a matter of not wanting to. Truth be told, I just get up there and speak. I know the material. There isn’t any magic in it. We can discuss aspects of the work, if you’d like?” For the first time in their acquaintance, the man seemed almost humble. It was not a comfortable idea. This man, with all his intellect, power, and prestige, appearing humble was a trap of some kind. And not one she had any intention of falling into, even if she wasn’t sure exactly what it was.

  It was then that her stomach rumbled loudly. Minerva’s eyes went round. He’d be horrified and make fun of her without a doubt.

  “Someone is hungry.”

  Before he could say something else, she rushed through her lie. “I’m not!”

  He looked as if she had suggested they set the bed on fire. “Minerva, I could plainly hear your stomach rumble. It is a perfectly normal bodily function. As an organism, you must consume fuel to survive.”

  “Well, I know that!”

  “Then why are you acting as if your basic needs are unimportant? You say you want me to treat you as I would a colleague, yet you persist in playing the part of a foolish woman.”

  “I…” She snapped her mouth shut. “I am not foolish.”

  “I realize that. Do you?” She’d done everything she could do to make herself unremarkable, yet tried to stay true to who she was. Perhaps she wasn’t as singular as he thought she was. Lord knows she had seen and heard enough girls deny their basic needs—hunger, thirst, even being able to take a full breath were denied some who allowed themselves to be laced into corsets.

  “Fine. Yes, I’m hungry. I was too excited to eat breakfast, and then I didn’t want to meet Mr., er, you, with food in my teeth. Then my bag with the food was stolen.”

  “I have a little coin. I’ll see what I can get, at least some bread and hard cheese, maybe some soup.”

  “I don’t need much.” At his smirk, she stood. “That was not vanity but the truth. I’ve never had a large appetite, and I can’t abide eating meat. My father thinks it a character flaw.”

  “I doubt we’ll have the opportunity to have much meat until I get you back to London.”

  Odd how that made her stomach twist. It wasn’t as if she thought she’d never have to go back. Her father had said he’d be back in a bit more than a week, and that he’d have a surprise for her. She hoped it would be the microscope she wanted, but she didn’t hold out much hope for that. He’d probably just buy her another book on ancient Rome. “I want you to lock the door behind me,” James said, while pushing to his feet. He turned and stared her down. “Open for no one but me. Do I make myself clear?”

  She couldn’t help rolling her eyes. “Perfectly.” She started to shut the door behind him, then she yanked it back open. “Can you fill the pitcher? I’d like to wash up some.” He turned so pink his blush was visible even in the dimly lit hall.

  With him out of the room, she could take a look around. The accommodations looked clean though sparse.

  A hard chair stood beside the fireplace. She sat and stirred the coals. Scotland was so much colder than she’d expected. She hadn’t removed her jacket, and even indoors she wasn’t overheated. Beside the chair was a small table where she’d pulled the pitcher from the chipped washbasin and below that was the chamber pot. “Oh dear,” she squeaked, not wanting to think about how to manage that with James in the
room. The bed seemed awfully small for two grown adults.

  She’d wanted him to treat her as an equal, she reminded herself. If she were a man, they would have shared the bed, so that was what they would do. A shiver raced over her skin, leaving behind gooseflesh.

  She was an Heiress after all. She wasn’t going to be swayed from her course, even if Eleanor and Louisa had given in and married. Of course, they’d married men who, if anything, encouraged their eccentric behavior. Who could imagine a duke allowing his wife to continue her grappling classes? Even worse, he now joined her! And Louisa, quiet, unassuming as she was, being a titan in business? And the woman’s bear of a husband couldn’t have been happier. They’d both found men who appeared to be their perfect complement. Minerva sniffed in dismissal. She knew better than any of them that appearances were deceiving.

  She was lost in thought when the door burst open. She had a moment of fright, but then saw it was James.

  “Bloody hell! Have you no sense of self-preservation? I told you to lock the damn door! What if I had been someone else, someone with intent to harm you?” He dropped his packages on the small table with the basin and stomped to her. He grabbed both her shoulders in his hands and shook her. “You must do as I say!” It was then that he apparently felt the knife. “What in hell?” They both looked down at her knife about to slice open his waistcoat. All she had to do was apply the slightest bit more pressure, and he would be filleted.

  “I’m sorry, James.” She tucked the knife back into its sheath in her sleeve. “You startled me.”

  “Where in all hell did you get that?”

  “It’s mine.”

  He shook his head. Finally closing the door he’d left open, he turned back to her. “Do you know how to use it?”

  “Yes. That one and the others.”