Page 96 of The Lord's Reluctant Lady
“What would any of us do without you?” He dropped his lips to her forehead, sending pinpoints of awareness prickling through her.
Was it only last summer they had stood almost in this exact spot and first professed their love for one another? Though the occasion had ended in heartbreak, she still treasured the memories of each twist and turn on their journey to happiness.
“I oft wonder, to be sure,” she said with mock primness, before twirling around and settling herself on the shingle beach. As Tristan raised a surprised eyebrow, she stuck out an ankle and rotated it. “I have a job for you, husband.”
He hid his smile in a low bow. “I await your orders.”
She leaned back on her hands. “Remove my boots.”
His shadow blocked the sun as he dropped to his knees and carefully, efficiently, removed first one boot and then the other. Mirrie had deliberately not worn stockings this morn. She dug her toes into the damp shingle and felt the cool relief of it.
“What now?” he asked, his voice raspy and deep.
“Help me up.” She held out her hand and allowed him to raise her up again. His hands caught at her waist and she knew that if she wanted to do this, she must do it now.
In another minute, Lord Tristan de Neville would chase all rational thoughts from her mind.
“That is all, thank you,” she said, waving her hand in dismissal and walking away from him, towards the gentle sea.
“Where are you going?” he called after her.
She turned with a smile, opening her arms wide. “To bathe.”
She stepped into the shallows without hesitating, closing her eyes in exhilaration as cold water chased around her calves. Gulls cried overhead and the sun shone down like a blessing. She took another step and lurched downwards as the shore dipped away. Her tunic was soaked now. There was naught for it but to stretch out her limbs and let the waves wash over her.
A whoop from behind alerted her to Tristan, who had pulled off his shirt and was plunging in beside her. Foam splashed up as he dove beneath the surface, emerging seconds later to shake himself dry. Droplets of water clung to his bronzed skin and his smile was wicked as he reached for Mirrie.
“What a clever idea,” he murmured, sinking down to his knees and grasping her waist.
“I thought so.”
He kissed her softly, tasting of salt. “But you should have removed this.” He tugged at her sodden tunic.
“Why, Tristan.” She widened her eyes in mock horror. “Someone might see.”
“Then let us stay beneath the cover of the water.” He pulled her towards him. “Where I can keep you all to myself.”
They had been married six months, but that time had done naught to dull the fire between them. Mirrie thought there would never come a day when she did not melt at his touch or the whisper of his lips on hers. Soon the heat from their bodies mingled with the gentle tug of the tides, and her cries of pleasure joined the calls of the gulls high overhead.
“There is something I must tell you,” she said, when they had both caught their breath. Waves ran up and over Tristan’s muscular body. He laid back in the shallows and smiled up at her.
“What is it?”
She caught his hand in hers. “I am with child.”
He sat up in a rush, water sluicing from his hair and shoulders. “Truly?”
She nodded. “Is this happy news?”
“How could it be anything but?” He held her shoulders and gazed at her reverently. “I am the luckiest soul in all the land.”
Mirrie wrapped her arms about him and pressed her lips to his. She would not tell him he was wrong. But she knew that in all of England, there was not one person, man or woman, who was luckier or happier than she.
THE END
