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We. He’d said we.

“Unless you’d prefer to remain in your bedchamber again?”

She was surprised to discover that his words weren’t dripping with provocation. Instead, vulnerability draped over them—as if he was worried she would stay in her room all day.

“I’ll stay down here,” she said as calmly as possible, though her insides buzzed with joy. “If you can behave yourself.”

He took a bite of his toast and winked as he chewed. “I’ll do my best, Mrs. Shepherd.”

Chapter Sixteen

Later that afternoon, with the rain still pouring from the skies, Marie retired to the sitting room and was happy to discover that Charles joined her.

She chose a book from the shelves near the hearth, then sat down in one of the chairs near the small fire. Her mind refused to focus on the words, however, her attention arrested by Charles.

From the corner of her eye, she watched his every move. He stared at her for a moment, peered at the rain against the window, then stalked to the shelves himself before finding a book and sitting directly across from her.

From there, he shifted in his seat over and over again, turned the pages far too swiftly to have read a word, then yawned more times than she could count.

She stifled a smile. He really was trying, but he very clearly could not sit still at the moment.

Soon, he gave up entirely, clapping his book shut with a sigh and slumping forward on the chair with a longing gaze out the window.

Marie kept her eyes on the pages of her book when Charles looked at her again, then back out the window, then around the room.

Poor man. Perhaps there was something she could do to help distract him from his obvious need to expel his energy.

Before she could think of anything, however, Charles twisted around in his seat to face her. “Do I recall you mentioning you play the pianoforte?”

Finally, Marie looked up from the same page she’d been on for the last quarter of an hour. “I do play, yes.”

He motioned over his shoulder to where the small pianoforte resided in the far corner of the room. “Care to display one of your many talents for me?”

Marie hesitated. “Oh, I don’t know. The instrument does not look as if it has received much playing of late. It would surely need tuning.”

He stood, dropping his book on his chair and crossing to the pianoforte. “Could not a talent like you make it sound better?”

“I doubt it.”

He glanced over his shoulder. “Now it sounds like you’re making excuses. Perhaps you can’t even play at all.”

She knew he was challenging her, and she had every ability to withstand it. But she was drawn to that twinkle in his eye like a moth to the flame and longed to see it spark even brighter.

Setting her book down in a like manner, she joined him at the pianoforte. She swiped a finger across one of the keys and lifted the layer of dust for Charles to see.

“It will absolutely need tuning,” she said.

“Let us see what you can do with it anyway.”

He withdrew a handkerchief from his pocket and swiped at the dust, then motioned for her to take her place with a flourish. “Your seat, my lady.”

She gave him an exaggerated curtsy, then sat down before the pianoforte. She’d expected Charles to return to his seat, but instead, he remained close to the instrument’s side, his hand resting on top of the wood.

Trying to focus on the task at hand instead of Charles’s tall, imposing figure, she placed her fingers on the keys and plunked out a little tune, though she winced at every note.

She pulled back, shaking her head at once. “No. This is unplayable.”

“Go on. Give it another chance.”