Waiting was wise, she reasoned. Delaying an engagement was the sensible, prudent course of action.
So why did it terrify her?
They stopped thrice to change horses and take refreshment, always hurrying back to the road at the first possible moment. 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.
Minerva huddled under a woven rug for warmth, but the chill clawed straight through it. When the road straightened and he could spare some slack on the reins, Colin drew her close, putting his arm about her shoulders. She nestled into his side, comforting herself with his familiar warmth and scent. Watching his gloved hands guide the team with arousing, confident motions.
She slid an arm about his waist, hugging him tight. It didn’t matter what happened today, or tomorrow. This—just this—was worth everything.
They neared Edinburgh just as the midday sun reached its zenith.
“Almost there,” he said, climbing back into the seat after stopping to ask directions of a tradesman. “Ready for your grand moment?”
“I . . .”
I don’t know, I don’t know. They don’t know I’m a woman. I’ve lost all my notes and sketches. They won’t believe me about Francine without the evidence. And after traveling seventy miles in a single morning, my hair must be a perfect fright.
They’re all going to laugh. Oh God. I just know they’ll all laugh.
Terror had her insides knotted. But she refused to give her fears a voice. She’d promised Colin she wouldn’t speak ill of herself again.
“I think so. If you’re with me, I’m ready for anything.”
He drew the horses to a halt, right in the middle of the street.
“Are we there?” she asked, looking about.
“Not quite.” With a single gloved fingertip, he turned her face to his. “But I didn’t think I should do this on the doorstep of the Royal Geological Society.”
He bent his head and kissed her. Right there in the street and with such sweet, tender passion, all her worries receded, pushed aside by the swelling emotion in her heart.
“Better?” he asked, gathering the reins.
She nodded, feeling her confidence return. “Thank you. I needed that.”
Another few minutes’ travel down crowded, cobbled streets, and Colin pulled the team to a stop in front of a stately brick edifice. He tossed the reins and a coin to a waiting boy before rounding the phaeton to help her alight.
“Hurry, now. You’re just in time to make a fashionably late entrance.”
Arm in arm, they raced up the steps. Minerva was so occupied trying not to trip over her skirts, she didn’t notice a doorman—or anyone, for that matter.
Until a deep voice drew them to a halt.
“I beg your pardon. Just where do you think you’re going?”
Chapter Thirty-one
Minerva winced. She should have known it couldn’t be so simple.
“We’re here for the geology symposium,” Colin told him. “And we’re running late, due to a travel mishap. So if you’d kindly step aside . . .”
The bearded man stood firm. He thumped a paper clipped to a writing board. “I’m sorry, sir. But admittance is for Society members only.”
“I am a member.” Minerva came forward. “I’m a member of the Society. My name’s M. R. Highwood. It must be on your list.”
“You?” Behind his gray beard, the man flushed an unseemly shade of red. “You would claim to be M. R. Highwood?”
“I would do more than claim it. I am Miss Minerva Rose Highwood. I can’t believe the name would be unfamiliar to you. My findings have been published in no fewer than five issues of the Royal Geological Journal in the past seventeen months.”
“Really, Min?” Colin’s hand brushed the small of her back. “Five times? That’s brilliant, darling. I’m so proud.”
She blushed a little. At least someone appreciated her accomplishment. Someone marvelously handsome and kind and intelligent and, against all odds, purportedly devoted to her.
This pompous oaf standing before her, waving his silly list . . . he couldn’t intimidate her. Not anymore.
“Madam, there must be some misunderstanding. The members of this Society are all gentlemen.”
“There has definitely been a misunderstanding,” she said, smiling patiently now, “but the misunderstanding isn’t mine. For the past two years, I’ve paid my dues and submitted my findings and engaged in written correspondence as a full member of this organization. I have never claimed to be male. If the membership made the mistaken assumption otherwise, I cannot be responsible for it. Now will you kindly allow me entrance? I have a paper to present.”
“I don’t think so.” He pulled up straight and turned to Colin. “We cannot allow this. Unless she has some—”
“Excuse me, why are you talking to him?” Minerva interrupted. “I’m standing right here, and I can speak for myself.”
The man sighed heavily. “My dear girl, I—”
“I’m not a girl. Nor am I ‘dear’ to you, unless—” Good Lord, she hoped this red-faced prig wasn’t Sir Alisdair. Sir Alisdair had seemed so much more reasonable than this. “Listen, Mr. . . . ?”
“Barrington.”
“Mr. Barrington.” She smiled with relief. “I’m here to present my findings at the symposium. I’m an esteemed member of the Society, with an impressive record of scholarship, and I have something of value to contribute to these proceedings. I also happen to be female. I’m a woman who knows a great deal about rocks. I suggest you find the stones to deal with it.”
Beside her, Colin choked on a laugh. “Well done, love. Brava.”
“Thank you.”
Mr. Barrington looked decidedly less amused. “This symposium is restricted to members of the Royal Geological Society and their guests. And as membership is restricted to gentlemen, so this door is barred to you.”
“Come now.” Colin intervened. She recognized him bringing forth his most commanding, lordly tone. “We can settle this some other way, surely. I happen to be rather fond of joining clubs. Now, what must a man do to become a member of your Society?”
“There’s a lengthy application process. A letter of inquiry must be made, including a personal statement of research interests and any relevant publications. References must be provided—three, at the minimum, and no more than—”