her wrist, but it
was the weakness in her thighs that stood out, that reminded her that last night she’d sailed off the edge of the map. The
waters here were deep, filled with hidden shoals… teeming with dragons.
The previous evening’s misadventure left her with no illusions. She had attempted to claim the reins and failed. Lord Leonidas
had emerged the victor in that particular struggle for power—utterly, completely, delightfully. All that was required now
was her complete surrender. But allowing herself to succumb to pleasure, to simply receive, to take was inadvisable and dangerous.
Not to mention utterly infuriating, just like the man himself.
“Rapunzel, let down your golden hair!”
Viola nearly fell from her perch as Leo’s voice startled her. He was mounted on his blood bay, the horse’s front hooves firmly
in the water. Pen gamboled about them, splashing, whining with excitement.
“Alas, my lord, my hair is red. Not at all the proper color for a princess.”
“Nay.” He smiled up at her, the shadow of his hat hiding the bruise she knew ringed one eye. “ ’Tis gold, with flame running
beneath it, just as a princess’s hair should be.”
A smile tugged at her lips. She caught her lower lipbetween her teeth to hide her grin. Her hair was red, no denying it, though she’d escaped the plague of freckles that so often
accompanied such coloring.
He urged his mount forward and abandoned it to crop grass at the base of the tower. Her pulse surged. Lust, ripe and heady,
washed through her. Try as she might, she was no more composed today than she had been last night.
Mere moments after he’d disappeared from view, he was pushing in beside her, crowding her, hip balanced against the top of
the wall. Did he do it on purpose? Was he even aware that he always dominated a space in such a manner?
“I see you’ve found my Tintagel,” he said, one hand reaching into her hair. He gently pulled a leaf free and stood turning
it in his fingers.
“Your what?”
Leo chuckled, the sound rumbling through her. “My Tintagel. My Tower of London. Occasionally even my Nottingham Castle.” He
turned and sat beside her, gazing out over the field and stream. “No, to be truthful, it was my brother’s Nottingham.”
“Did your father build it here for you?”
“No, my grandfather built it for my grandmother, but she shared it with us, along with stories of King Arthur, Robin Hood,
Cú Chulainn—all the myths and legends that Father and Mother eschewed in favor of truth and history.”
“But the stories are so much more satisfying, aren’t they?”
Leo nodded, still playing with the leaf. “More happy endings anyway. Good wins over evil. Right triumphs inthe end…” His voice trailed off, and he tossed the leaf over the edge.
Viola watched the leaf spiral down until it disappeared into the climbing roses that girded the tower’s base. “It’s a beautiful
folly. It must have taken quite an effort to create it.”
He ground a weed under the toe of his boot. “It’s a miniature version of the ruins of Kirby Muxloe. Grandmother loved the
place. It’s only a few miles off. I should take you to see it. We could ride over tomorrow if the weather stays fine.”
“I don’t ride.”
Leo shook his head, a smile growing on his face. “Honestly?”
Viola shook her head and shrugged one shoulder, wishing madly that she did ride. “This is the first time I’ve ever been to
a country estate. Not much call to ride in town.”
“You can’t always have lived in London?” He looked shocked. As though he couldn’t fathom the idea of being born and bred in
a city.
“No, but I’ve never lived in the country. A sedan chair is a simpler, and cheaper, option regardless of what city one is in.”
“Not ride.” He turned the concept over, his brows drawn up in disbelief. His eyes took on a familiar spark of devilment. “Well,
that will have to be fixed, and what
was the weakness in her thighs that stood out, that reminded her that last night she’d sailed off the edge of the map. The
waters here were deep, filled with hidden shoals… teeming with dragons.
The previous evening’s misadventure left her with no illusions. She had attempted to claim the reins and failed. Lord Leonidas
had emerged the victor in that particular struggle for power—utterly, completely, delightfully. All that was required now
was her complete surrender. But allowing herself to succumb to pleasure, to simply receive, to take was inadvisable and dangerous.
Not to mention utterly infuriating, just like the man himself.
“Rapunzel, let down your golden hair!”
Viola nearly fell from her perch as Leo’s voice startled her. He was mounted on his blood bay, the horse’s front hooves firmly
in the water. Pen gamboled about them, splashing, whining with excitement.
“Alas, my lord, my hair is red. Not at all the proper color for a princess.”
“Nay.” He smiled up at her, the shadow of his hat hiding the bruise she knew ringed one eye. “ ’Tis gold, with flame running
beneath it, just as a princess’s hair should be.”
A smile tugged at her lips. She caught her lower lipbetween her teeth to hide her grin. Her hair was red, no denying it, though she’d escaped the plague of freckles that so often
accompanied such coloring.
He urged his mount forward and abandoned it to crop grass at the base of the tower. Her pulse surged. Lust, ripe and heady,
washed through her. Try as she might, she was no more composed today than she had been last night.
Mere moments after he’d disappeared from view, he was pushing in beside her, crowding her, hip balanced against the top of
the wall. Did he do it on purpose? Was he even aware that he always dominated a space in such a manner?
“I see you’ve found my Tintagel,” he said, one hand reaching into her hair. He gently pulled a leaf free and stood turning
it in his fingers.
“Your what?”
Leo chuckled, the sound rumbling through her. “My Tintagel. My Tower of London. Occasionally even my Nottingham Castle.” He
turned and sat beside her, gazing out over the field and stream. “No, to be truthful, it was my brother’s Nottingham.”
“Did your father build it here for you?”
“No, my grandfather built it for my grandmother, but she shared it with us, along with stories of King Arthur, Robin Hood,
Cú Chulainn—all the myths and legends that Father and Mother eschewed in favor of truth and history.”
“But the stories are so much more satisfying, aren’t they?”
Leo nodded, still playing with the leaf. “More happy endings anyway. Good wins over evil. Right triumphs inthe end…” His voice trailed off, and he tossed the leaf over the edge.
Viola watched the leaf spiral down until it disappeared into the climbing roses that girded the tower’s base. “It’s a beautiful
folly. It must have taken quite an effort to create it.”
He ground a weed under the toe of his boot. “It’s a miniature version of the ruins of Kirby Muxloe. Grandmother loved the
place. It’s only a few miles off. I should take you to see it. We could ride over tomorrow if the weather stays fine.”
“I don’t ride.”
Leo shook his head, a smile growing on his face. “Honestly?”
Viola shook her head and shrugged one shoulder, wishing madly that she did ride. “This is the first time I’ve ever been to
a country estate. Not much call to ride in town.”
“You can’t always have lived in London?” He looked shocked. As though he couldn’t fathom the idea of being born and bred in
a city.
“No, but I’ve never lived in the country. A sedan chair is a simpler, and cheaper, option regardless of what city one is in.”
“Not ride.” He turned the concept over, his brows drawn up in disbelief. His eyes took on a familiar spark of devilment. “Well,
that will have to be fixed, and what
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