Page 21 of The Lord’s Reluctant Lady (Sisters of Ember Hall #2)

Bathing!

Mirrie followed him down to the lake, though she knew she shouldn’t. It had felt good to run through the grounds of Wolvesley, as if she were a child again, shaking off the mantle of responsibility and gloom that had dogged her for so long.

It felt even better to beat him!

There had been a time when Tristan was her worthy opponent in many childhood games. Out in the fields and up in the school room, they would endlessly challenge one another. Then Tristan went away to the knights’ training college at Lindum, and when he returned to Wolvesley, he had been a man.

Gone was her childhood friend. In his place stood a squire with broad shoulders and stubbled cheeks. The new deepness of his voice made butterflies flutter in Mirrie’s stomach. Naught had been the same again.

Now, more than ten summers later, he paused by a low, flat rock and removed his boots and stockings. When he rolled up his breeches to reveal muscular calves, she felt her breath catch in her chest. But when he swivelled around to catch her eye, he found her gazing at a gull.

“Let’s paddle,” he said.

Mirrie affected nonchalance. “I thought you were going to bathe?”

“Aye, but I had forgotten the rules around betrothed couples and what they are permitted to do in the broad light of day.”

He was teasing her. And if Mirrie wasn’t careful she would begin to blush again.

“You may paddle if you please. I shall sit here and watch.” She smoothed her skirts and arranged herself cautiously on the rock.

“You used to be more fun than this,” Tristan complained. “Don’t you want to feel the water rush between your toes?”

Aye, I do. But she wasn’t going to permit herself the pleasure of it. “Go on.” She flapped her hand at him.

With a shrug of his shoulders, Tristan turned away from her and walked the few steps to the shore. He whistled sharply as the water came up around his ankles. “It’s cold.” For a moment, he smiled at her over his shoulder. A vision of height and strength, haloed by light.

He is too handsome by far.

And he has always known it.

Mirrie allowed herself to drink him in. His golden hair, brighter than the sun overhead. The graceful power of his broad shoulders. The sculpted strength of his bare calves as he kicked at a piece of driftwood. She sat on her hands to stop them from trembling.

She must get a grip on herself.

“Come in, Mirrie,” he urged, turning to face her.

“I shall not.” Her voice was prim. “And it is high time you stopped talking to me as if I were your childhood playmate.”

“But you are my childhood playmate.” He put his head to one side and shaded his eyes from the sun.

“We are both grown with responsibilities.” Mirrie sniffed. “I know why you have never met a woman you wanted to marry.”

“You do?” She had his attention now. He walked back up the shore, water dripping from the lower half of his legs.

“You do not take life seriously enough.”

He snorted. “I can assure you, I do. I’ve served on battlefields, Mirrie. They’re no place for childishness.”

“No, I know that,” she conceded. “I’m well aware that you take your duties seriously. But when it comes to your dalliances…’tis another story entirely.” She sat up tall. “You are a terrible flirt. In fact, you treat women as if they were playthings.”

“Playthings?” His voice throbbed with incredulity.

“Playthings.” She nodded firmly. “Have you ever struck up conversation with a woman, without thinking of taking her to bed?”

He put his hands on his hips. “That is most unfair. I talk to Esme most days, heaven help me. Whene’er I come to Ember Hall, I particularly enjoy conversing with you and Frida.”

“I mean apart from me and your sisters.” She pressed her lips together, keeping her emotions locked up inside.

Tristan thought for a moment, then brought his gaze back to hers. “Mirabel, I have never forced myself on anyone.”

“You have never had to,” she retorted. “Your flirtations and persuasions are equally dangerous.”

“Dangerous?” His eyebrows rose with his voice.

“For the state of your soul,” she replied, primly.

“I see.” He scratched at his shoulder, a smile playing about his lips. “Then what would you have me do?”

“Stop flirting,” she demanded. It was the only way she could possibly deal with Tristan and the wealth of feelings she had for him.

He bowed his head. “As you wish.”

Did he mean it? She didn’t think he would lie to her, but flirting was something he did so automatically, she was not at all certain he could bring himself to simply stop. Still, only time would tell—and perhaps it would go better if she helped him.

“Come and sit beside me.” She made space for him on the rock. “And I shall coach you in the art of proper conversation to nice young ladies.”

“But nice young ladies are so dull.” He plonked himself down, bringing with him the scent of fresh water and clean sweat. “I’m joking,” he added, nudging Mirrie with his shoulder. He cleared his throat. “Might I say how very pretty you look this morn?”

“No.” She jabbed him sharply with her elbow. “That is flirting.”

“Then how should I proceed?” He opened his arms entreatingly.

“Begin by telling me something true.” She arched her eyebrows at his silence. “The truth is so much harder, isn’t it?”

“I was telling the truth before.” His voice dropped low enough to bring goosebumps out on her arms. “You do look very pretty in that dress, with your hair pinned up so elegantly. But then, you always look pretty.”

She pressed her lips together and shook her head, not trusting herself to speak.

“Very well. If you will not accept compliments, I will find a new truth to tell.” Tristan leaned back on his hands and stretched his long legs out in front of him.

Gulls called overhead and a gust of wind rustled through the trees.

He thought for a long moment before speaking again.

“It was terrible to see my father so weakened.”

Mirrie turned to him, her lips parted in surprise. “It was,” she murmured in agreement.

“Truly, I had not expected his condition to worsen so quickly. ’Twas an unwelcome reminder that death awaits us all,” he finished quietly.

Mirrie bit down on her lip and allowed several beats to pass. “That is very sombre.”

“And very true?”

She nodded. “Undoubtedly so.”

