Page 4 of The Lord’s Reluctant Lady (Sisters of Ember Hall #2)

Merciful heaven, this was no way to steady her blushes.

“Allow me to ask again.” He leaned closer, making it well-nigh impossible for Mirrie to hold on to her composure.

Her heart beat so hard she thought her tightly-laced kirtle might snap open.

“Will you accompany me back to Wolvesley? Will you sit with me at dinner and allow everyone present to believe we are in love?”

Her throat went dry. Tristan’s face was so near she could make out the upwards sweep of his thick eyelashes.

A pulse beat at his neck, just above the edge of his tunic.

He was tanned from long days of riding in the sun.

If she allowed her eyes to travel further, she would see the hard lines of his powerful shoulders, dipping down into the arms she had always wanted to hold her.

“Will you dance with me at the midsummer ball?” he added, his voice low and gravelly.

“You always loved dancing at the Wolvesley balls,” Esme spoke up, as if this settled the matter.

And mayhap it did.

Aye, Mirrie had always loved dancing. And she had always loved Tristan.

Painfully, secretly, constantly. This was her chance to stand in the circle of his embrace.

The only chance she would ever have. How could she say no to that?

But then…how could she say yes? Her preference was for careful, considered decisions, not this rash choice now being foisted upon her.

Yet could she not break free of her self-imposed reserve, just this once?

“I will.” She nodded, unable to repress her smile at Tristan’s whoop of delight.

“Thank you.” He swung her into his arms, lifting her from the floor and spinning her around so her grey skirts flared around her calves. “You are my saviour.”

She would do well to remember that. She was his saviour, not his betrothed.

But she was still smiling when he settled her back down. Even more so when he bowed before her.

“We will leave at once.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, ’twould be dark long before you reached the Wolvesley road,” Frida pointed out.

“Damnation.” Tristan stamped his booted foot on the floor. “I am impatient to put this plan into action.”

“Clearly.” Frida raised an eyebrow and made a show of whispering in Mirrie’s ear. “Perchance my brother has been nursing a secret affection for you all these years.”

“I have ne’er made any secret of my affection for Mirrie.” Tristan slung an arm around both Mirrie and Frida and gave them a squeeze. His enthusiasm was the same now in the grown man as it had been since he was a mere lad. That boyish energy was something that Mirrie had always found so appealing.

Boyish energy. The sparkle in his blue eyes. The way his thick golden hair hung in waves to his broad shoulders. There were many things about Tristan de Neville that she found appealing.

All the things she had planned to put behind her when she first accompanied Frida to live at Ember Hall. When remaining at Wolvesley, so close to the man she adored, had grown too painful.

“We will leave at first light,” Tristan announced. “Unless that is too early? Will you have time to pack and prepare?” His blue gaze held her hypnotised.

Mirrie nodded, unable to look away. Unable to think properly whilst her heart pounded so. “I will have time.”

“I would need much longer than that,” Esme chipped in.

“And that is just one of the reasons why I have no wish to wed a woman like yourself,” Tristan declared. “Too much primping and preening and an obsession with gowns.”

Unperturbed, Esme blew him a kiss.

“We will miss you, Mirrie,” Frida said. Her beautiful face showed a trace of anxiety.

Guilt washed over Mirrie. They did not live in luxury at Ember Hall and every pair of hands was necessary. “I should have asked if I could be spared. There is the sheep-shearing ahead of us, and the stores to make ready for harvest.”

Frida waved away her concerns. “We can manage well enough with that.” She lowered her voice and turned them both towards the window, speaking so no one could easily overhear them. “’Tis your happiness I worry over.”

Mirrie swallowed. Had Frida discerned the depths of Mirrie’s feelings for Tristan?

“Life at Wolvesley Castle is so different to our life here,” Frida added softly. “Much will be asked of you. Are you prepared for it?”

Mirrie nodded hesitantly, still worried that Frida had perchance found out her secret. Her gaze drifted downwards and she gasped with awful realisation.

“You are approaching your lying in,” she breathed. “It is selfish of me to go.”

Frida inclined her head, eyes glinting. “I will have Esme here with me.” Her lips pressed together, repressing a chuckle. “What more could I need?”

“Oh, Frida.” Mirrie caught at her friend’s hands. “I should not leave you.”

“What’s this?” Tristan was striding towards them, long strides covering the wooden floor. “I trust you are not attempting to change Mirabel’s mind, sister.”

“Mirabel is more than capable of making up her own mind.” Frida attempted to shoo him away, without success.

Tristan folded his arms and regarded them both, bouncing a little on his toes. “Just this morn I was beset by woes, but now I am happy once again. And it is thanks to you.” He made another bow to Mirrie.

“It is thanks to Jonah,” she said drily, pleased with the steadiness of her voice.

“It is thanks to this beautiful home you have, where peace and love prevail and everything works out for the best.” Tristan gestured to the patchwork of fields outside, now darkening beneath the setting sun.

“How very romantic of you.” Frida could no longer hide her smile. “I believe you have mayhap imbibed too much wine, brother.”

“Methinks we are all a little guilty of that.” Callum joined them and claimed his wife with a kiss. “’Tis time to retire. My bed is calling.”

“I will come up as well.” Frida’s hand rested on her ripe belly. “’Tis tiring carrying this little one around all day.”

Mirrie’s earlier elation was swamped by a wave of sorrow. What she wouldn’t give for a loving husband and a baby on the way.

As Callum and Frida departed, Tristan once again took hold of her arm. “I mean it,” he whispered. “You have made me a very happy man.”

Mirrie tried to smile up at him, aware of Jonah’s all-seeing gaze from his usual position by the fireplace.

“As ever, I aim to please the de Nevilles,” she quipped, reaching for humour.

Something passed over Tristan’s face, making his expression oddly inscrutable. For a moment he drew her close; so close their breath mingled together.

“You could never do anything other than please us,” he stated, dropping a kiss on the top of her head before he abruptly turned to leave.

Brotherly affection, she told herself, wrapping her arms about her shoulders as she watched him stride from the great hall.

She must cling tightly to that undeniable truth in the days ahead.