Page 39 of The Lord’s Reluctant Lady (Sisters of Ember Hall #2)

Ember Hall, Northumberland

The silvery song of a ruddock accompanied them as they passed through the corn meadow.

Blue skies overhead promised another day of beautiful sunshine, but the temperature had not yet climbed high enough to invite discomfort.

Nonetheless, Mirrie was pleased to have abandoned her fine gown in favour of a simple linen tunic, belted at the waist and loose over her shoulders.

Perchance her attire was not befitting her station as Lady Mirabel de Neville.

A station that, slowly but surely, she was beginning to inhabit with confidence.

But for today, ensconced in the familiar surroundings of Ember Hall, she was happy to just be Mirrie.

Beside her, Tristan ran his hand over the brightly hued crops, nodding in admiration. He too was dressed simply, in breeches and a crisp white shirt, with his heavy locks of hair shining more golden than the sun.

“It will be another good harvest,” he pronounced, looking about with satisfaction.

“My husband, the farmer.” Her lips turned up into a smile.

He grabbed at her hand and swung it. “See how I was right about the land rotation?”

“I never doubted it,” she assured him, linking her fingers with his and squeezing.

“I will be right about Esme, too.” He nodded sagely, helping her onto a small wooden stile. “You will see. Mother will have identified a suitor for her. She has an uncanny knack of knowing what is right for us, even before we know it ourselves.”

Mirrie paused atop the stile, taking the opportunity to look down upon her handsome husband, which was not a view she oft had chance to enjoy. His blue eyes crinkled into a smile as he slipped his hands around her waist.

“Your mother is wise indeed,” she agreed, soothing his thick hair back from his forehead. “I am still surprised at the role she played in our courtship.”

“Aye, whilst you fretted about deceiving her.”

“Quite rightly so.” Mirrie rested her hands lightly on his broad shoulders. “Deceit is a strong word, Tris. I would not say your mother deceived either of us.”

“’Twas more that she opened my eyes.” He rested his forehead against her belly and sighed with contentment. “I cannot help but wonder who she has in mind for my sister. Esme has been indifferent to all suitors so far.”

Mirrie made a noncommittal noise before jumping down from the stile. She shaded her eyes as she took in the timeless view of wispy white clouds above a sparkling sea.

“You think I am wrong?” Tristan came up behind her, wrapping his arms about her waist.

She leaned back against him, enjoying his height and strength. Over the last months, he had become her rock.

“I fear you are mistaken,” she corrected him.

Tristan laughed lightly, his lips tracing a faint line of kisses along her shoulder.

“Do not do that.” She wriggled away, unable to keep from giggling. “Else we shall never reach the cove.”

Hand in hand, they walked down the stony path, their paces evenly matched. Hardly a breeze stirred the long grass at either side of them, and the sea was calm and still, with the shallowest of waves breaking to foam softly on the shore.

Mirrie thought the water had never looked so inviting.

“Tell me the truth about Esme,” he urged as they rounded the corner and took their first steps onto the shingle.

“I do not wish to speak ill of your sister.”

“She is your sister too.” He smiled down at her. “What has she done that is so terrible?”

“Naught that I know.” Mirrie gripped his hand tighter to steady herself on the uneven ground.

“Then what do you suspect?”

She sighed. “’Tis more a fear that your bright, beautiful sister—our bright, beautiful sister,” she corrected herself, “shows such indifference to marriage simply because she has already given her heart to another.”

“Surely that is a blessing?” He frowned.

“Only if the man in question is worthy of her.” Mirrie stopped and caught at his other hand. “Tris, let us not speak of this now. Esme is safe under the protection of your parents. No harm can come to her. Ignore my misgivings.”

“I am your husband. I shall never ignore your misgivings.”

His sincerity made her smile. “And that is only right.”

But Tristan was still frowning. “Mirrie, I know you to be wise in matters of the heart. And sensitive to the moods and actions of others. If you truly think that Esme is courting some disaster, please do tell me.”

“Not disaster.” She looked out at the sea for inspiration. “Only innocent mischief, mayhap. Esme is a woman determined to follow her heart wherever it leads her. After all I have learned these last months, I can only admire her pursuit of happiness.”

Tristan seemed unconvinced, but Mirrie had not brought him here to talk of his sister.

“You know better than I how the mighty de Nevilles can quickly turn any situation to their advantage,” she added, lightly. “And dear Esme has that ability in abundance.”

“I cannot deny it.” He brushed his thumb across her cheek. “What she lacks is prudence and a clear grasp of consequence.”

“Ah, but she has me for that.”

“What would any of us do without you?” He dropped his lips to her forehead, sending pinpoints of awareness prickling through her.

Was it only last summer they had stood almost in this exact spot and first professed their love for one another? Though the occasion had ended in heartbreak, she still treasured the memories of each twist and turn on their journey to happiness.

“I oft wonder, to be sure,” she said with mock primness, before twirling around and settling herself on the shingle beach. As Tristan raised a surprised eyebrow, she stuck out an ankle and rotated it. “I have a job for you, husband.”

He hid his smile in a low bow. “I await your orders.”

She leaned back on her hands. “Remove my boots.”

His shadow blocked the sun as he dropped to his knees and carefully, efficiently, removed first one boot and then the other. Mirrie had deliberately not worn stockings this morn. She dug her toes into the damp shingle and felt the cool relief of it.

“What now?” he asked, his voice raspy and deep.

“Help me up.” She held out her hand and allowed him to raise her up again. His hands caught at her waist and she knew that if she wanted to do this, she must do it now.

In another minute, Lord Tristan de Neville would chase all rational thoughts from her mind.

“That is all, thank you,” she said, waving her hand in dismissal and walking away from him, towards the gentle sea.

“Where are you going?” he called after her.

She turned with a smile, opening her arms wide. “To bathe.”

She stepped into the shallows without hesitating, closing her eyes in exhilaration as cold water chased around her calves.

Gulls cried overhead and the sun shone down like a blessing.

She took another step and lurched downwards as the shore dipped away.

Her tunic was soaked now. There was naught for it but to stretch out her limbs and let the waves wash over her.

A whoop from behind alerted her to Tristan, who had pulled off his shirt and was plunging in beside her. Foam splashed up as he dove beneath the surface, emerging seconds later to shake himself dry. Droplets of water clung to his bronzed skin and his smile was wicked as he reached for Mirrie.

“What a clever idea,” he murmured, sinking down to his knees and grasping her waist.

“I thought so.”

He kissed her softly, tasting of salt. “But you should have removed this.” He tugged at her sodden tunic.

“Why, Tristan.” She widened her eyes in mock horror. “Someone might see.”

“Then let us stay beneath the cover of the water.” He pulled her towards him. “Where I can keep you all to myself.”

They had been married six months, but that time had done naught to dull the fire between them.

Mirrie thought there would never come a day when she did not melt at his touch or the whisper of his lips on hers.

Soon the heat from their bodies mingled with the gentle tug of the tides, and her cries of pleasure joined the calls of the gulls high overhead.

“There is something I must tell you,” she said, when they had both caught their breath. Waves ran up and over Tristan’s muscular body. He laid back in the shallows and smiled up at her.

“What is it?”

She caught his hand in hers. “I am with child.”

He sat up in a rush, water sluicing from his hair and shoulders. “Truly?”

She nodded. “Is this happy news?”

“How could it be anything but?” He held her shoulders and gazed at her reverently. “I am the luckiest soul in all the land.”

Mirrie wrapped her arms about him and pressed her lips to his. She would not tell him he was wrong. But she knew that in all of England, there was not one person, man or woman, who was luckier or happier than she.

THE END