Mirrie’s gaze held him steady. “Why not?”
“Because of you.” ’Twas a relief to say it. “Because of you dear, sweet Mirrie. You are all I can think of now.”
It no longer mattered that she had allowed another man to pay court to her. He cared naught for Mr David Bryce, physician. All that mattered was that he speak the truth of his heart.
But with her parted lips hovering inches from his own, Tristan would have had to be a saint to resist leaning in for a kiss. And Tristan had ne’er pretended to be a saint.
Placing one hand firmly behind her head, he leaned closer and claimed her mouth with his own. As before, the rightness of it flooded his senses. Mirrie moved against him, causing new flames of desire to ignite inside his belly. She smelled of lavender and something wild and sweet that he couldn’t place. He closed his eyes and allowed the sensation of their lips brushing against each other to take over. It was all he needed. All he wanted. Until the moment he felt her hands stealing around his shoulders, then he wanted more.
Tristan wrapped his free arm around her waist and pulled her closer, slanting his mouth against hers and delving deeper. With every stroke of his tongue, he felt her yielding, until she was heavy and languorous against him, half sitting on his lap. Her hips brushed against the hardness of his desire. He ran his hands down her sides, pausing briefly at the undersides of her breasts and he ached to explore them without her dress in the way.
But it would not do to undress a lady out here in the corridor.
He pulled back, with effort. His hands were still dancing over her body. “Shall we go inside your chamber?”
Mirrie looked at him. From her position, her head was almost on a level with his. He thought he could see through her beautiful eyes right into her soul.
So busy was he, looking into her eyes, that he did not see her hand coming towards him until it was too late. Mirrie delivered a stinging slap across his cheek, before struggling to her feet.
“What was that for?” he demanded, more surprised than angry.
Mirrie shook her head violently. “I cannot talk to you.” She lunged for the door.
“Oh yes, you damn well can.” He sprang to his feet with the reflexes of a trained warrior and slipped inside the door before she could slam it shut.
“What is this now?” She flung her hands, palms facing upwards, towards him. “Will you ravish me against my will?”
“Of course I will not.” He wanted to shout, but he forced himself to hiss the words instead, not wishing to cause her further embarrassment by risking them being overheard.
Mirrie’s eyes blazed. “You should not have followed me in here. But you care for no one but yourself and the immediate pleasure of the moment.”
He blinked, not understanding. His cheek stung. “I don’t know where I am with you, Mirrie. One moment you kiss me, as if you want me. The next you turn me away.”
“And you are not used to being turned away.”
For a moment her voice broke, and he thought her tears would be his final undoing. But then she straightened, staring him down with a type of hardened resolve he was more accustomed to seeing on a battlefield than in a woman’s eyes.
“That is the only reason you take such an interest in me, Tristan. Because I am perchance the only woman you have ever wanted, who you have not had.”
“God’s blood, Mirabel. How will we ever know what we could be, if you will not allow us to try?”
Mirrie put her hands on her hips. “And trying means us coming in here. Kissing. And more.” Her voice quavered. “Up there on the bed, where you will take your pleasure and leave me with a babe in my belly?”
“Nay.” Shocked, he moved towards her. “I would never do that.”
“‘Trying,’ to me, means conversation and getting to know one another, all over again. It means something finer and deeper than physical desire.” She tore her eyes from his and rubbed at her temples. “It means telling the truth.”
“Which is what I promised to do before we danced together.” Tristan took a breath, trying to calm his emotions.
“Right.” Mirrie nodded, as if she too were gathering her wits. “Shall I tell you something that is true, Tristan?”
“Please do.” He folded his arms and looked at her expectantly.
Mirrie sniffed and walked over to the window. All was dark beyond, but she made a show of looking out anyway. She shivered, despite the warmth of the evening, and he was about to search the chamber for a cloak or shawl, when she finally spoke up.
“It was true, what Jonah said back at Ember Hall,” she said, dully, turning to face him.
“Jonah?” Tristan’s eyebrows shot upwards. ’Twas the last name he wanted to hear. “What does he have to do with this?”
