A Game of Hearts

by Joanna Barker

The moment stretched, taut as a bow string before releasing its arrow. Then it snapped. He took me by the waist and pulled me to him, kissing me hard. I kissed him back, one hand clutching his waistcoat, the other curled around his neck. I should have been cold, my clothing wet through and my hair dripping. But my blood coursed fast, my heartbeat pattering more quickly than even the rain outside our little haven under the willow.

“I think we can make our own rules,” he said, low and rough. A shiver flashed down my spine.

“Not whenever they desire?” Those lips claimed the soft skin behind my ear and I closed my eyes, my stomach swooping like a swallow. Who would have thought that Tristan Gates kissed as well as he shot?

“Allies may kiss whenever and wherever they choose.” He hesitated. “So long as both parties are in agreement.” My hands stilled on his forearms. Did he know what he asked? “I shall sign the contract now,” I said, my voice a delicate thread.

I turned my face and found his lips, kissing him with all the sweetness I could summon. He responded, deepening our kiss to dizzying effect.

Tristan’s eyes grew hazy and he did not entirely seem in control as his hands found my waist again. My lips slid into a wicked grin. I pulled back, and his arms fell away from me. “Until tomorrow, Gates.” He blinked, then exhaled a laugh. He knew precisely what game I was playing. “Temptress.” I took a few jaunty backward steps, still grinning. “If you think I won’t use every weapon in my arsenal, you don’t know me very well.”

But I tried to identify the moment when I’d realized that Tristan and I had become more. When we’d grown beyond feeling forced into this marriage. I couldn’t say when it was. It was everything.

It was the way he’d begun to look at me in the last fortnight, like I was someone worthy of admiration—and love.

He was kind and loyal and compassionate, and, if his kisses today were anything to judge by, more romantic than I’d ever thought to credit him for.

Is that love? Or is this simply the natural consequence of being engaged?” Mama shook her head. “No, darling. An engagement itself has no ability to produce love, or every arranged marriage would have a happy ending.” “I suppose,” I said, “but surely it allows more opportunities for fondness to grow.”

Trust in him, and in yourself. All will be well.”

But it was a future that no longer frightened me, not like it had a fortnight ago. It was a future that gleamed with promise. It was a future I wanted.

“It is certainly not the life I dreamed of,” I said, laughing softly. “But I am beginning to think it is the one I should have wanted all along.”

“Marigold,” he said fiercely, “I am to be your husband. I will stand by your side, no matter the battles you face. You will never be alone. Not now. Not ever.”

“I know I was not your first choice, or even your hundredth. But you are mine, Marigold. My first and only choice. And I’ll choose you every day, without pause, for the rest of my life.”