A Night to Surrender

Lord Payne cut a swath through the hubbub, making his way straight for their group. “Mrs. Highwood.” He bowed deeply, gifting the fair-haired sisters with a brilliant, gleaming smile. “Miss Highwood. Miss Charlotte. How lovely you look this evening.” Belatedly, he turned to Minerva and gave her a cool smile. “If it isn’t our resident giant-slayer, Miss Miranda.”



She narrowed her eyes at him. “It’s Minerva.”



“Right. Did you come armed this evening? With something other than those dagger-sharp looks, I mean.”



“Unfortunately, no.”



“In that case”—he extended a hand to Diana—“Miss Highwood, I believe this dance is mine.”



When Diana didn’t immediately accept, their mother intervened. “What are you waiting for, Diana? Permission? Of course you may dance with Lord Payne.”



As the pair proceeded to the center of the floor, Minerva nudged her mother. “You cannot allow her to dance. Not like this. What of her asthma?”



“Pish. She hasn’t suffered an attack in ages now. And Miss Finch is always saying healthful exercise will do her benefit. Dancing is good for her.”



“I don’t know about dancing, but Lord Payne is not good for her. Not in any way. I don’t trust that man.”



One of the Bright twins stepped into her line of vision, drawing her notice away. He made a nervous bow to Charlotte. “Miss Charlotte, your hair is a river of diamonds and your eyes are alabaster orbs.”



Minerva couldn’t help but laugh. “Charlotte, do you have cataracts?”



The poor youth flushed vermillion and stuck out his hand. “Care to dance?”



With a brief glance toward their mother for consent, Charlotte launched from her chair. “I’d be honored, Mr. . . . Er, which one are you?”



“It’s Finn, miss. Unless I accidentally tread on your toes, in which case I’m Rufus.” He grinned and offered a hand. The two joined the dancers.



Minerva stared at her mother. “You’re letting Charlotte dance now? She’s barely fourteen!”



“It’s all in good fun. And it’s just a local dance, not a London ball.” Her mother clucked her tongue. “Be careful, Minerva. Your envy is showing.”



She huffed a breath. She was not envious. Although, as more and more couples paired off around her, she did begin to feel conspicuously alone. It wasn’t an unfamiliar sensation.



“I keep telling you, Minerva. If only you’d give your cheeks a pinch and remove those spectacles, you’d be—”



“I’d be blind as a bat, Mother.”



“But an attractive bat. They’re only spectacles, you know. You do have a choice whether or not to wear them.”



Minerva sighed. Perhaps she would like to catch a gentleman’s attention someday, but not one whose entire opinion of her could be swayed by a minor alteration of appearance. If she married, she wanted a man with a brain in his head and some substance to his character. No vain aristocrats for her, no matter how slick their words or how devilishly handsome their smiles.



It just rankled, to always feel rejected by men like Lord Payne without ever having the chance to reject them first.



She lifted the flagon of ale in her hand and took a long, unladylike draught. Then she rose from her chair, determined not to sit and play the wallflower.



“Where are you going, Minerva?”



“As you say, Mother. I’ve decided to take this unplanned interruption as an opportunity.”



Pushing through the increasingly raucous throng of dancers and drinkers, Minerva made her way to the exit. She’d left off in the middle of composing a most important letter that afternoon, and she might as well take this time to finish it. The members of the Royal Geological Society required adjustment in their thinking.



They were, after all, men.



Sixteen



Susanna raced from the house, picking up her skirts and dashing down the lane.



“We could take a carriage,” Bram said, catching her on the first turn. “Or ride.”



“Not enough time,” she said, gulping the cool night air. “This is faster.”



Truth be told, she was glad of a chance to run. There were too many questions between them, so many emotions she felt unprepared to face. She slid a glance in his direction, wondering if his knee was paining him. She knew better than to ask. He would never admit to it, if it were.



But she slowed, just a little.



As they neared the center of the village, a dull roar reached her ears. There was no question about the source of the din. Together they raced the last distance past the church, and across the village green.



“I’ll be damned.” He halted beside her, panting for breath.



She clutched her side, staring up at the sign above the tea shop door. “The Rutting Bull? What’s the meaning of this?”



“I know what it means. It means the men have taken back their tavern.”



“Our tea shop, you mean.”



“Not tonight.” He grinned, shaking his head. “Ha. This scheme has Colin written all over it. But it’s good to see them taking some initiative.”



“This isn’t amusing.” Her hands flew to her hips. “Did you know they were planning this?”



At her accusing tone, his posture became defensive. “No, I didn’t know they were planning this. I’ve spent the past thirty hours knocked cold. Someone dosed me with enough laudanum to drop a horse.”



“No, Bram. Someone dosed you with the appropriate amount, and your battered body took the much-needed opportunity to rest. I was looking out for your well-being. And now I’m looking out for the well-being of my friends.” She gestured toward the tea shop. “We have to put a stop to that scene. Those girls in there, they’re unused to this sort of attention. They’re going to make more of it than they ought.”



“You’re the one making too much of it. It’s only a bit of dance and drink.”



