Chapter 10
Chapter Ten
Charles froze. What on earth was happening right now? Was this devil woman—this vexing, confusing, gorgeous wife of his truly kissing him?
Marie’s lips pressed more firmly against his as if hearing his confusion, and her small fists clenched his lapels ever tighter as she tried to pull him closer.
He did not budge. In fact, his instinct was to immediately set her aside. He was not in the habit of kissing women he barely knew—especially women who threw themselves upon him. But when Tristan’s voice echoed in his mind, he paused.
“You are being kissed by a beautiful woman—who instigated the affection, by the way—and you’re not kissing her back? Are you stupid?”
Tristan—or Imagined Tristan—had a point. Charles had every right to kiss his wife back. And if Marie thought she’d get the better of this conversation by ending it with a kiss started by her, she was sorely mistaken.
“Are you going to kiss her back or not?”
Fine, Tristan. Fine.
It took but half a moment for Charles to respond.
In one movement, he swooped his right arm around her, eliciting a gasp from her that broke their kiss for a moment.
He pressed his hand to the small of her back, pulling her flat against his body.
With his free hand, he slid his fingers just above the nape of her neck, guiding her lips back to his.
From that point forward commenced the strangest kiss Charles had ever experienced. Both he and Marie seemed to be taking part in a silent challenge of who would relent first—who would be the victor and who would be the failure.
Their lips moved together in a heated pitch, their breathing ragged and lips desperate to maintain contact. Marie’s arms wrapped securely around his neck as her chest rose and fell heavily against his own.
Despite the strangeness of it all, it wasn’t entirely unpleasant. Marie was so petite, fit so perfectly in his arms that he found himself pondering how greatly he would enjoy kissing her if they were not in a challenge—had they not been forced to marry one another.
He grew breathless with their feverish kisses, but something else contributed to it, an opening inside him, a swirling warmth in the center of his chest that could not be stamped out.
In truth, if he’d discovered Miss Marie Oakley at a ball that he’d attended of his own accord, he had no doubt in his mind he would have approached her without question, begged her for a dance, then spent the rest of the evening pining for another chance at being near to her.
Then, if he had been truly mad, he would have pulled her out into that garden and held her just like this, only with soft kisses and caresses.
The idea of treasured affection between them lingered in his mind, and the change happened so gradually, Charles remained unaware of it at first. The frantic fervor between them lessened, the fever cooling into a subtle warmth that bloomed like a snowdrop within his heart.
Why had her kiss softened? Or had his thoughts caused his own lips to temper first? Either way, his breathing shallowed, and something shifted in their movements.
Instead of clinging to one another with desperate grappling, their grips softened, and their surroundings became more poignant and noticeable.
The water beside them gently rushed and gurgled, and crickets chirped their songs nearby. The cool spring air ruffled Marie’s skirts against his legs and pulled one of her ringlets to tickle his cheek.
Marie’s arms no longer held a vice grip around him, her fingers loose as they slid up the back of his neck.
A small, pleasant shiver ran across his skin.
Charles still held her firmly against him, his hands splayed out at the small of her back and between her shoulders, but in a coaxing manner, not controlling.
When his fingers slowly shifted to rest at her waist, a soft sigh slipped from her lips.
Charles’s heart hammered against his chest at the sound.
Were the two of them actually enjoying this kiss? There was no question they were. Their mouths moved slowly, working together instead of in opposition, as if they both knew that relenting just a degree would allow them both far more pleasure.
And, heavens, did it. His chest ached at the beating it took from his heart, and the desire he felt to deepen their kiss pooled deep in his belly.
Charles had never enjoyed a kiss as greatly as this—a fact he would be sure to never admit to anyone. Especially Marie.
She wouldn’t admit to taking pleasure in it, either, though there was no denying the way she melted into him, as if her legs had given way and she expected him to support her, to hold her.
And he would. Just as he’d promised to do that morning as they’d exchanged vows.
Vows. Because they were married.
The realization of what he was doing struck him, and he opened his eyes. Marie must have felt the change, too, as she met his gaze. They focused on each other in the dark, then she pulled back with a swift gasp.
