“I didn’t.” His voice still carried a trace of amusement, for his mind had not yet managed to join the dots of Mirrie’s displeasure. “I only found it last winter.” He put his hands on his hips and watched as she made a pretence of gazing from the window. “Did you carve our initials into your desk?”
She shook her head, so vigorously he thought he must be true.
“Who could have done it then?” He walked closer to her and leaned with elaborate casualness against the plastered wall.
“Jonah.” She refused to meet his eye.
“Jonah?” This he had not expected. “Why?” He frowned with confusion.
Mirrie made another sound of exasperation. “Because he was teasing me, much as you are now. Both of you should know better. Especially you, Tristan, given we left the school room many summers since.”
“Teasing you about what?” He was genuinely perplexed.
Mirrie stared at the floor until he began to think that she would not answer. But when she finally looked up, her eyes flashed with a new determination.
“Do you really not know?”
“I really don’t.” But oh, how he wanted to. He’d thought the initials might have been carved by Mirrie in some fit of childish fancy. But this seemed far more interesting.
Mirrie took a breath. “When I was younger, I held you in…some high esteem.” Her eyes darted to his. “For a brief time.”
“Held me in high esteem?” A smile curved about his lips. “Why Mirrie, do you mean—?”
“I might have believed myself a little bit in love with you.” She stood with her arms and back straight, as if facing the dock.
The smile almost split his face in two. “Well, I never.” He chuckled. “And Jonah knew this?”
She nodded grimly, her face resolute. “Frida too.”
Tristan was enjoying himself immensely. “How come I never knew?”
Mirrie sighed, an unreadable emotion passing behind her eyes. “Because you rarely see what is right in front of you.”
Far below them, an outer door slammed and a servant whistled as he went about his work. Mirrie and Tristan stood silently in the slanting sunlight, their eyes fixed on one another.
For a moment, Tristan felt unsteady on his feet, as if he stood on board a ship which rolled precariously upon the waves. Then the ship steadied, and ’twas as if the clouds parted and he basked in warmth, able to plot an onward course after so long wandering in the mists.
“Well, I see you now, Mirrie,” he whispered.
Chapter Thirteen
She knew whatwas about to happen, but she felt powerless to stop it.
In that moment, she didn’t even want to stop it.
With one swift step, Tristan came to stand before her, placed his warm hands on either side of her face, and pressed his lips to hers.
His kiss was soft at first, but when she didn’t pull away, he stroked one palm down the length of her spine and drew her closer, simultaneously increasing the pressure of his kiss. Mirrie was lost to the sensation of his hands holding her firmly and his mouth angled against her. Tristan’s body was a wall of muscle, but his touch was gentle, easing away any tension inside her. Unable to help herself, she ran her hands up and over his broad shoulders. That seemed all the invitation he needed to brush the tip of his tongue against hers. Desire fizzed in her belly, making her feel both heavier and more alive than she had ever been before.
It was good and right to stand in the circle of his arms, safe from any storm. She raised herself on her tiptoes to press even closer, and Tristan made a noise at the back of his throat as his grip on her tightened.
That was when she came to her senses.
It took a massive effort of will to pull away from him. She staggered backwards, her breathing ragged and uneven.
“We mustn’t,” she said.
She didn’t want to look at him, but her eyes moved upwards as if of their own accord. Tristan’s bronzed face was flushed, his blue eyes dark with wanting. It was the first time she had ever seen him like this—as a man caught up in desire. The sight was powerfully arousing, but also a little frightening. She didn’t know this version of him. But then he took a breath and the old Tristan returned.
