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 youaremy 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?”
