Page 36 of The Lord’s Reluctant Lady (Sisters of Ember Hall #2)

Why should she deny herself?

But he was withdrawing from his kisses. His hands spanned her waist and his breath was hot against his ear.

“That is no good reason.”

His words were calling to a more sensible, rational part of her; the part she wanted to put away so as to give in to the sensuous pleasure building within her core.

“Don’t,” she said. “Please. Just kiss me.”

He growled low in his throat and pulled her to him once again, kissing her so deeply it felt as if her mouth was welded to his.

His hands stroked her body, stoking the flames already igniting inside her.

She ran her hands over the taut muscles of his chest, then up over his shoulders, dipping beneath the soft fabric of his shirt.

This was what she wanted. To be as one with the man she adored; standing so close not a breath of air could separate them.

So close that she could feel his need for her, hardening against her belly.

“Marry me,” he said again, one hand cupping her breast and making her breath come even faster.

In response, she kissed him harder, standing on her tiptoes and crushing her lips against his. Leaning into his touch, even though she knew it was forbidden.

“Stop asking,” she gasped, the very moment he pulled back.

He gazed down at her with fire in his eyes. She thought he might argue, but instead he scooped her into his arms and held her close against his chest as he carried her up the shore. He laid her down on the shingle and hovered over her, the breadth of his shoulders shading her from the midday sun.

“I want you, Mirrie. I want you now and I will want you still on the morrow and on the morrow after that. Each day, for the rest of my days.”

Need was pooling inside her, like a surging itch she could not scratch. Her hands grasped his shoulders, instinctively pulling him down against her. “And I want you.”

He blazed a trail of kisses down her throat until his lips met the top of her tunic.

His warm hands stroked her breasts until she longed for him to tear the tunic from her body.

Instead, he began to unbutton it with almost unbearable slowness, kissing and caressing the newly exposed flesh and causing her to squirm beneath him.

She closed her eyes, willingly surrendering herself to his touch and to the pleasurable sensations pulsating through her.

He tugged at her shift and she lifted her hips so he could pull it free; the warm whisper of wind across her belly alerting her to the fact she was entirely unclothed, Naked, before and beneath him.

His blue gaze devoured her, head to toe, and she felt no shame, only a deep burning desire.

Though for what, she could not say. She only knew it felt right to be in Tristan’s arms. For Tristan’s hands to be on her body; his lips worshipping the most sensitive parts of her until she wound her fingers in his hair and moaned out loud.

“Marry me, Mirrie,” he said again, his expression dark with desire.

“I cannot.” Her body trembled so it was an effort to form the words.

“Why not?” His hand was travelling down from her belly to where she wanted him most. But he paused, waiting for her answer.

She arched her back, pressing herself against him, craving more. But Tristan only stroked back her hair and looked deep into her eyes, one hand softly brushing against her inner thighs.

“Why not?” he repeated.

“Because I could never be a countess.” Her answer came in a rush of breath. It was no more than the truth. A fact, like day following night.

He kissed her as his fingers neared their mark and she moaned again with unexpected pleasure, opening herself up to his touch and the soaring sensations that snatched at her breath as he slowly stroked her very core.

“Tristan,” she gasped.

“I wish you could see yourself as I do, for there is naught you cannot do, Mirrie.” His lips settled around on her breast as his fingers moved inside her, turning her to liquid. He moved up her body and pressed a kiss to the nape of her neck. “I have faith in you. I always have.”

She raked her fingers along his back, wanting to claim him as her own as he whispered the words she had longed to hear. “I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

Another truth. She had loved him almost all her days.

For a terrible moment he moved away from her, but when she forced her eyes to open, he was back, holding her to his naked body.

Their limbs entwined and nothing had ever felt so good and so right.

He moved above her, his knee gently drawing her legs apart, his hips settling into place.

She gasped as he entered her, knowing only a moment’s pain before pleasure took her in its grip once again.

Tristan filled her wholly. His mouth covered hers, swallowing her cries, before he pulled back his head.

“Marry me.”

Her hands clawed at his shoulder as her hips bucked against him, instinctively wanting him to move inside her, but he thrusted deep and then stayed still.

