Mirrie stifled a gasp when she realized that Tristan had rolled onto his side and was now mere inches away from her. He idly plucked a strand of grass from beyond the edge of the rug and let it fall through his long fingers.
“You thanked me most effusively last night.”
“Ah, but I was far from being at my most eloquent, given that I had imbibed more wine than was good for me last night.” He threw her a radiant smile. “And yet, while my words might have been clumsy, I am grateful for the wine, for I likely would ne’er have conceived such an audacious plan if I were not well into my cups.”
Mirrie inclined her head. Now would be the time to claim that she had also imbibed too much strong wine yesterday evening. For why else would she have agreed to it?
But in truth, she had not overindulged. Well, not in wine. Given in to Tristan’s whims—for the reward of his smile—had always been an indulgence of hers.
“You do not need to keep thanking me,” she said primly. “I understand the situation well enough.”
Tristan rolled back onto his back, with his hands behind his head. He was utterly relaxed, whilst Mirrie had never been so entirely aware of everything. The rise and fall of his muscular chest beneath the exquisite embroidery on his tunic. The sweep of his golden hair across his brow. The fact that his elbow brushed against her skirts.
“I am glad to hear it, for I begin to think that I do not understand anything at all.” Tristan twisted his head to look at her properly. “I thought only of my own happiness in persuading you to agree to this ruse.”
Mirrie’s heart began to gallop beneath her kirtle. “That is not true. You reminded me, quite fairly, of how I used to enjoy the Wolvesley balls.”
Tristan pursed his lips. “Much as I would like to take credit, I believe it was Esme who recalled your fondness for dancing.”
Mirrie hugged her knees. “Well, it was true, either way.”
“You are kind and beautiful and we would all be lost without you.”
His voice was a soft murmur, his words were like a caress. She could hardly believe she had heard him correctly.
Whilst she floundered for a response, Tristan propped himself onto an elbow so his face hovered just inches away from hers.
“Mayhap you will find a husband during your stay in Wolvesley.”
Her mouth opened and closed like a fish. “That is not my intention at all.”
“Why ever not?”
“Because I do not wish to marry.” She was becoming unaccountably hot. A burst of laughter from the nearby guards only increased her embarrassment. “That is, after all, why Frida and myself left Wolvesley for Ember Hall.”
“Ah, but Frida married Callum soon after that.”
“Aye, but that was hardly her plan at the time. And besides, my own resolution still stands.”
Surely he could hear how her heart pounded against her ribs?
Still leaning unbearably close, Tristan’s mouth twitched. “That is a shame…”
Time stood still. Mirrie’s eyes widened at the crazy, wonderful idea that he might be about to kiss her.
“…for all of the eligible young men at Mother’s Midsummer Ball,” he concluded, raising himself up to a sitting position and shading his eyes from the sun. “We should get going if we want to arrive home before dark.”
Mirrie felt as if she had been doused with cold water. Dumbly, she accepted his hand as he pulled her to her feet.
“Do not forget what I said, Mirrie.” He took her elbow in a friendly way as they walked towards the horses. “You would make someone a wonderful wife.”
Mirrie couldn’t stand much more of this.
She pulled her elbow away and fixed him with her best attempt at a stern stare. “Tristan, do shut up. You are becoming a bore.”
He was still chuckling as they mounted their horses and resumed their long journey to Wolvesley Castle.
Chapter Five
