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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.