Page 50

In truth, even agreeing to be friends with Charles was quite risky.

He straightened on the bench, resting his hands on his thighs. “Well, let us begin anew, then.” He stood with his back to her, drew a deep breath that raised his broad shoulders in a movement quite like a barge upon the sea, then turned around to face her once again. His eyes fell on her, and he took a startled step back, holding his gloves in his hands. “Oh, forgive me. I did not see you there. Though, I do not know how I could have missed your beauty.”

Marie beamed, though she tried not to. Was this how he would have spoken to her had they met in a more natural manner? She might have scoffed at the ridiculous words, though most likely she would have blushed to high heaven and accepted the compliment with grace.

But they were no longer strangers. And she could behave any way she wished.

She pulled on a frown. “Would you truly speak that way to a woman you just met, Charles?”

He shushed her. “Do not break the illusion,” he whispered from the side of his mouth. “Now, may I have your name, Miss...”

Marie grinned. “I am Miss...” She paused, this time with a genuine frown. “Oh, I do not know what name to give you.”

“Heavens. Are you unwell? Shall I call for a physician? One should typically know one’s own name.”

She gave a humored smile. “I am in earnest, Charles. Am I to call myself Miss Oakley, or shall I remain Mrs. Shepherd until...if the annulment occurs?”

He pursed his lips in thought. “Very well. You have found another flaw in my little game. Let us simply pick up from where we are right now, yes?”

“That will be far easier,” she agreed.

A stronger wind rustled the trees above them, holding a distinct chill that had not been there before.

Charles drew his eyes to the skies east, and Marie followed suit, finding darker clouds mingled with the white.

“I suppose we ought to return before the rain begins,” Charles said.

He extended his hand to her, and Marie eyed it for a single moment. She had never accepted his help before—her pride had always prevented her—but seeing as how they were friends now...

She reached forward, sliding her fingers into his hand and instantly regretting her decision to do so.

She had kissed the man already, for heaven’s sake. And yet, in some ways, this moment felt more intimate. Perhaps it was due to the fact that she could see his features clearer than she had the night of the ball or because of the way he now watched her—with warmth and a softness of which she didn’t know he was capable.

His brown eyes were slightly lighter than she’d first thought, like the color of freshly turned dirt.

He helped her to stand, his thumb resting gently on her knuckles before he tucked her fingers in the crook of his arm. The fabric was warm beneath her hand, though she didn’t rest fully upon him. Any further touch would do untold things to her already stuttering heart.

“So. Marie,” Charles began as they left the church behind and crossed beneath the lych gate. “You have a lovely name. French, is it not?”

The crisp scent of his cologne drifted beneath her nose. “Yes. My great grandmother was French. Mother adored her, so she’d always wished to call her own daughter by the name.”

He nodded. “My brother received his name in a like manner. Mother heard the name Tristan when she was on holiday in Wales before he and I were born and fell in love with it. Though it took her longer to concoct my own name.”

The Shepherds obviously hadn’t intended Marie to marry the second-born twin. Mrs. Shepherd had always said Charles and Marie were far better suited. “You are just the woman for my Charles—a steady presence, a guiding voice home.”

Was Marie suited for Charles?

“What of your name’s meaning?” he asked, interrupting her thoughts.

She rested her hand a little more on his arm.

“Well,” she replied, “that depends on who you ask. Some say it means ‘star of the sea.’”

“Lovely.”

“Yes. Much better than the other.”

“Which is...?”