Chapter Twenty
He knew whatshe would say in response.
“’Twould not be proper, Tristan.”
So when instead she nodded slowly, surprise caused his heart to still.
“I was thinking the very same thing. The water is so soothing,” she said, closing her hazel eyes once more, her face upturned towards the sun.
Tristan was nonplussed. He put his hands on his hips and watched the waves running up the shore. He stood a few paces diagonally behind her, still attired in his work boots and breeches. He had pulled on his shirt before following her to the cove, though he had left it unbuttoned. A warm breeze buffeted his bare chest, sending whispers of temptation through his body.
But he had come to Ember Hall to talk to Mirrie, not to tease her. Nor to resurrect the awkwardness that had almost brought their cherished friendship to an end. He kept his distance for he dared not touch her. One touch could cause his physical longings to rise up once again and overwhelm his rational self.
Making him the fool she thought him, rather than the worthy man he sought to be.
“I owe you an apology,” he said.
She did not react, not even with a flicker of emotion. She stood like a woman frozen in time, her simple smock floating out around her calves, her beautiful hair cascading down her back in a loose plait that cried out to be released. Tendrils had escapedto frame her heart-shaped face, flushed from the sun and her hard work in the fields. He had scarce believed it when Callum pointed him towards Mirrie: a woman wielding a pitchfork with all the skill and dexterity of a young man.
But then, Tristan had always had faith in Mirrie’s abilities. She was stronger, braver and more capable than she realised.
Although, he could not accuse her of short-sightedness. Not when he had failed to see what had been right before his eyes, ever since their youth.
“I should not have let you leave Wolvesley without saying goodbye.”
She gave the slightest shrug of her slender shoulders.
“I should not have let you leave at all,” he amended.
She turned towards him now. “You do not own me, Tristan. I can leave a place without your permission.” Her eyes skittered over his face, leaving him almost breathless.
He paused to choose his words more carefully. “I only meant that we should not have parted with so much left unsaid between us.”
Her gaze lifted over his shoulders, focusing on the granite cliffs at the edge of the beach. “I am sorry for what I left unsaid. You infuriate me, it’s true. But when all’s said and done, there is no one I trust more.” She sighed. “I have always had faith in you.”
“You have?” His eyebrows climbed beneath his hair.
“Of course. You are a loving son and brother, as well as a mighty warrior. And a peacemaker to boot.”
He was both humbled and surprised by her words. But whereas once he might have made light of her praise, now he was driven to express himself with sincerity.
“Your opinion matters to me, Mirrie. It matters a great deal.”
Her gaze clashed with his, honest and unflinching. “You must know by now how I feel.”
“How must I?” He took a step closer, against all his better judgement, as if he was drawn by a magnet. When she flinched away, he reached out his hand and softly touched the side of her face. “Tell me, Mirrie. How can I know this, when you are so eager to discount any tenderness you felt for me in the past—and point out my shortcomings in the present?”
Nay, he should not have touched her. Now he wanted more. But he forced his arm to drop. To stand apart from her and not reach out again.
“Perchance I am aware of your shortcomings, simply because I am aware of you, Tristan. All of you. Good and bad.”
God’s blood, his mother was right; he could see it now. Mirrie loved him. Not because he was heir to the Earl of Wolvesley. Nor for his wealth, not even for his reputation as a knight of the realm. She lovedhim. Faults and all.
The realisation made him breathless; ’twas a gift he was not sure he deserved.
But one thing he knew for sure. He would not allow it to slip through his fingers.
“As I am aware of you?” he said, closing the gap between them and slowly, carefully, placing his hands about her waist. He stood directly behind her, holding her as gently as if she was made of spun glass. He wanted her to lean against him, so he could wrap his arms about her and drop kisses on the exposed nape of her neck. But he would not, could not move. Not until she gave her permission.