He couldn’t begin to describe the disappointment that came over him.
Marie hadn’t meant for the kiss to get so out of hand, but heavens above, it had.
She pushed her way out of Charles’s arms, and he released her at once.
When she took another step away, desperate to create more distance between them, her leg pressed against the fountain, and her balance wavered just as before.
With a yelp, she reached out instinctively to grasp onto Charles again, knowing he could help her as he had the last time, but as he reached forward, both arms around her waist, he did not pull her safely back to firm footing.
Shock registered across his darkened features a moment before he lost his own balance, and together, they plummeted toward the frigid fountain water.
Marie drew in a frantic gasp, inhaling water as she landed hard against the bottom of the fountain, pain shooting through her right hip and shoulder.
Charles fell in right after her, landing beside her as the knee-length water splashed around them both, covering them entirely as they scrambled to right themselves amidst the chaos.
She coughed and sputtered until she finally drew breath.
“Y-you hateful b-boy!” she stammered, prying her dress from her legs as she struggled to stand. “Now look what you’ve done!”
“What the devil did I do?” he blurted out. Water spewed from his lips and dripped from his dark hair to slide down the strong ridge of his nose. “You’re the one who can’t seem to stand upright.”
“I was doing p-perfectly fine until you k-kissed me,” she continued, the cold encompassing her as she coughed the water from her lungs.
He stared at her incredulously. “Until I kissed you? That fall must have rattled your brain entirely.”
It wasn’t the fall that had done so. But she wasn’t about to admit that choosing to instigate the kiss between her and Charles Shepherd had been the best and worst decision of her life.
“You w-were begging for it,” she said, very clearly grasping at straws.
He shook out his head, water flicking off his hair. “Was I?”
“Y-yes. How else am I to interpret your st-staring at me all night?”
He finally managed to stand, extending his hand to her, but she ignored it. She needed his help, but she wasn’t about to touch him again. Not after how addle-brained she’d become at his kiss.
He grumbled incoherent words at her rejecting his help, then left the fountain first, water pouring off of his great figure like rushing falls.
Marie finally scrambled her way out of the water, as well, shivering as a draught of wind slid around her like an icy blanket.
She peered down at her sodden dress and slippers, knowing if her gown looked this worse for wear, the rest of her—hair and face included—were completely unpresentable.
“Well, now what do we do?” she questioned. “You’ve ruined my d-dress and a perfectly fine evening.”
His eyes fixed on her as if he was attempting to decide if it was worth speaking or not. He glanced at the length of her, then shook his head and turned away.
“You should be grateful my parents raised me right,” he grumbled, loosening his cravat and peeling his jacket off to reveal his shirt clinging to the ridges of his arms.
“What is that supposed to m-mean?” she questioned, her eyes lingering on his forearms as he rolled up his sleeves.
“You know what it means,” he stated directly, draping the sopping jacket over his arm.
His eyes on her produced a heat within her that pushed aside the rest of her cold. “You are despicable.”
She made to leave him there, uncomfortable with his attention and how it made her feel, but his hand reached out to stop her again.
She sighed with her eyes to the dark sky. “Will you please allow me to storm off just once this evening?”
“No,” he stated matter-of-factly. “As your husband, it is my duty to see you are safely escorted wherever you may be. And as much as you love balls, I’m sure I am safe to assume that you have no intention of returning to the ballroom this evening.”
She raised her chin. “None. Thanks to you.”
“I will call for a carriage at the front of the house away from prying eyes. You may remain hidden in the shadows to maintain your dignity, then I shall escort you to the carriage and back to Grendale.”
Marie hesitated, juggling between accepting his help and accepting public humiliation. “Fine.”
“I appreciate the enthusiasm,” he mumbled, then led the way through the hedges.
She fought off her pride trying to convince her to walk in the other direction and followed his broad shoulders swinging confidently back and forth.
She’d been clinging to those shoulders only minutes before.
“Is this how the rest of our marriage will look?” she questioned, desperate to find something to complain about. “You, exacting revenge if you don’t get your way?”
He looked over his shoulder at her. “You needn’t worry about what the rest of our marriage will look like. There may not be much more of a marriage to experience anyway.”