arms to them. Almost enviously, the man watched as the colt insinuated himself close to her, his velvety muzzle pressing against her warmth with the self-assurance of a beloved pet. Dropping the brush, she climbed on the mare’s back with incredible gracefulness, sitting astride, with no saddle for support or reins to control her mount. With a slight nudge of her bare heels, she sent the mare into an easy trot around the meadow, the colt galloping alongside.
The man had never seen so magnificent a sight. If he had believed the young woman beautiful before, she was bewitching now. With her hair hanging down to her hips, and the same rich chestnut shade as her horse, she rode as if one with the beast. Her thick, shining mane flowed over her shoulders as she rode, seeming to blend with the mare’s. Golden strands of hair, like captured sunlight, glistened in the heavy, silken tresses. The man’s breath caught when she suddenly stood up on the mare’s back, balancing with an ease he’d seldom seen.
As the young bareback rider drew closer across the meadow, he could see that she was small-boned and delicate-featured. The damp linen of her lacy pantalettes and chemise clung to her flesh, revealing it as truly as if bared naked to his searing gaze. Her shoulders were thrown back, arms outstretched for balance, and her breasts were high, their firm roundness pressed against the thin chemise. The nipples were hard, as if her breasts had been cupped in his hands and the soft peaks hardened into passion beneath his caress. Even with a corset laced tight, he could tell her waist would be tiny, and easily held captive between his hands as he brought the soft, womanly curves of her hip and belly against the hardness of his. The linen covering her buttocks molded their shape, enticing him and drawing his eye along the curving line of translucent material. Her thighs were slender and smoothly muscled from riding. He could see the gentle rippling of taut flesh and knew they would hold him tight, after having yielded and parted against the pressure of his own, their soft length wrapping around him and enfolding him as he took her to him. Her calves tapered down to small ankles and feet that were high-arched, the delicate curves destined for the touch of a man’s lips. His lips.
What would her lips, her kiss, taste like? To feel the silky softness of her hair tangled in his hands, and the heat of her flesh against his, branding him with her scent.
The rider’s smile suddenly became cynical at his own lustful thoughts. The warm expression in his eyes cooled into a glittering iciness as he wondered if she would be a warm, loving woman in his bed. Or would she become cold and unresponsive, suffering his touch because she was his wife and had a duty to perform, or was a whore who wanted to be paid for the evening’s pleasure she had sold him?
Could this woman be any different? Was her beauty true? The rider’s gloved hands tightened slightly on the reins of the big bay he rode as he continued to sit beneath the trees, enjoying the vision of loveliness despite the old doubts and disappointments warring within.
He had speculated on her relationship to the fair-haired miss, believing she might be her ladyship’s personal maid, but watching the way she rode, as if born to it, he wondered if she might not also be a groom’s or trainer’s daughter from one of the horse-breeding farms nearby. As the bareback rider circled the meadow, the dark-haired girl came to stand just beyond the shade. As the rider neared the tree, the dark-haired girl held out a wreath of flowers, which the bareback rider caught easily over her arm, twirling it as she rounded the meadow again. With a laugh that drifted to him on the warm, meadow-sweet breeze, she placed the flowery crown on her head—soft and fragrant, the flowers were far lovelier than a crown of the most priceless jewels.
One more time around, she came, and the man found himself gazing more
The man had never seen so magnificent a sight. If he had believed the young woman beautiful before, she was bewitching now. With her hair hanging down to her hips, and the same rich chestnut shade as her horse, she rode as if one with the beast. Her thick, shining mane flowed over her shoulders as she rode, seeming to blend with the mare’s. Golden strands of hair, like captured sunlight, glistened in the heavy, silken tresses. The man’s breath caught when she suddenly stood up on the mare’s back, balancing with an ease he’d seldom seen.
As the young bareback rider drew closer across the meadow, he could see that she was small-boned and delicate-featured. The damp linen of her lacy pantalettes and chemise clung to her flesh, revealing it as truly as if bared naked to his searing gaze. Her shoulders were thrown back, arms outstretched for balance, and her breasts were high, their firm roundness pressed against the thin chemise. The nipples were hard, as if her breasts had been cupped in his hands and the soft peaks hardened into passion beneath his caress. Even with a corset laced tight, he could tell her waist would be tiny, and easily held captive between his hands as he brought the soft, womanly curves of her hip and belly against the hardness of his. The linen covering her buttocks molded their shape, enticing him and drawing his eye along the curving line of translucent material. Her thighs were slender and smoothly muscled from riding. He could see the gentle rippling of taut flesh and knew they would hold him tight, after having yielded and parted against the pressure of his own, their soft length wrapping around him and enfolding him as he took her to him. Her calves tapered down to small ankles and feet that were high-arched, the delicate curves destined for the touch of a man’s lips. His lips.
What would her lips, her kiss, taste like? To feel the silky softness of her hair tangled in his hands, and the heat of her flesh against his, branding him with her scent.
The rider’s smile suddenly became cynical at his own lustful thoughts. The warm expression in his eyes cooled into a glittering iciness as he wondered if she would be a warm, loving woman in his bed. Or would she become cold and unresponsive, suffering his touch because she was his wife and had a duty to perform, or was a whore who wanted to be paid for the evening’s pleasure she had sold him?
Could this woman be any different? Was her beauty true? The rider’s gloved hands tightened slightly on the reins of the big bay he rode as he continued to sit beneath the trees, enjoying the vision of loveliness despite the old doubts and disappointments warring within.
He had speculated on her relationship to the fair-haired miss, believing she might be her ladyship’s personal maid, but watching the way she rode, as if born to it, he wondered if she might not also be a groom’s or trainer’s daughter from one of the horse-breeding farms nearby. As the bareback rider circled the meadow, the dark-haired girl came to stand just beyond the shade. As the rider neared the tree, the dark-haired girl held out a wreath of flowers, which the bareback rider caught easily over her arm, twirling it as she rounded the meadow again. With a laugh that drifted to him on the warm, meadow-sweet breeze, she placed the flowery crown on her head—soft and fragrant, the flowers were far lovelier than a crown of the most priceless jewels.
One more time around, she came, and the man found himself gazing more
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