Page 99 of Rogue of My Heart

Marie’s answering laugh shot straight to his groin as he went back to work, loosening bolts. “But how do you know this is the carriage your father will take to the party?” she asked, following him around the carriage as he worked.

“This is his favorite,” Christian reasoned. “And I’m not disabling it outright. If I’ve calculated correctly, the carriage will hold together long enough to get them away from the house before the wheels fall off. That way, they’ll be forced to walk back here to fetch another carriage. With any luck, they’ll give up entirely and call the whole party off.”

“What a delightfully mad-capped plan,” Marie asked. “I hope it works.”

“It will,” he promised her with a deep earnestness. “You won’t have to marry Miles, I swear.”

* * *

It was mad, but Christian disabling his father’s carriage might have been the sweetest thing anyone had ever done for Marie. She asked Christian questions about his experience with carriages as he finished loosening bolts underneath the thing, then stood to replace the tools and wipe his hands.

“I never was one to stand idly by and let other people solve my problems,” he explained once he was done, as the two of them headed outside to where Marie had left her bicycle. “When I was traveling with my friends in Europe after university, I found it necessary to repair the carriage we’d hired on a regular basis. As it turns out, that was a useful skill to have.”

“So, if your father tosses you out on your ear for defying him, you’ll be able to find work as a mechanic,” Marie said with a wry grin.

“I will never want for anything,” Christian replied with mock seriousness.

Marie laughed, and her heart felt light. In the last fortnight, Fergus had insisted she spend as much time with the Darrow family as possible, ostensibly to get to know her fiancé better. Fergus foolishly believed that if Marie liked one brother, she would like the other as well. But Miles was nothing like Christian, and Christian was the most magnificent man she’d ever met. The days they’d spent together, even though they hadn’t been alone, had confirmed every initial feeling she’d had for the man. She’d be damned if she married anyone but Christian Darrow.

“What do we do now?” she asked grabbing the handlebars of her bicycle and walking it around so that it pointed toward the drive leading away from the carriage house and stables. “The party isn’t for several hours.”

Christian swayed closer to her, even though the bicycle stood between them. “We’ll just have to find something to occupy ourselves,” he said with a look of such mischief that Marie’s insides threatened to turn to jelly. Christian wasn’t just handsome and clever, he made her want to throw every bit of caution and propriety to the wind so that she could explore all the things that were supposed to be forbidden with him.

“We could go for a bicycle ride,” she suggested. “If you owned a bicycle.”

“I don’t,” he said, deflating. A moment later, he brightened all over again. “But we could try something I saw some of the girls in Southern France do with their beaux.”

Something about the sentence sent a giddy thrill through Marie’s gut. “I think I would rather enjoy attempting things that girls in Southern France do with their beaux.”

Christian’s eyes heated, as though he knew exactly what she meant. “Come on, then.”

He reached for her hand—or rather, he took the handlebars of the bicycle from her. Before Marie could figure out what he was doing, he’d mounted the bicycle and was ready to ride.

“You can ride on the handlebars,” he said with a wink.

Marie’s jaw dropped, and a spike of genuine worry twisted around her gut. “Really? Is that even possible?”

“Like I said, girls in France do it all the time,” Christian said.

“And I won’t be outdone by girls in France,” Marie said, mostly to herself.

It took a few tries for her to figure out how to climb up onto the handlebars. Christian helped her, but then they had to spend a few minutes figuring out how to tuck her skirts in so that they wouldn’t catch in the wheels. After a few false starts, they coordinated their actions enough for Christian to pedal the bicycle forward with Marie as a passenger.

Once they got the hang of things, Christian picked up speed as they sailed away from Kilrea Manor and onto the road. Marie was dreadfully uncomfortable with the solid handlebar wedged against her unmentionable bits. The wind threatened to rip her hat clean off her head, so she had to hold it with one hand and grip any part of the bicycle she could reach for dear life with her other hand. But they managed to keep their balance as they shot off into the green countryside.

“Where are we going?” Christian shouted over the wind as they rolled along at a speed that had Marie’s heart in her throat.

She thought fast, glancing around as best she could. All she wanted to do was spend time with Christian. Alone. That would never happen if they went on to Dunegard Castle, or even into one of the towns and villages nearby. There was really only one option.

“To the cottage,” she said over her shoulder as best she could without losing her balance.

“The cottage?” Christian asked.

“You’ll see.”

She directed him along the road, telling him when to turn and which way to go. The ride was made extra thrilling, knowing they were headed somewhere they truly shouldn’t have been, and that they would be there alone. All the same, Marie was grateful to see her home for the last few years peek out from around the corner as they neared the cliff where it was perched. She and her sisters had left the place less than a month before, and even though Fergus had forbidden it, they had all been checking in on their home to make sure it was in good order.

“This place is lovely,” Christian said, glancing around after Marie hopped off the bicycle—or rather, stumbled clumsily and nearly ended up splayed in the grass. “And you say you used to live here?”