Axebury Hall Estate: England 1642
Hair like golden wings, silk smock rippling, he hauled it over his head and cast it aside. Still he ran, and at two yards two inches tall he leapt clumps of thistles with ease, and despite dodging the spiked leaves her silk skirt snagged frequent in passing. She thought him for sure about to dive in the river wearing breeches and boots, but he sudden faltered, his knee crumpled and he fell. In her mad rush to reach him she almost tripped over his out-stretched leg, his cornflower blue eyes sparkling despite his mishap.
No serious injury had befallen him, for he laughed and said, ‘Accursed rabbit hole,’ and let fall his head to pillowed grass. A smile crept to his face the like she had not seen in days, and she seized her chance. She fell upon him, legs straddling his torso to prevent escape. She quite expected imminent resistance but he surrendered, a tinge of irony in voice. ‘Sweet, sweet Anna, you have the advantage in a most unladylike way and I at your mercy.’
Hands thrust to stark cold of stone, head bowed, her devastated expression and dark brown eyes bejewelled by tears absolute torture. Try as he might he could not erase the soft tickle of her lustrous raven locks against his cheek, nor the sensual softness of a breast beneath his fingers. He drew breath, his chest as though banded by steel. The sensation of her pert trembling lips captured by his and the merciless way in which he had wanted to devour every part of her: enough to drive a man insane. His rejection of her far worse, her petite figure put to flight utter agony. Damn his stupidity. A moment of rash behaviour behind him, he now had a memory of sensual intimacy albeit one to haunt the lonely path ahead. Dear heaven, how to live without her?