“Marry me,” he said again, nudging his hips just enough to stimulate her from the inside in a way that sent her close to the edge of a precipice she had never known existed.

“Aye,” she gasped, releasing all she had to the desire staking claim of her senses. “I will marry you, Tris.”

There followed a long stretch of what she could only call bliss.

Their bodies rocked together and Mirrie soared over the precipice, wrapping her legs around him as she shattered into pieces.

He called out her name, eyes squeezed shut, then slumped against her so for a while she bore his full, muscular weight.

She could not move. She did not want to move. He was pinning her to the ground and she thought she had ne’er been in a place that felt so right.

Then he rolled to his side and pulled her towards him, kissing her lips and her forehead, embracing her closely. And naught had ever felt better than that.

“Mirrie. You have made me the happiest man in all of England.”

She snuggled against him, enjoying the warmth of his flesh and the sun on her limbs. She had no words, but it did not matter. She only wanted to prolong this moment, when she had all she had dreamed of and more besides.

He traced his finger down her cheek. “You are wise and good and beautiful, but I must tell you, you are wrong about one thing.”

“Oh yes?” She raised an eyebrow inquisitively. “What is that?”

“When the time comes, you will make a remarkable countess.”

A flicker of unease unfurled in her belly. Her fears, so long held, could not so easily be put aside. But she reminded herself that Tristan knew the responsibilities and requirements of his position.

And Tristan has chosen me.

She recalled his words, just now: “I have faith in you. I always have.”

In the school room at Wolvesley he had claimed to see the true depths of her courage.

She closed her eyes so he would not see her tears of joy.

“I will try,” she whispered, breathing in his unmistakably masculine scent.

“You will succeed.” He kissed her shoulder. “Just as you succeed at all else.”

She settled herself against him, comforted by the rhythmic beating of his heart.

“I am glad I persuaded you to say yes.”

She smiled, her face still pressed against his chest. “You were most persuasive.”

His hands stroked her back. “I will be sure to remember the best way to negotiate with my wife.”

“Do not presume that I will give way in all things,” she said, with mock seriousness.

“I have yet to introduce you to all the methods at my disposal,” he replied, with a chuckle that sent a thrill of anticipation through her.

But what had been agreed between them was a serious matter, and mayhap they should not jest so soon. She arched back her head so she could look him in the eye.

“Did you come to Ember Hall intending to ask me to marry you?”

He held her gaze, tenderly but honestly. “I came here with the hope of courting you. I have to say, I did not plan to propose.”

His admission left her cold. She pulled away from him and flinched at a cool breeze wafting over them. “When did you decide?”

“When we were standing over there.” He nodded towards the sea.

Agitation settled upon her. She sat up and was all too aware of her nakedness. She looked around for her shift and pulled it towards her, covering her breasts.

“What is wrong?” His hand went to her arm and she could not help pulling away.

“It was a question asked on impulse?”

“And nonetheless meaningful for it.” He sat up beside her, so she must avert her eyes from his sculpted form.

Tears brimmed at her eyes again and this time she could do naught to stop them rolling down her cheeks.

“Mirrie.” His face creased with concern.

“I spent long days and longer nights thinking of you. Of us. Of how we could proceed. I thought that you would not want to rush into anything.”

But I rushed headlong into your arms!

She pulled the shift over her head and tugged it down over her body, feeling stronger the moment she was decently covered. “You should not have done it,” she muttered. “We should not have done it. I do not blame you, Tris. I was equally willing.”

“What are you saying?” Bewilderment chased through his eyes.

“I cannot marry you on a whim.”

“’Tis no whim.” His voice rose in consternation. “’Twas a decision reached after much soul-searching, believe me.”

“I cannot believe you. Not when you are known for thinking only of the moment.” It was difficult to pull on her tunic with hands that shook like saplings in a storm.

“I know that I am in love with you.”

They were the words she had longed to hear, yet she could not put her trust in them.

“When we stood over there.” She too pointed to the sea. “Before we both lost our wits. You said that you believed you were in love with me.”

He put his fingertips to his temples and winced. “Aye, you’re right. I was finding my way, Mirrie. I’m no expert when it comes to declarations of the heart.”

