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I had better things to do than flirt and dance and play cards.
I never planned to spar with Marigold. The girl always managed to taunt me into it with that infuriating spark in her eyes.
her smile nowhere to be seen. And for the first time in my life, I did not like knowing I’d been the cause of its disappearance.
I was impressed with her initiative, though I would rather be eaten by a lion than admit it.
She had a shapely figure and she knew it. I tried not to know it.
You can’t have everyone knowing you’ve a heart inside that stone chest of yours.” She tapped at my chest with one finger, right above my heart. As if it sensed her there, my heart jumped and sped faster. I scowled. Ridiculous thing.
Marigold was stubborn and impossible—yet somehow, the tiniest root of begrudging admiration had taken hold inside me.
After all, what was the point of being a ladies’ society if the food was not infinitely better?
If you need to teach them, you will become a teacher. If you need to solve disagreements, you will become a diplomat. If you put your mind to it, it will happen.”
“Well, praise the heavens. We thought we’d never find someone to take her off our hands.” “I have never been in your hands,” I said, my smile forced and frustrated. “Quite thankfully.”
Seeing Marigold with that Mr. Eastbrook when I’d first arrived had knocked me off balance. She’d said at the ball that she had a suitor, and yet I hadn’t entirely believed her. Surely anyone who spent more than a few minutes in her presence realized that a lifetime of her companionship would send most men to an asylum.
“Did you know these are some of the oldest stalactites in England?” I nearly groaned aloud. “Did you know that no one cares?”
He raised an eyebrow. “Propose? In a dank, dripping cave? How romantic.” “It was romantic,” I said stiffly. “But you would not know romance if it slapped you across the face.” “Like you are wishing to do right now?” “A lady would never.” “No, but you might.”
“No sense of adventure, Miss Cartwell?” Tristan asked, eyes glinting. “No sense of self-preservation, Mr. Gates?” I shot back.
“Give me your cravat,” I ordered. He tipped his head to look at me, eyeing me. “Undressing me already?”
I caught my breath. Marigold Cartwell was holding my hand.
“I am the one comforting you, if you’ll recall,” I said. “Then why is your heart beating so fast?” My mouth dropped, and I blessed the dark that she could not see. Because it was certainly not fear that drove my heart to pound like a cobbler’s mallet.
I wished I could see her face, but I could imagine it well enough—her blue eyes widening, those pink lips parting. No. I should not think about her lips.
she must have been colder than she let on because in the next moment I felt her move alongside me, her arm and leg pressing against mine. My chest lit up like the fireworks I’d seen as a child.
Eventually, Marigold’s breathing softened and evened. Her head dropped against my chest, the slightest pressure. My pulse leaped, and I berated myself. How absurd this was. The two of us curled together for warmth.
I was entirely focused on the fact that I was currently curled up against Tristan Gates. 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. I could feel the smooth skin of his throat and collarbone against my fingertips. My skin flushed, heat trailing along every inch of me.
I could not wake him. He would never let me forget what a position I’d woken in, wound around him like I . . . 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. But that did not matter.
“Sing?” If I could see him, no doubt he would be raising one eyebrow. “You’ve heard me sing. You must be desperate for distraction indeed.” “Even your voice is better than nothing.” “What if it brings the rats running?”
“Tristan?” “Hmm?” “I know you wouldn’t have chosen it.” I paused. “But I am glad you were here.”
A long moment passed. Then came a touch, just the lightest brush of his little finger against mine. My heart stilled, and heat shot through my whole arm. He’d held my hand before to comfort me, but I did not need comfort now. Why, then, was he touching me?
had slept a little last night, I supposed. Against Tristan’s chest. Against Tristan’s terribly comfortable chest.
I drifted off to sleep, my mind clung to one memory—the feel of Marigold’s small hand entwined with mine.
It should not hurt. It should not burn my chest like a glowing ember. I did not want to marry her, I reminded myself. But the fact that Marigold would choose anything but me . . . . A man could only endure so much.
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.
And there we were again, holding hands. They came together as if they’d never been apart, his skin warm against mine. I stared down at our hands. His was so much larger than mine, tan and strong.
“Will you marry me?” A girl imagined those words countless times in her life. Never had I imagined them spoken by Tristan, and never had I imagined that it would send an unfamiliar jolt throughout my body.
“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.”
Perhaps this is all an invention of my muddled head. A wild dream.” “A daydream, Gates? Of me? I hadn’t any idea you felt that way.”
Why, on this of all days, did I have to discover how absurdly attractive Tristan Gates was?
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.”
helped her inside, her hand barely skimming mine, and my pulse sounded in my ears. I held her hand a moment longer than necessary. I wasn’t exactly sure why. Only that I liked how she was looking at me, surprised and pleased all at once.
“Perhaps my mother is right and there has been a gentleman hiding in you all this time.”
Now I knew why Uncle had avoided remarrying for so long. I could not think of any compelling reason a man would willingly enter into the entrapment of marriage.
A love match between Marigold and me? It was absurd. Absolutely absurd.
After breakfast, I penned a note. My dear Mr. Gates, I knew that would irritate him, which made me smirk.
I agree to come, then you must promise me your first set and the supper set. There is little point in dancing with anyone else. T. Gates
I will wear blue. I lowered the note, curiosity uncurling inside me. Blue was my favorite color, and I was certain he knew it. It was the color I used to paint my initials on my arrows. Was that why he’d chosen it?
That scar meant I had survived. That I had people who loved me enough to dig through the night to reach me.
“To love and to lecture,”
How I wished we could be like Mama and Papa. They did not always agree on everything, of course. But it was how they disagreed that made the difference. They sought to understand one another’s perspective from a point of love, and from there compromise inevitably came.
“You are determined,” I said softly, my voice just barely audible above the strains of the violins. “You are talented. You love more fully and deeply than I can ever imagine. It terrifies me, in fact. I don’t think I’ve ever loved anyone the way you love.”
I felt a soft brush on my arm. Marigold had moved closer so that our shoulders touched. I stopped breathing, not daring to look at her. We faced opposite directions, but that bare connection between us sent a charged energy through my body. I’d never felt anything like it before.
