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He shook out his head, water flicking off his hair. “Was I?”
“Y-yes. How else am I to interpret your st-staring at me all night?”
He finally managed to stand, extending his hand to her, but she ignored it. She needed his help, but she wasn’t about to touch him again. Not after how addle-brained she’d become at his kiss.
He grumbled incoherent words at her rejecting his help, then left the fountain first, water pouring off of his great figure like rushing falls.
Marie finally scrambled her way out of the water, as well, shivering as a draught of wind slid around her like an icy blanket.
She peered down at her sodden dress and slippers, knowing if her gown looked this worse for wear, the rest of her—hair and face included—were completely unpresentable.
“Well, now what do we do?” she questioned. “You’ve ruined my d-dress and a perfectly fine evening.”
His eyes fixed on her as if he was attempting to decide if it was worth speaking or not. He glanced at the length of her, then shook his head and turned away.
“You should be grateful my parents raised me right,” he grumbled, loosening his cravat and peeling his jacket off to reveal his shirt clinging to the ridges of his arms.
“What is that supposed to m-mean?” she questioned, her eyes lingering on his forearms as he rolled up his sleeves.
“You know what it means,” he stated directly, draping the sopping jacket over his arm.
His eyes on her produced a heat within her that pushed aside the rest of her cold. “You are despicable.”
She made to leave him there, uncomfortable with his attention and how it made her feel, but his hand reached out to stop her again.
She sighed with her eyes to the dark sky. “Will you please allow me to storm off just once this evening?”
“No,” he stated matter-of-factly. “As your husband, it is my duty to see you are safely escorted wherever you may be. And as much as you love balls, I’m sure I am safe to assume that you have no intention of returning to the ballroom this evening.”
She raised her chin. “None. Thanks to you.”
“I will call for a carriage at the front of the house away from prying eyes. You may remain hidden in the shadows to maintain your dignity, then I shall escort you to the carriage and back to Grendale.”
Marie hesitated, juggling between accepting his help and accepting public humiliation. “Fine.”
“I appreciate the enthusiasm,” he mumbled, then led the way through the hedges.
She fought off her pride trying to convince her to walk in the other direction and followed his broad shoulders swinging confidently back and forth.
She’d been clinging to those shoulders only minutes before.
“Is this how the rest of our marriage will look?” she questioned, desperate to find something to complain about. “You, exacting revenge if you don’t get your way?”
He looked over his shoulder at her. “You needn’t worry about what the rest of our marriage will look like. There may not be much more of a marriage to experience anyway.”
He forged ahead, leaving Marie to walk two steps to his one as she attempted to keep up with him, though her thoughts were still back by the fountain, lingering on the kiss they’d shared—and the ominous foreboding he’d just delivered again.
The rest of the evening was unbearable. Charles attempted to offer Marie his hand as they entered the carriage in the quiet darkness, void of any prying eyes aside from the averted gazes of their family footman and groom.
True to form, Marie walked straight past Charles’s extended fingers. She tripped on the step, grunted, then shoved his hand away as he tried to help her again.
“You really are that stubborn?” he asked.
“Yes.”
When she finally entered the carriage, clambering across her wet skirts, Charles followed in after her, making a point to sit on the opposite side.
As the carriage rolled forward and the air between them filled with silence, Marie shivered, though he could see her desperate attempts to hide it. Her skirts still clung to her legs all the way to her thighs, and she attempted to unstick the fabric discreetly with her fingertips.
