Page 73

She nodded, though she had no notion as to what he intended to do.

He pulled her hands between his in slow movements, drawing her fingers toward his lips as he blew warm, comforting breaths upon her skin.

She closed her eyes, the warmth filling her body as if the sun shone down upon her—for that was what Charles was to her. Warmth, goodness, joy. The reason her future was secured, and the reason she now wished to live.

“I am going to have trouble sleeping tonight,” he whispered, breaking through another dreamlike state.

“Uncomfortable?” she murmured.

He shook his head. “I cannot seem to sleep now without your singing.”

Her eyes flew open.

“The walls are thin,” he explained.

Marie knew this already. She’d heard his every footstep, his every movement in bed. And yet, she’d never heard him or his valet speak a word. She’d thought that meant he couldn’t hear her either.

Her cheeks warmed. “I’m not the best singer.”

“On the contrary,” Charles said. “You’ve the loveliest voice I’ve heard in all my years.”

Once again, she knew he exaggerated, but his compliment soothed whatever embarrassment remained.

“If I wasn’t afraid of you being shouted at again, I’d suggest you sing me to sleep right here.”

“Perhaps another night, then,” she suggested.

His eyes caught hers. “Yes. Perhaps another night.”

Her heart thrummed against her chest.

“How are your hands?”

“Much warmer, thank you.”

Still, he kept hold of them. “I will let you sleep now,” he whispered.

Marie nodded, though that was not what she wanted at all. She wanted to be kept awake all night by Charles. Listening to his kind words, receiving his kisses, feeling his hands on hers.

But as his callused fingers gently caressed her skin, sleep crept upon her once again, and this time, Marie allowed it to take her.

The following morning, after a sleepless night, Charles and Marie caught the stagecoach and made it back to Orpington after many long, cramped hours, only to be whisked away into another carriage to return to Dorking that night for the ball. With no extra coach for the help, Marie’s lady’s maid and Charles’s valet accompanied them, allowing no chance for the private conversation Charles so desperately wished to have with his wife.

Last night had settled any remaining concerns he had about their relationship, for he knew his feelings for her had changed. All he needed to do was be sure hers had, as well. Based on her actions the day before, he was more hopeful than ever, but he had to be sure.

All he needed to do was catch her alone. All he needed was Marie. Only Marie.

And yet, his hopes were dashed away again when they reached Grendale, for no sooner did the carriage stop before the front doors did his mother and father pour out to greet them with anticipatory smiles and hopeful eyes.

Charles remained mostly silent, but Marie was as generous as ever, vaguely answering their questions about their time away before gently directing the focus to the upcoming ball.

“Yes, we haven’t much time to speak, do we?” Mother said somewhat disappointedly. “People shall begin arriving shortly, no doubt. Perhaps we may speak later...about your time at the cottage?”

Marie promised to do so, glancing at Charles as a subtle hint to respond, as well.

“Yes, of course,” he mumbled.

He couldn’t care less about telling his mother what had occurred. All he wanted to do was speak with Marie. But when Mother pulled her away, agreeing that they must make ready for the ball, Charles was left disappointed again.