A Game of Hearts

by Joanna Barker

I did not want her prying into what unexpected effect her nearness was having on my body.

The dark only heightened that awareness, my other senses coming alive in a swarm of sparks.

My cheek was snug against his waistcoat, my shoulder neatly tucked into his side as if we’d done this a thousand times. And my hand—my hand! It had somehow wandered up his chest and now rested against his open shirt collar.

like I . . . like I liked it. Because I did not. Yes, it was warm, and rather comfortable. And yes, Tristan smelled surprisingly good for a man trapped in a mine—like the spray of the salty waves and sun-warmed grass. Like summer.

“if you’re to marry this fellow, he ought to know you at your worst as well as your best.”

“Only that hiding parts of yourself from a potential spouse seems a recipe for disaster. It would be better to discover you don’t suit before the vows, wouldn’t you think?”

We sat still, not breathing. Then it came again. A scrape of rock against rock. And then—a voice! Low and indistinguishable, but a voice

Only, it hadn’t been nearly as much of a nightmare as it should’ve been. If I’d been alone, I would have panicked. But because Tristan had been with me, I’d been forced to keep my head. I’d had someone to make decisions with, someone to help keep the fear and cold at bay.

There was something about this absolute, impenetrable dark that loosed the tongue and tripped the mind.

A few rocks fell on our side of the cave-in, and a bright beam of light shot across the tunnel. I grimaced and held up a hand to block the sudden glare of light. Tristan reacted more strongly, cursing under his breath. “Language, Gates,” I said. “We are nearly returned to polite society.” “Perhaps polite society could try not to blind us,” he grumbled.

“What time is it?” “Mid-morning,” Papa said. “We worked through the night. Thankfully, Mr. Raines knows a man who had worked in a mine in southern Kent. We fetched him to help us dig you out safely, building supports as we removed rock.”

Tristan seemed to sense my gaze and looked up. His eyes fixed on mine, intent and alive. In spite of everything—my exhaustion, the history between us—I felt a spark of energy. His lips moved to one side in a half smile and he gave me a nod. I nodded in return.

In truth, I had no desire to ever be in the dark again. I already dreaded the coming night, when the sun sank behind the hills and blackness descended.

He shook his head. “I wish it might have been different, Miss Cartwell. But you must understand, with things as they are, I cannot stay.” I swallowed hard. “I certainly do not understand. Please speak plainly, Mr. Eastbrook.” He finally met my eyes, his expression truly forlorn. “I mean the undeniable fact that you spent a night alone with another man.” I stood frozen, my heart stopping within my chest. “What?” He said nothing, only watched me. “It was an accident,” I blurted. “Nothing happened between Tristan and me. Nothing! You must believe me.” He gave a sad, humorless smile. “That is the very worst thing. I do believe you. But not everyone will. The rumors are already spreading.”

He patted my shoulder once more and turned to leave. “Get some rest. I’ll check on you in a few hours.” “I’m not a child,” I said with a wry smile. He fixed me with a serious look as he paused at the door. “You are my child, Tristan, and I won’t hear otherwise.” He closed the door behind him, and I stared at it, my eyes suddenly blurry. I blinked and looked away. Uncle rarely said such things.

“He has abandoned Marigold,” Uncle said softly. Mr. Eastbrook, abandoned Marigold. Because . . . because of what had happened. Because of me. I turned away and shook my head, which only aggravated my injury. “You cannot be sure. Perhaps he had other reasons for leaving.” Desperation clawed at my voice. “Mr. Cartwell came himself to tell me.” My eyes flashed back to his face. Marigold’s father had come here? “Did he . . . ?” Uncle raised one hand. “He said nothing of you.”

“You know it is her reputation that will suffer the most. An unmarried woman, alone with a man for an entire night? The rumors, no matter how untrue, will ruin her. Her prospects will vanish, especially now that Mr. Eastbrook has run. I’ve seen it before. No, you must do the honorable thing.”

“I’ve been expecting you,” I said, raising my chin. He gave a low, humorless laugh. “Seeing as I only just decided to come, I find that difficult to believe.” I had been, though. In the midst of my foolish crying over Mr. Eastbrook earlier this afternoon, I’d seen Father slip away. I’d known where he’d gone. And I knew why Tristan was here now.