“I have seen death up close on the battlefield. I have lost good friends. Young men who should have had all their lives ahead of them.” Tristan sighed. “But my father, I somehow thought, would live forever.”

Moved by this glimpse of vulnerability, Mirrie reached out and took his hand. It was the impulsive action of a friend, or e’en of the sister that he saw her as, but as soon as his warm fingers interlinked with hers, she began to regret it.

“I’m sorry for being so gloomy.” He threw her a smile.

“Do not be sorry for telling me the truth.”

He cupped her hand inside both of his, caressing the inside of her index finger with his thumb. She told herself it meant nothing. That Tristan would do the same to Flora, his niece. But it did not stop a thrill of pleasure travelling all the way up her arm.

“I know how you see me, Mirrie.”

For a moment she feared her heart had stopped beating. “You do?”

“Aye.” He smiled gently. “To you I am irresponsible. Perchance you imagine that I do not understand the myriad advantages I enjoy as the son of an earl. But you are wrong.”

Relief came over her in a hot wave. “I am glad to hear it,” she managed.

“I have faced assassins in my own home.” He gripped her hand more tightly now. “I have dined with my enemies and risked my life. All for the good of my country. And I would do it all again, without question. I do not shirk from my duty, with or without a sword in my hand.”

She knew this. All of it. Frida’s husband, Callum, was one of the assassins once sent after Tristan. “I see you, Tris,” she whispered. “Good and bad.”

“I will serve my country and honour my parents, whatever that takes. But I do not wish to be pressured into marrying a woman I do not love.”

She could only nod.

“Can I tell you something else that is true?”

“Aye,” she whispered.

“I do not like it when you are cross with me.”

She swallowed. “Then you should stop doing things that make me cross.”

He shifted a little on the rock so he was facing her. His blue eyes shone with sincerity. “I shall make that my mission over the coming days.”

Her heart beat so loudly she feared he might hear it. “Then we shall be friends once more,” she said, as lightly as she could.

Tristan kept his eyes trained on her face. “Ah. We shall have to be more than friends. We are a betrothed couple, do not forget.”

Mirrie reached for her composure, but it was difficult to find beneath Tristan’s all-seeing gaze. “I am unlikely to forget,” she managed. “Even your men treat me differently now.”

“They treat you with the respect you deserve.” His hands travelled to her arms, holding them lightly. “As I shall try to be the husband you deserve.”

Mirrie’s throat had constricted so it was difficult to breathe.

She concentrated on the ripples on the lake, visible over Tristan’s shoulder.

She thought of the sharpness of the rock, pressing into her thighs.

She noticed the sun on the back of her neck and the distant coo of a woodpigeon.

But none of it was enough to distract her from the man she loved, sitting so close.

“You’re flirting again,” she breathed.

Tristan laughed, but it only served to weave the spell closer around her.

“Honestly, that was not my intention.” He leaned a little nearer. “I was still telling you the truth. Methinks the practice has grown addictive, or perchance it is you, sweet Mirrie, bringing out what is good and honest in me.”

Her heart threatened to jump out of her chest. Mirrie fought for words, but Tristan mistook her silence for denial.

He cleared his throat. “In these last days I have learned that I would do aught within my power to see you smile.”

Mirrie would never know what made her do it. But before her rational self could intervene, she closed the gap between them and kissed him.

Tristan’s lips were soft and warm. She felt him stiffen with surprise, then came a delicious moment of unity when their mouths melded together and his hand came lightly against the small of her back.

She breathed it all in—his face, his touch, his scent; then she pulled back, before she lost her mind entirely.

She wanted to move away, but Tristan’s hand on her back did not shift. He kept her close, his searching eyes mere inches from hers.

“Well, that was a surprise.” His voice came out as a croak.

Mirrie took a breath. “I wanted to show you that nice ladies can be surprising sometimes. We are not always dull.”

“Lesson learned.” A devilish smile flickered around his lips, making her heart pick up speed all over again. “Is there anything else you would like to teach me?”

Mirrie rapped her palm against his chest, closing her mind to the hard ridge of muscle she encountered beneath his shirt. “You are flirting again.”

“Under the circumstances, you shall have to forgive me.”

She must bring this wild interlude to a close. It was not at all what she should have done. In fact it was everything other than sensible. If coming to Wolvesley as Tristan’s pretend betrothed would risk her heart, this was a sure way to break it completely.

But oh, how good it felt.

She shot him a severe look and firmly pushed him away.

“We should return to the keep.” Mirrie rose up from the rock, praying that her knees would not give way beneath her.

The sun was hot on the top of her head and she was conscious that she wore neither a bonnet nor a headdress.

She had intended merely a short walk in the gardens, but it seemed a lifetime had passed since she left her bedchamber.

I kissed Tristan. Broke the boundaries that had always existed between them. Mirrie fixed her eyes on the lake and bit down on her bottom lip. Everything had changed, and yet naught would differ. For he was still the man she loved.

And he loved her. Like a sister.

Which meant she needed to hold her head high and go about her day without showing the turmoil she was feeling. The story she had conjured, about nice young ladies, would hold true.

Tristan came to stand by her side, stretching his arms above his head and rotating his shoulders.

“You are sure I cannot tempt you to paddle?”

The question made her smile. Aye, naught had changed between them. She told herself that she was glad of it.

“Did you not say that your father wished to see us?”

He grimaced. “I did. You are right, as always, Mirrie. We should return to the keep.”

Mirrie stood calmly whilst Tristan pulled on his stockings and boots. She would present an unruffled demeanour to the de Nevilles, to the world at large.

This subterfuge could only continue for a certain amount of time. Then she would return to Ember Hall and pick up the pieces of the life she had forged for herself.

She had kissed Tristan once.

The memory will have to last me a lifetime.