Tristan shook his head. “That’s the reward. Mountaineering is frostbite and shoe failures. It’s losing toenails and being hungry. It’s the cold, the wet, the smell of wool rotting while you wear it. It isn’t glamorous. Mountaineering is the single most hard-headed, idiotic thing a person can do, short of wrapping oneself in raw steaks and parading into the London Zoo to see a tiger.”
“But this is miserable,” Eleanor exclaimed.
Tristan laid himself out on his side, as if he were at a Hyde Park picnic in the height of summer. “The question is, is the pain worth the reward? Only you can answer that.” He gazed up at her, his blue eyes full of questions and calm that took her by surprise.
He was asking her about more than the mountains, she knew that. Was the mountain worth the swollen ankle? Was love worth the inconveniences, the sacrifices?
Without meaning to, Eleanor slipped into the worst-case thoughts. What if she and Tristan didn’t suit? What if he resented her? What if she resented him? What if they died on this mountain tonight, and there was no point in asking these questions at all?
“People die mountaineering,” Eleanor said.
Tristan nodded, picking at the packet of dried fruit. “Constantly. Ask Lord Francis Douglas. It’s a risk.”
“Do you think we’ll die tonight?” Her voice came out as a whisper. The exhaustion she’d felt earlier returned, and tears welled in her eyes. Her ankle hurt, her back felt bruised, and she was so tired. She didn’t know how she’d get down the mountain tomorrow any more than she knew how to get down the mountain today.
In a flash, Tristan was up, sitting next to her, his arm around her. “As my nanny said, ‘Whisht now, child.’ We’re going to make it. We are.”
Eleanor hiccupped as she agreed with him, but tears came flooding out of her. Tristan folded her into his chest, rocking her slightly, cooing at her. It was the best thing she’d felt in ages. She leaned fully into him, letting her body melt. She couldn’t hold herself apart any longer. It was too taxing. All of it was too much.
“We will be fine,” Tristan said. “And I’m not just saying that.”
“Why would anyone just say that?” Eleanor asked tearfully, hoping to rein in her childish weeping. But it was dreadfully wonderful to be encased in his arms.
“To make you stop crying.” Tristan tightened his embrace. “It’s bloody unnerving.”
“But—” Eleanor sniffed and sighed. “But if I stop crying, you’ll stop holding me. And I need you.” She could feel the shift in his body as he realized it.
“Let’s make a deal, you and I. You stop crying, and I won’t let go until you tell me to.”
She heard his voice rumble through his chest as much as she heard it in her ears. “Deal.”
“Good,” he said, and his approval did strange things to her.
Her weeping ceased, yes, but she was painfully aware of his hands on her back, fingers splayed wide. They breathed in andout, Eleanor’s ears straining to listen for something that she couldn’t name.
“May I ask you a question?” Eleanor was bolder when she didn’t have to look him in the face. Instead, tucked against his chest, she looked at the woolen fibers of his sweater. His coat was hung behind them, next to hers.
“Of course.”
“Did you really think we’d suit, or did you only want me off the expedition, and that was the easiest way?” Again his body shifted, tensing against her words.
“Eleanor. I neverwantedyou off the expedition. It was a condition to be with you. And honestly, the first time we’d met, you told me you didn’t want to climb a mountain, so I thought I was doing you a favor.”
“But didn’t you see how hard I was working at Berringbone? How much I tried?” Eleanor sat up now, looking him square in the face. “I even told you how much I wanted to get to the top of this sodding volcano.”
“I saw it. And I didn’t know if you enjoyed working so hard. Like I said earlier, mountaineering is about endurance and pain and cold and inconvenience.” He searched her eyes. “I wanted to be with you, and I did whatever it took to make that happen.”
It was Eleanor’s turn to scan his features, to see what his cracks and fissures lay. “You were willing to letmemake the sacrifice for us to be together. That’s not terribly convincing.”
Tristan slid his hands to her elbows, letting her go and letting the cool air brush against her. “I did not think it through.”
“Is that all you’re going to give me for the last month’s worth of agony?” Eleanor didn’t know if it was the whisky or the exhaustion or the feeling of his hands on her, but she was unwilling to let him not acknowledge what had happened between them.
“As if I had a bloody smile on my face this last month. Seeing you was torture.”
“Tristan Bridewell, my goodness.” Eleanor pulled away completely, folding her arms over her chest.
“I have the bewildering feeling of disappointing my nanny. What?” His face was different now, gone was the open expression of moments ago.