Tristan choked on a laugh. “You cannot mean that. You have every right to blame him. The man has no integrity and ran at the first sign of trouble.” “Then I should count myself lucky,” I shot back, “that I did not yoke myself to him for life.” Tristan did not speak and I forced myself to look up at him. His eyes locked on mine, desperate and dark.

Then his eyes fixed on the bow in my hand. “Fine,” he said. “Let us make a wager.” I blinked. “What?” “You like a competition.” He tugged the bow and arrow from me. “If I hit the center, we marry.” I gaped at him. “You cannot be serious. I will not base my future on something so . . . so . . .” “Unpredictable?” I scowled. “You won’t make it. The wind is too strong. I’ve been shooting for hours and haven’t hit the center.” “Then there is no risk.” He raised my bow.

Each bow was made specifically for that person, taking into account their height and strength.

I set my jaw as I looked back up at him. “We questioned Fate and it answered.” I held up the broken bow. “Is there no more clear omen than this? We cannot marry.” He stared at me. “Is marrying me such a horrible prospect that you must rely on superstition to avoid it?” I remained quiet, which was answer enough for him.

Nothing had happened between us. I would cling to that truth and hold my head high. Tristan had done his duty. Society could expect nothing more from him than that. I would ride out this storm. Soon enough, the waves would calm and the sun would shine again. There would be some other scandal for people to sink their teeth into and everyone would soon forget about me. I hoped I was not lying to myself yet again.

But the fact that Marigold would choose anything but me . . . . A man could only endure so much.

My gaze flicked again to Mrs. Penrose before returning to my uncle. “Might I ask what it is you wanted to discuss?” Uncle and Mrs. Penrose exchanged a look I could not begin to interpret. He sighed and sat beside me, leaning forward to balance his elbows on his knees. “Yesterday,” he began, “you said something about how I did not know the woman I was marrying.” I stiffened. “Yes.” “Well, I wanted to make it clear that I am not some lovesick fool swayed by the first pretty face to come my way.” He smiled at Mrs. Penrose. “Though it is a pretty face indeed.”

“Shall I guess?” she said. “I am a fortune hunter, stalking foolish old men in their dotage with the intent to inherit their fortunes upon their deaths.” I fought to keep my mouth from dropping open. I glanced at Uncle, but his eyes were fixed on Mrs. Penrose’s. I squared my shoulders.

He wrote to me and proposed a plan: a marriage between us, on paper only. He had heard my troubles and wanted to help.” Mrs. Penrose now smiled, a soft, small smile. “I accepted. We had a wonderful year together, a year of simple friendship. Upon his death, he left me a tidy sum, enough that I could be modestly independent for the rest of my days.” I blinked. “But you came to live with your brother.” “Not for money,” she said. “For company.

“Because I did steal her away,” Uncle told me. “I fear you’ve got it into your head, Tristan, that Mrs. Penrose set her cap at me and my fortune. But she has no need of my money, and indeed I was the one to pursue her. It took quite a bit of convincing for her to give up her disinclination for another marriage.”

“Protect me.” Uncle scoffed. “My boy, I have been warding off greedy women since before you were born. I think I know a diamond when I see one.” Mrs. Penrose blushed, her smile returning.

My past is not something I enjoy discussing, but we . . .” She took a deep breath. “But we are to be family now, and I think it right that you should know.”

“I would not change you for the world, Tristan. You are who you are because of the life you’ve lived, and I love you for it.” “But?” He smiled. “But there is no harm in looking on the brighter side of life every now and again.”

He and I had yet to speak of Mr. Eastbrook’s departure. Since that day, he’d carefully kept to himself, watching me like I was made of delicate glass. What did he think of his friend abandoning me? I could not help but wonder if he felt responsible for the whole affair. He had introduced us, after all. But of course I did not hold Oliver in any way responsible. In fact, I preferred if we never spoke of it again.

“You came without her knowing?” Oliver stared at her. She looked up at him, all sincerity. “I know how important this is to Mari.” Oliver grunted and turned away. Cora sent me a confused look. “Sylvia has not come,” I said softly.

There was one way. One way to stop the rumors, one way to recover my reputation in time for the prize shoot. One way to save Iris’s future. One way to find any scrap of the life I had once imagined for myself. And there was no point in putting it off a second longer.