The sincerity in his voice was almost her undoing.

“Can we not find our way, together?” His blue eyes looked at her beseechingly. He was all she had ever wanted. Offering her all she had ever dreamed of. But Mirrie’s insecurities, now awakened, would not be so easily quietened.

“’Tis too late for that.” Fully attired, she got to her feet, brushing the shingle from her clothes and praying that her trembling legs would hold her upright.

“Mirrie, where are you going?” He reached for his shirt.

“I am going away from you.”

At least, if she could manage it. The uneven ground coupled with her emotional distress meant the odds were stacked against a graceful departure.

She furiously rubbed the tears from her eyes.

Blurred vision was the last thing she needed.

She took one step forward, then another, putting distance between herself and the man who had broken her heart.

But she had scarcely made any progress to speak of before he caught up with her.

His strong arms held her fast, so she could not escape.

“I do not understand.” He was clad only in his shirt, which was loose and unbuttoned.

She could not argue with a man in a state of undress. But she had no choice. He would not let her go.

“A proposal of marriage should be properly thought through.” She sniffed but met his gaze with a challenging one of her own. “It should not be cobbled together just to give you an excuse to slake your lust.”

His hands dropped from her arms and she all but staggered to one side.

“That is what you think this is?” he asked quietly. “Nothing more than lust?”

“That is what I fear.” She put a hand to her heart, wanting to keep the grief inside.

“That is how little you think of me?” Tristan’s voice cracked. “Mercy, Mirrie. What must I say to make you believe me?”

“I don’t know.” Grief made her double over in physical pain.

“Would you have preferred a steadier and more reliable proposal, perchance by the fountain at Wolvesley?” His voice rose with emotion.

“Do not speak of David Bryce,” she breathed. “That is not fair.”

Tristan took a deep breath. “Where is he now, this physician of yours?”

She straightened her back. “I cannot tell you.”

“Aye, well, I can tell you.” He dragged a hand through his dishevelled hair. He accepted a post at Wolvesley. He chose coin over you, Mirrie. Mayhap coin was all he was ever after.”

“Why would you be so cruel?” she whispered, looking past him to the waves breaking on the shore. A view that had once brought her solace but now would forever serve as a reminder of her foolishness.

“I am not cruel. I am a man made of flesh and blood and desire, struggling with emotions I have ne’er felt before.

” He took another shuddering breath. “You say I am impulsive. Reckless even. Aye, I have been in the past. I’m the first to admit it.

But I have ne’er made false promises. Not to anyone.

” His voice dropped to a near whisper. “Why, in heaven’s name, would I start with you? ”

The sincerity shining from his eyes was beginning to reach her. Mirrie clutched her arms around her chest, not knowing what to do. For a moment, the only sound was the rushing of waves onto the shingle.

Tristan shook his head, his gaze hardening. “Forsooth, being impulsive is no crime and does not render my feelings any less valid. Certainly, I would never be moved to propose to a woman, any woman, once I had a glimpse of her potential wealth.”

“I have no potential wealth,” she countered, though it hurt her to speak.

“And once your physician discovered that, methinks he would have rescinded his proposal and moved on. Just as he was quick to cut all ties with you once I offered him a well-paid position.”

She digested this, oblivious to the calling of the gulls and the crashing of the sea.

“You offered him the position?”

“Aye. The very day after the ball.”

“So that is why I have not heard from him.” She gave him no chance to reply. “And did you consider my feelings in this at all?”

“I saved you from a man who puts coin before love.” His voice rose against the waves.

“You moved him out of the way for your own ends,” she screeched back, uncaring of losing her decorum.

He shrugged his shoulders. “I see you are determined to think badly of me, whate’er I say or do now.”

She turned away, unable to fight any more. “You look to control me, like a soldier in a well-planned battle sequence. Like you control all else in your life. For the betterment of yourself.”

She heard his intake of breath and knew she had wounded him.

“That is unjust.”

She forced her legs to move forward, to take her away from further harm.

“Goodbye, Tristan,” she said over her shoulder.

This time, he did not come after her.