A Game of Hearts

by Joanna Barker

“The Tristan from twelve years ago would never have given me a flower.” I was so distracted by her warmth next to me, by the way one of her golden locks curled down her slender neck, that it took me a moment to respond. “He might’ve,” I managed. “But there would have been a spider in it.” She laughed, and my chest flared with heat.

Marigold bit her lip, and my eyes sank to where her white teeth nipped the pink softness. I swallowed hard, and tried to focus my attention anywhere else.

had to look away from her, from her dazzling smile and bright-blue eyes. It was too much, like staring into the sun. And the sun burned, I tried to remind myself. She’d burned me before, countless times. But I knew this time was different. We were different. Anything was possible. The thought was electrifying—and terrifying.

when he smiled like that, like he enjoyed my company too, it seemed laughable that I’d gone so many years without noticing how attractive he was. He was so handsome, I had to remind myself to breathe.

“She is a blockhead,” he declared. A surprised laugh burst from me. “Tristan!” “Well, she is,” he said unapologetically. “Friends are not so easy to come by. She should not treat you so.” His words touched me, plain as they were.

I slipped my arm through his, pulling myself against his side. “Thank you.” Tristan glanced at me, his expression suddenly uncertain. “Do you . . . Would you like to dance again?” I raised an eyebrow. “Would you?” He nodded toward Sylvia. “If it would help you forget her.” Another kindness. “Yes,” I said. “Let’s dance.”

“Last time was accidental.” “And this time?” He paused. “I came quite intentionally this time.” My heartbeat ticked a bit faster. “Oh? I am intrigued, especially since I’ve seen nothing of you since the ball.” He eyed me. “Did you want to see something of me?”

Tristan would certainly think badly of me, and I could not bear that.

But when Marigold had kissed my cheek, her shallow breath against my ear and her hand on my chest, I seemed to lose all ability to form rational thought.

All that mattered was that he had delivered an incomparable piece of art. It had been well worth the secrecy and the wait, watching her eyes glow with appreciation when I’d handed it to her. And that kiss on the cheek had not been a terrible reward either. Perhaps I should buy another dozen bows.

After a while, she took up the bow I’d gifted her, strung it, and moved to an available target. And then I could not keep my eyes from her. When Marigold shot, it was almost indescribable. She left nothing to be critiqued in her stance or technique, but it was more than that. There was a grace to her motions that I could never achieve.

I tried to be gentlemanly and not let my eyes linger on the curves of her figure. I did not entirely succeed. But, if this was not an advantage of being engaged to her, then what was?

“You were right,” I said. “They have talent.” “And an excellent teacher.” “You needn’t fish for compliments.” She snorted. “I meant you, you duffer.”

But somehow, even when we disagreed, I never wanted him gone. Every day after he left Crossdale, my chest always felt a bit empty. Incomplete.

Every time his eyes met mine across the lawn, lightning darted up my spine. I had to look away and catch my breath. This distraction, this attraction, was too confusing.

If I did not know any better, I might’ve believed Cupid had shot me with his arrow, enchanting me with mystical, uncontrollable desire.

Tristan stood speaking with Mrs. Vale, but I wanted to shoot more. I hadn’t had much chance during the practice, occupied as I’d been instructing the others—and stealing glances at my betrothed.

minutes later, I spotted him striding toward me, bow in hand. The breeze ruffled through his hair, throwing those normally neat locks into casual disarray, and he moved effortlessly, his body lean and strong.

I knew from watching him shoot for the last few years that his jacket hid well-conditioned muscles. I simply had never imagined finding myself appreciating his hard work so very much.

I gave my head a shake. It was just a name. But he said it with such intimacy, such ease, that I was nearly undone. And if him saying my name undid me, I could only imagine what a kiss might do.

And if she did think of our wedding, was it with dread? Because that was not how I felt. Not anymore.

The wind tossed her curls about her face, a golden halo. She was beautiful. I’d always known she was. It had irked me before, but now it unnerved me. This stunning creature was to be my wife, and I felt a bumbling oaf in comparison. Such was her poor luck.

Marigold touched my arm. The slightest touch, nothing more, but it was all I wanted or needed.

If we hadn’t been trapped in that mine, would I ever have realized who Marigold truly was? I did not think so. I was so convinced of my own opinions, I literally needed a crack to the head to change them. Bless that rock.

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.”

“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.”

I had fallen in love with Tristan.

Perhaps that was Marigold’s true strategy—beguile me until I was a worthless, smitten milksop, then destroy me on the archery

I could never have planned for this, for Marigold. She consumed me with her vivacity and wit, her strength and stubbornness. And yes, with her clear blue eyes and tempting smile. I was not above admitting that a fair amount of my attraction was physical. But it was all of her combined, a potent potion, that drew me in. She was the honey, and I was the stupid, besotted fly.

Now I wished Marigold and I had not decided to travel separately with our respective families. But then, I did not think I could stand sitting beside her in a carriage for two hours without kissing her, so it was probably for the best if I did not wish to shock our fellow travelers.

I’d taken more time than usual tidying myself before the mirror that morning, though I’d felt a fool. I knew that beside the diamond that was Marigold, I was nothing but a rough rock.

But this . . . this was entirely and utterly unexpected. Love. I exhaled a laugh. What a notion. No doubt Marigold would tease me mercilessly for being a romantic after all. I did not care. Let her tease me, so long as I could spend every second with her. That was the most baffling thing of all, that I should crave her company as much as her lips.

“The Cartwells arrived only a few minutes ago, and Miss Cartwell’s first words were to inquire if you had arrived yet.” An unfamiliar pleasure slipped through my body even as my face heated.

“Marigold is a lovely girl.” Lovely did not do her justice. Dazzling was more like it. But I was not one to correct a countess. “She is, indeed,” I said. “I consider myself the most fortunate of men.”

everyone who knew both Marigold and me seemed to prefer her. I could hardly blame them. She was . . . she was Marigold.

Where was Marigold? I tried to calm my impatience, but it was impossible. I wanted to see her again. I was desperate to see her again.

Then I saw her. In her green shooting dress and her hair braided into a golden crown around her face, she looked like a wood nymph—impossibly beautiful and lively.

I realized with sudden, astounding clarity, if it was just about saving Marigold’s society, I knew I would lose for her. Yes, I was crossed between wanting to shout at her for her recklessness and kiss her for her daring, but I would lose for her. I would do that and more because of how blasted much I loved the woman.

I wanted Tristan to see me, and I wanted to see the look in his eyes when he did. Was that my vanity once again? Today I did not care. One was allowed a bit of vanity every now and then.

But where was Tristan? He had to have arrived by now, and I would be lying if I said I hadn’t been searching for his intense dark eyes and teasing mouth. A mouth that I’d been dreaming of since I’d left him under the willow.

Tristan appeared at my side, his gaze focused solely on Cora though his hand lightly brushed the small of my back. His touch sent a rippling heat across me.

This man. That he’d seen Cora’s panic and come to help only made me love him more.

“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.”

Trust me, he’d said. And I did trust him. I trusted him with my heart, my life, my future. So I stood back and said nothing.

I looked up at him, at his steadfast eyes and confident jaw. How had I ever looked at this man with anything but the real and raw love that coursed through every inch of my body?

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.”

“You are my choice as well,” I said softly. “Now and forever.”

Blast. That had almost been poetic. Was Marigold right? Had I turned into a silly romantic? Or perhaps I was only a romantic because of her. I doubted anyone else could make me wax poetic at sunrise.

could never ask her to restrain the passion that drove her—it was that same passion that drew me to her.

Marigold sighed, nuzzling close against my neck, and my stomach flipped.