Those familiar brown eyes—usually narrowed at me—now squinted in concentration, and I could not help but notice the definition of his jaw. How odd. I’d never looked at him in this way, as a woman contemplating a man. He had always just been Tristan, the irritating, unapproachable neighbor boy.

He focused all of his attention on his aim, and now I realized why he’d been so irritated the other day when I refused to stop shooting. It was blastedly annoying to talk with someone who couldn’t be bothered to look at you.

“Shall we have a wager, Gates?” I said, balancing the cue between my hands. He blew out a breath. “Don’t be absurd.” I ignored him. “If I make this shot, you must propose again.” Except I would be far better behaved and not break his cue.

But I suppose nothing is assured when one’s name is akin to mud.”

My hands were trembling, as if my body already knew how much depended on this shot. I tried to aim, though I truly had no sense of how it was done, then I took a deep breath. I drove the cue forward. The white ball flew across the table, glancing off the red one I’d aimed for—and sending it directly into the corner pocket. It thumped in, the finality deafening. I stared. I’d made it. Tristan’s mouth hung open, and he blinked. “There,” I said with a confident nod, as if I’d known all along I would make it. “Fate agrees with me this time.” “Fate?” He shook his head. “That was pure luck.” “Yes, how lucky am I,” I said wryly.

“Well, that’s that.” He nodded, as if this was a business transaction and nothing more. He made to pull away, but I held tight to his hand, narrowing my eyes. I was not just one more thing on his list. “Do you not wish to call for the doctor?” I suggested innocently. “The doctor?” He furrowed his brow. “My head is fine.” “Is it?” I allowed a small smile to find my lips. “I recall you saying that if you ever proposed to me, it would be due to a fit of madness.” He let out a short laugh, and suddenly the room felt brighter, more airy.

“I daresay a man is allowed to dream of his newly betrothed.” A pleasant shiver ran up my back, and my lips parted as I stared up at him. He was trying to unnerve me, clearly. We were playing a game, another in this long string of competitions between us. And yet, the way my hand pressed against the thin muslin of his shirt reminded me too much of our time in the mine. His warmth, his scent, his voice—they were all so vividly familiar to me, in a way no man’s ever had been before.

Why, on this of all days, did I have to discover how absurdly attractive Tristan Gates was?

“I should have liked to see his face when we told him. I daresay he’ll soon like me more than you.” “He already does,” I muttered. She grinned, and my stomach did the oddest flip at the sight. “I know.”

She cast me a despairing look. “We are not married yet, Tristan. You needn’t take such a tone.” I tipped my head. “Tone?” “It is how my papa always sounds when he is placating my mother,” she said, pulling on her gloves. “The tone of a long-married couple.”

“We’ve known each other more than a decade,” I said. “We have quite the lead on most newly engaged couples.” “I do not know if our extended acquaintance is an advantage in this case,” she said, setting one foot on her carriage’s step.

Only that I liked how she was looking at me, surprised and pleased all at once.

Uncle stared at me. “She accepted,” he repeated, as if it was something he’d read in a letter. I nodded, unable to form any more words. “She accepted,” he said once again, trying to gauge my tone. “I . . .” I sighed. “It is all right, Uncle. You can be pleased.” He shook his head. “I cannot be pleased if you aren’t.” This, I hadn’t expected.

His face softened. “In accepting your offer, Marigold has lost more than you can imagine. A girl like her dreams of courtship and a love match. And instead she has . . .” “Me,” I supplied. “And you can be sure I will remind her that she is fortunate indeed,” he said, ever loyal. “You are both good people trapped in a difficult situation. Perhaps there is a way to make the best of things.” “Such as?” He smiled. “Try.” “Try what?” “Try,” he said again. “Try with Marigold. She deserves a courtship. She deserves flowers and poetry and carriage rides.” I frowned at him. “I am not writing her poetry.” He gave an indulgent laugh. “Then make her a bouquet of arrows. You know her better than most.”

And yet I’d seen the surprise in her eyes when I’d helped her into the carriage. She hadn’t imagined I could be thoughtful or . . . romantic

“He did save you from the cave-in,” Papa said resignedly. “Showed some fortitude. I suppose that is a point in his favor.” “I am sure he will be interested to hear of this point system,” I teased. “You ought to tell him of it at our next dinner.”