Sarah Mallory

'Ouch!'

Evelina jumped as the rose thorn pricked her finger.  How timely, she thought, staring at the tiny bead of blood.  She had just been thinking that that this was the most dangerous activity she undertook, cutting flowers. She sighed. These sheltered ornamental gardens at Makerham summed up her life; ordered, secure, protected.  She wiped the blood from her finger and firmly suppressed the vague feeling of dissatisfaction.  She had become more aware of it recently, this impression of being stifled. But she was happy, wasn't she, keeping house for her grandfather? He had promised to take care of her, to provide for her.  She need not worry about anything.

She picked up her basket of summer flowers and was walking back to the house when she heard the sound of hoof beats on the drive.  She looked up to see a rider approaching on a rangy black horse. At the stone bridge that gave access to the ancient, moated house she stopped, her head tilted enquiringly as he rode up. The man drew rein and jumped down.  He was very tall, she noted. Strong, too, judging by the width of shoulder beneath his dark riding jacket and the powerful legs encased in buckskins and gleaming top boots. His black hair was caught back with a ribbon and there was a rakish look in his laughing blue eyes. He looked like an adventurer, she thought.  Tall and dark and ….

'You must be Evelina.' His voice was rich and warm as honey. 'How do you do?'

Without waiting for her reply he reached out, pulled her into his arms and kissed her.  Eve was so shocked she dropped her basket. She made no effort to pull away - with his arms holding her so firmly it would have been impossible to do so, even if she had wanted to. She had never been kissed by a man before and the sensation was surprisingly pleasant, jolting her senses alive so that she was aware of the scent of his skin, the mingled smell of soap and spices and horses and …. she did not know what.  Man, she supposed.

He raised his head and gave her a rueful smile, although Eve thought the glint in  his deep blue eyes positively wicked.

'Oh Lord,' he said, stepping back from her. 'That was not meant to happen.'

Eve stared up at him, shaken, and wondered what a well-bred young lady should do in this situation.  With some deliberation she brought her hand up and dealt him a ringing slap across the face.

He flinched a little, but continued to smile down at her, mischief glinting in his blue eyes.

'I suppose I deserved that.'

It took an effort for Eve to look away from that hypnotic gaze. Her basket was lying on the floor, roses, irises and common daisies tossed on to the drive.  With shaking hands she began to gather them up.  The man dropped onto one knee beside her, unsettling her with his nearness.

'You do not seem very pleased to see me,' he remarked.

She concentrated on collecting up the flowers and putting them back into the basket. She said stiffly. 'I do not know you sir.'

'Oh, did your grandfather not tell you?' Laughter trembled in his voice. 'I am Nick Wylder.' He picked up a rose and held it out to her. 'I am the man you are going to marry.'