“Is being unable to apologize bred into the nobility, or is that something you pick up at Eton?” Eleanor demanded.
“I went to Harrow, I’ll have you know,” Tristan said with a toss of his head.
“Is that for boys who are better or worse at evading personal responsibility?”
Tristan put his hands at his heart. “You wound me. I would have expected that sort of barb from our expedition team, not from you.”
Feeling pushed, she gave him a shove at his shoulders. He rocked back at her meager effort. “Because I’m tired, Tristan. I’m tired!”
“Of course you are, as am I.”
“It isn’t the mountain. It’s you.” Eleanor shoved him again, harder this time, and he rocked back even further, but stayed upright. “Why can you not even admit you were wrong? That you behaved poorly?”
“I did. I behaved poorly. I apologized, and I apologize again.” The words spun out as fast as he could say them, leaving them empty and incorporeal.
She shoved him again, tears once again springing, unwanted and unbidden. This time he fell to his back, unprepared. “That’s not good enough! You tried to rob me of my dreams. How dare you?”
He looked up. “I didn’t know this was a dream of yours, Eleanor.”
“So bloody apologize to me!” She whacked his arm with the back of her hand. She was not a violent person by nature, but she hadn’t been able to get his attention any other way.
He sighed and drew his legs up, resting his feet flat on the rocky floor. “You scare me, Eleanor.”
“I’m sorry,” she said automatically. As soon as the words escaped her, she hated herself for it. She didn’t want to apologize to him about anything, and without even thinking, she did so.
“Not your temper, though admittedly, that’s an eye-opener.” Tristan glanced over at her, then returned his gaze to the oilskin tarp that hung between them and the gray sky. “Eleanor Piper. I’ve thought about you daily, if not all day every day, since we met. I meant it when I said I thought of you naked, for how could I not? But I also thought of you dining with me. Dancing with me. Breaking your fast in the morning over the newspapers with me. I’ve thought about children, Eleanor. Children.”
Eleanor frowned. She was losing the thread. “What about children?”
“Eleanor. Please, this is hard for me. I’ve had affairs with women before, but I have never, and I mean absolutely never, thought about those women being the mothers of my children.”
She shook her head, not wanting to understand. The idea that he’d had affairs with women before made her stomach churn.
“But you? I’ve already picked out names, like I’m some kind of sodding family man. I’ve already decided that they’ll have your lovely multicolored brown locks, and my devastating blue eyes.”
“What?” Eleanor was confused.
Tristan sat up and took her hands. “Eleanor, I love you. I’m sorry I hurt you. I want us to be together so badly that I’m willing to name our firstborn after your father.”
Eleanor couldn’t bring herself to say anything. Everything he said was perfect, and she couldn’t imagine anyone ever wanting her badly enough to say these things.
“If it’s a girl…?”
Tristan grinned at her. “Even if it’s a girl. Maybe especially if it’s a girl. Wouldn’t it be hilarious to have a pig-tailed little thing skipping ’round the house and calling after her, ‘Bruce, Bruce, darling?’”
“You’re trying to make me laugh.” Eleanor warned.
“I am. Is it working?” Tristan asked.
“I’m not done being angry.”
“Absolutely fine. In the meantime, may I still call you Eleanor? Perhaps El. Ellie. What should I call you? Darling? Sweeting? Devastating Goddess of My Erotic Dreams?”
“That last one sounds a bit long.” There were a few silent moments where he looked at her expectantly. She had to get out her anger or she’d never feel good about herself. “You left the house and didn’t speak to me after I protested that I didn’t want to be kicked off the expedition. If it was such a big misunderstanding on my part, why did you sulk so dreadfully?”
Tristan dropped his head, his shaggy and unkempt golden hair flopping into his face. “That. Yes. Rather poor sportsmanship on my part. It is rather a kick in the arse to be told that a cold, desolate mountain is better than being married to me.”
“We were only talking about courtship then.”
