Tristan picked at the knot, until he snatched away his finger. “Bloody hell!”
“Did you bend back your fingernail?” Eleanor asked, stepping closer.
Tristan popped the offended digit in his mouth, biting down on his nail. “Felt like the whole bloody thing would pop off.”
Eleanor clucked in sympathy, ignoring his curses. Nothing she hadn’t heard from Mr. Smythe or her father. She knew the feeling. “May I? I have a pricker.”
His eyes looked like they might pop out of his head. “A what?”
Eleanor tried not to blush as she produced the small metal spike with a beautiful wooden handle. “It’s a sailor’s tool to help untie difficult knots.”
Tristan handed over the rope, the size of a crabapple. Because the heavy rope stretched end to end on the staircase, she couldn’t move far from where he stood. Besides, he was still tied in, and she worked the knot in the rope in the place in front of him. He loomed over her as she picked at Justine’s sloppy, mess of a figure eight. She worked gently, giving slack at one end.
“You have a great deal to teach us, don’t you?” He seated himself on the step, so that their heads were almost at a level, as she stood on the step below.
She shrugged. “Only what is useful. And I’m still learning what that is in these situations.” Glancing up from the knot, she realized she had licked her lips. She hadn’t meant to; it justhappened. He seemed to be looking right at them. “This doesn’t feel real.”
His eyes seemed transfixed. “No,” he said softly.
She swallowed and went back to the knot. “I know knots that are strong, knots that are flexible, knots that can haul a great deal of weight—oh!” Suddenly the knot popped free. She slid the rope out of its hold and pocketed her pricker. “There it is.”
He stood quickly, the rope slithering down the polished wood stair with a distinctive hiss. “Watch out,” he warned, grabbing at the top end.
The movement sent her backwards, off-balance. Instinctively, she pulled at the rope in her hand, which was still wrapped around Tristan.
Afraid she would tumble backwards and hit her head, she pitched forwards, falling onto him, as the rope cinched behind his ankles. With a shout, he fell on his bottom, pulling her down with him.
They slid down the stairs, Eleanor scrambled for purchase, but couldn’t stop the fall. They landed on the floor with a thud.
“Oof.” Tristan moaned.
Eleanor blinked, trying to get her bearings. Her ankles were tangled in rope. She was gripping the deep V of Tristan’s waistcoat. Her teeth felt like they might rattle out of her head. Wincing, she lifted her head to look at Tristan. He was so very close to her. His chest was very firm under her, and she realized his arm now snaked around her waist, his hand resting on her hip.
“How are you faring?” Tristan asked, letting his head rest on the stair behind him.
“I—” How was she supposed to speak when she could smell him? A tinge of horse, a bit of pine, definitely the earthy hemp—
“That good, eh?”
She ran her tongue over her teeth to make sure they were all still firmly in her mouth. The action drew his attention, and she felt a new heaviness. She did not want to stand. “You’re quite the ride.”
Tristan’s mouth opened and closed.
Then she realized what she’d said, and blushed furiously. “I mean because of how that happened, and the falling, and...” His hand bunched the skirt fabric at her hip, catching some of her skin. It was so absurd. All of this was absurd. She burst out laughing. She covered her mouth, leaning more of her weight on him.
A moment later he joined her. He moved his hand off her hip, which left that area feeling surprisingly cold. “I’m so glad you are on my safety team,” he said between chuckles.
“We are the experts,” she said, her smile so wide it hurt her cheeks.
If she hadn’t been half in love with him before, how was she supposed to not be now?
“What is taking so long?” called Ophelia from the drawing room. She let out a frustrated huff. “Get in here, Tristan! Stop flirting with Eleanor. We have plans to make!”
*
The days spedby in a flurry of mundane activities. Or at least, it seemed that way to Tristan. Ophelia bemoaned the slowness of the days until they reached Berringbone Hold, their family’s ancestral seat, which was nothing more elaborate than a pile of stones. It was once the site of a town and a Roman fortress that became a Norman fortress, but ever since that fateful plague centuries ago, no one had bothered to return to it. Not even an abbey or a hut had graced Berringbone Hold in the intervening centuries. But it belonged to the family, and more importantly,to Herringbone’s honorary title, and it was an ideal place for the Ladies’ Alpine Society and friends to hone their outdoor skills even further.
Tristan was in a daze, and he knew it, as his sloppy grin had been ridiculed at the card tables around town. Blakely had openly mocked him, but he didn’t care. He was going to climb a mountain! They would change the face of climbing! And all with Miss Eleanor Piper gazing up at him with those liquid brown eyes that made him go soft in the head and hard everywhere else.
