opposite direction, Leigh heard the familiar hoofbeats and turned to see the mare and colt racing toward her. With a low laugh, she opened her arms to them.
In the cool shadows of the copse where Leigh thought she had seen a movement, a lone rider had sat watching the woodland nymphs. A slight smile of pleasure had softened his lean, sun-bronzed face as he gazed upon the romantic scene of three lovely young women bathing with seductive innocence in the cool waters of a gently murmuring stream.
The rider had watched them for some time, unwilling to disturb their idyll, or forfeit so rare a privilege of viewing the three beauties without their knowledge. He had come upon them in the act of disrobing, his keen eye not having missed the pails of blackberries in the cart. On so warm a summer’s day, and after so arduous a task, it had seemed only natural to wish to take a refreshing dip in the stream—which had been his intention when spying the stream from across the meadow. But he had put aside his own wishes and, with considerable patience and pleasure, had enjoyed their childish pranks in the stream, their ladylike decorum forgotten as they frolicked on a midsummer’s afternoon.
It was apparent by her actions that the fairest of the young women had aspirations of becoming a great lady. Affected and indolent, she was the perfect image of the pampered lady of the manor, her every wish or whim instantly gratified. He had laughed softly when the dark-haired one had placed the frog in her hand. The little dark-haired one, still more girl child than woman, seemed determined to cause mischief. He had noticed a defiance in her actions—as if she sensed this would be her last summer of innocence and was rebelling against leaving the carefree world of childhood.
The rider’s gaze narrowed as one of the young women stepped from the shade. She had been the one who had caught his interest the most. He was surprised that she held such a fascination for him. But there had been something so elusive about the way she moved, the water hardly rippling around her as she’d walked from the stream. There was a natural grace and beauty about her, nothing affected or calculated to attract. And her smile seemed to come as quickly as her laugh, even when seeing to the needs of her spoiled mistress, on whom she waited hand and foot.
As she stood there staring out at the meadow, she began to brush her long hair. The man felt a warm stirring in his loins as he watched the slow, rhythmic movements of the brush through the silky strands. How far more seductive a woman was when half-dressed, with the glory of her hair unbound, he thought, than when dressed in her finest silk gown, her hair confined in tight curls atop her head. And as he continued to watch her, he felt the strange enchantment of the moment and knew it would never be enough just to gaze upon this young woman’s beauty from afar. There was a warmth about her that drew him to her as surely as a moth to a flame, and he wanted to feel the sensual pleasure of touching her, to know the satisfaction of arousing her to a fiery passion that would match his own.
And yet she continued to stand before him, innocent of his desire while she revealed herself to him with a wanton’s disregard of the consequences. How many men had she tempted with her beauty? He couldn’t believe she could be so ingenuous. Some man would have lain with her by now, have made her his. The man was startled by the sudden jab of jealousy that made him resent that unknown man, for he would have wished to have been the first man to have awakened her to passion—to feel the warmth of this woman in his arms, to have her hold him close to her heart. What would it feel like to possess her, to know her love, he wondered idly.
A shrill whistle pierced the silence, drawing him from his thoughts. He heard the hoofbeats before he saw the mare and colt. Strangely enough, he wasn’t surprised when the young woman opened her
In the cool shadows of the copse where Leigh thought she had seen a movement, a lone rider had sat watching the woodland nymphs. A slight smile of pleasure had softened his lean, sun-bronzed face as he gazed upon the romantic scene of three lovely young women bathing with seductive innocence in the cool waters of a gently murmuring stream.
The rider had watched them for some time, unwilling to disturb their idyll, or forfeit so rare a privilege of viewing the three beauties without their knowledge. He had come upon them in the act of disrobing, his keen eye not having missed the pails of blackberries in the cart. On so warm a summer’s day, and after so arduous a task, it had seemed only natural to wish to take a refreshing dip in the stream—which had been his intention when spying the stream from across the meadow. But he had put aside his own wishes and, with considerable patience and pleasure, had enjoyed their childish pranks in the stream, their ladylike decorum forgotten as they frolicked on a midsummer’s afternoon.
It was apparent by her actions that the fairest of the young women had aspirations of becoming a great lady. Affected and indolent, she was the perfect image of the pampered lady of the manor, her every wish or whim instantly gratified. He had laughed softly when the dark-haired one had placed the frog in her hand. The little dark-haired one, still more girl child than woman, seemed determined to cause mischief. He had noticed a defiance in her actions—as if she sensed this would be her last summer of innocence and was rebelling against leaving the carefree world of childhood.
The rider’s gaze narrowed as one of the young women stepped from the shade. She had been the one who had caught his interest the most. He was surprised that she held such a fascination for him. But there had been something so elusive about the way she moved, the water hardly rippling around her as she’d walked from the stream. There was a natural grace and beauty about her, nothing affected or calculated to attract. And her smile seemed to come as quickly as her laugh, even when seeing to the needs of her spoiled mistress, on whom she waited hand and foot.
As she stood there staring out at the meadow, she began to brush her long hair. The man felt a warm stirring in his loins as he watched the slow, rhythmic movements of the brush through the silky strands. How far more seductive a woman was when half-dressed, with the glory of her hair unbound, he thought, than when dressed in her finest silk gown, her hair confined in tight curls atop her head. And as he continued to watch her, he felt the strange enchantment of the moment and knew it would never be enough just to gaze upon this young woman’s beauty from afar. There was a warmth about her that drew him to her as surely as a moth to a flame, and he wanted to feel the sensual pleasure of touching her, to know the satisfaction of arousing her to a fiery passion that would match his own.
And yet she continued to stand before him, innocent of his desire while she revealed herself to him with a wanton’s disregard of the consequences. How many men had she tempted with her beauty? He couldn’t believe she could be so ingenuous. Some man would have lain with her by now, have made her his. The man was startled by the sudden jab of jealousy that made him resent that unknown man, for he would have wished to have been the first man to have awakened her to passion—to feel the warmth of this woman in his arms, to have her hold him close to her heart. What would it feel like to possess her, to know her love, he wondered idly.
A shrill whistle pierced the silence, drawing him from his thoughts. He heard the hoofbeats before he saw the mare and colt. Strangely enough, he wasn’t surprised when the young woman opened her
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