“Precisely. To a man like yourself, that’s just harmless carousing. But these are delicate, sheltered young ladies. Their hearts and hopes are vulnerable. Too vulnerable. Not to mention their reputations. We have to intervene.”



Together they looked to the tea-shop-turned-tavern. Loud music and laughter drifted out to them on the breeze, along with the sound of clinking glass.



“No.” He shook his head. “I’m not going to put a stop to that scene, and neither are you. What’s going on in there is important.”



“Public drunkenness is important?”



“Yes, on occasion. More than that, fellowship. Brotherhood within a band of soldiers, and the duty those men are charged to carry out. It’s all important. It’s called pride, Susanna, and those men are getting their first taste of it in a long time.”



“What do you mean, their first taste of it? They are decent, honorable men, all. Or at least they were.”



“Come along. Before I arrived in this village, you and your muslin-clad minions had them reduced to mending lockets and piping icing on teacakes. You don’t understand. Men need a purpose, Susanna. A worthy goal. One that we feel in our guts and our hearts, not just in our heads.”



“Men need a purpose?” She sighed, exasperated. “Can’t you understand women are the same? We crave our own goals and our own accomplishments, our own sisterhood as well. And there are precious few places we can find it, in a world ruled by the opposite sex. Everywhere else we are governed by men’s rules, live at the mercy of male whims. But here, in this one tiny corner of the world, we are free to be our best and truest selves. Spindle Cove is ours, Bram. I will fight to my last breath before I let you destroy it. Women’s needs are important, too.”



He put both hands on her, tugging her away from the buildings and onto the green. Soon he had her ensconced beneath the canopy of an ancient willow tree. She’d always loved this tree, and the way its protective, low-hanging limbs made a sort of separate world. A green, fresh, gently tickling shelter that allowed just the right amount of sunlight through, yet kept out all but the heaviest rain. She’d always felt comfortable and safe under its branches.



Until now. The hungry glint in his eyes was danger itself. When he spoke, his voice had darkened. The whole night had darkened.



“I’ll tell you what’s most important of all. It’s this.” He flexed those barrel-like biceps, drawing her body flush against a solid wall of muscle and heat. “Not women, not men, but what lies between two people who want each other more than air. You can argue with me all you want, but you can’t fight this. I know you feel it.”



Oh yes. She felt it. Hot, electric sensation hummed through her whole body, all the way to the beds of her toenails and the roots of her hair. Between her thighs, she was molten with it.



“This is important,” he said. “It’s the most vital, undeniable force in Creation. You can’t deprive the whole village of it just because you’re afraid of losing control.”



Laughter burst from her throat. “I’m afraid to lose control? Oh, Bram. Please.”



This, from the man so desperate to order someone—anyone—about, he was paying shepherds and fishermen exorbitant wages just to march at his command. Let it not be forgotten, he’d bombed a flock of sheep.



He was the one afraid of losing control. Terrified to his core. And she would happily remind him of all this—perhaps even admit she found it oddly endearing—if only he’d permit her the use of her lips and tongue.



But no. The impossible man had to conquer those, too.



He swept her into a kiss so wild and unrelenting, she had no choice but surrender.



Her mouth softened, and his tongue swept between her lips, probing deep. She accepted the challenge, parrying his thrusts with her own, enjoying the way they sparred so equally. He moaned with satisfaction, and she smiled against his lips. Apparently, she was good at this. She loved the way he brought out new strengths in her; talents she hadn’t known she possessed.



He covered her neck with kisses, grinding his hips against hers in a crude, delicious manner. “God, how I’ve been aching for you. Have you any idea what kind of dreams laudanum gives a man?”



“Did you dream of me?”



“Frequently.” Kiss. “Vividly.” Kiss. “Acrobatically.”



Laughing softly, she pulled back to meet his gaze. “Oh, Bram. I had dreams of you, too. They all involved very high cliffs and very sharp rocks.” She touched a hand to his cheek. “And sea monsters.”



He smiled. “Little liar.”



Perhaps she should have been offended, but she was too busy being stupidly thrilled. No one ever called her “little” anything.



“And just look at you,” he said, stepping back and skimming his possessive hands over her waist and hips. “I don’t even have words for how beautiful you are. You wore this for me, didn’t you?”



“Predictable arrogance. I always dress for dinner.”



“Ah, but you thought of me as you dressed. I know you did.”



She had. Of course she had. And though she always dressed for dinner, she seldom wore anything this fine. Tonight she’d selected her best. Not because she planned for him to see it, but for a much simpler, more selfish reason. He’d made her feel beautiful inside, and it only seemed fitting that her outward appearance should match.



“And these bits of your hair, curling down . . . They’re for me, too.” He caught a stray lock and wound it about his fingers. “You can’t know how I’ve been dying to touch your hair. Even softer than I dreamed.” His touch dipped to her neckline, where he eased the violet silk aside to reveal a pale sliver of her white chemise. “Look at this,” he said, fingering the neatly hemmed edge. “White and crisp and new. It’s your best, isn’t it? You wore your best for me.”