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Authors: Julia London
Tags: Romance, Contemporary
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looked across to where the men were normally working, but was surprised to see that there were no activities at the house today—it was silent. That was just as well, really; she was not very keen to see the foreman after the awful display of her conversational skills yesterday.
But still… she was rather disappointed.
She sat on the bench, stared at the water, and wished she had thought to bring a book. A carriage rumbled by in the distance; Sophie adjusted her bonnet, folded her hands primly on her lap.
After a few minutes of that, she stood up, walked to the edge of the pond and around the banks, deeper into the flora than she had gone before, trying to see past the dark surface to gauge the depth of it. But the lily pads were too thick and the water murky. The sound of a frog captured her attention, sitting on a lily pad beneath the overhang of a willow tree, his chest puffed proudly. For some strange reason, he reminded Sophie of all the gentlemen of the
ton
.
She glanced down at her feet, spied several pebbles.
He didn't think she had come today. He had ridden around the park twice now, had given up hope that she would appear. He was on his way out of the park when he saw the flash of pink bonnet around one side of the pond.
She
had
come, this woman whose solitary existence had so intrigued him.
He had watched her watching him, had wondered who she was and why she came every day with her basket and her book. He had even fantasized that he knew why—there was something about her that reminded him of himself. She was a loner, not really fitting into the world around her, preferring her own company to that of society. And when he had seen her yesterday, up close, her chocolate-brown eyes and pristine skin had enchanted him. The woman was pretty in an unconventional way. But anxious. Extremely anxious. And that just made him wonder all the more.
He dismounted, tethered his horse, and strolled to the wrought iron bench where she usually sat. A flash of pink again, and he saw her, squatting down, looking in the grass for something. When she stood, she adjusted her bonnet backward and slightly off to one side, apparently aiming at something. He looked to the pond, saw the frog, and smiled to himself.
Suddenly, she jerked her arm back and threw the stone with such enthusiasm that she very nearly wrenched her arm from her shoulder. The stone sailed wide of the frog and landed with a splash great enough to make the creature inch nervously about on his lily pad.
The second pebble, thrown delicately as a little girl would, was far too short. She muttered under her breath as the frog inched closer to the edge of his pad, shook her arm a bit to loosen it, then assumed a firmer position with her feet planted widely apart.
Lord
. "You've got it all wrong, I'm afraid," he called out to her.
At the sound of his voice, the woman nearly toppled over backward as she whirled around and clasped her hand to her breast, stone and all.
Bloody hell, then—she was even prettier than he had thought. Her brown eyes, wide with surprise, were so dark that they almost looked black; her pursed lips, plump and red, stood in stark contrast to the creamy paleness of her face. He had startled her badly; her chest was heaving up and down in a tantalizing shade of green brocade.
He idly slapped his riding crop against his thigh. "As a veteran of frog-tapping, I can say with some authority that you've got to get your weight behind it. May I demonstrate?"
"I… ah, I don't really… I mean that I'm not usually in the habit of throwing stones," she said, and instantly closed her eyes, pivoting away from him toward the pond in a self-conscious manner he found utterly charming.
He walked down and stood beside her. "I beg your pardon, but that is rather obvious, madam. You've no idea how to go about it."
Her cheeks flushed, she glanced at him from the corner of her eye. "I… I was getting the feel for it."
He chuckled, squatted down, and
But still… she was rather disappointed.
She sat on the bench, stared at the water, and wished she had thought to bring a book. A carriage rumbled by in the distance; Sophie adjusted her bonnet, folded her hands primly on her lap.
After a few minutes of that, she stood up, walked to the edge of the pond and around the banks, deeper into the flora than she had gone before, trying to see past the dark surface to gauge the depth of it. But the lily pads were too thick and the water murky. The sound of a frog captured her attention, sitting on a lily pad beneath the overhang of a willow tree, his chest puffed proudly. For some strange reason, he reminded Sophie of all the gentlemen of the
ton
.
She glanced down at her feet, spied several pebbles.
He didn't think she had come today. He had ridden around the park twice now, had given up hope that she would appear. He was on his way out of the park when he saw the flash of pink bonnet around one side of the pond.
She
had
come, this woman whose solitary existence had so intrigued him.
He had watched her watching him, had wondered who she was and why she came every day with her basket and her book. He had even fantasized that he knew why—there was something about her that reminded him of himself. She was a loner, not really fitting into the world around her, preferring her own company to that of society. And when he had seen her yesterday, up close, her chocolate-brown eyes and pristine skin had enchanted him. The woman was pretty in an unconventional way. But anxious. Extremely anxious. And that just made him wonder all the more.
He dismounted, tethered his horse, and strolled to the wrought iron bench where she usually sat. A flash of pink again, and he saw her, squatting down, looking in the grass for something. When she stood, she adjusted her bonnet backward and slightly off to one side, apparently aiming at something. He looked to the pond, saw the frog, and smiled to himself.
Suddenly, she jerked her arm back and threw the stone with such enthusiasm that she very nearly wrenched her arm from her shoulder. The stone sailed wide of the frog and landed with a splash great enough to make the creature inch nervously about on his lily pad.
The second pebble, thrown delicately as a little girl would, was far too short. She muttered under her breath as the frog inched closer to the edge of his pad, shook her arm a bit to loosen it, then assumed a firmer position with her feet planted widely apart.
Lord
. "You've got it all wrong, I'm afraid," he called out to her.
At the sound of his voice, the woman nearly toppled over backward as she whirled around and clasped her hand to her breast, stone and all.
Bloody hell, then—she was even prettier than he had thought. Her brown eyes, wide with surprise, were so dark that they almost looked black; her pursed lips, plump and red, stood in stark contrast to the creamy paleness of her face. He had startled her badly; her chest was heaving up and down in a tantalizing shade of green brocade.
He idly slapped his riding crop against his thigh. "As a veteran of frog-tapping, I can say with some authority that you've got to get your weight behind it. May I demonstrate?"
"I… ah, I don't really… I mean that I'm not usually in the habit of throwing stones," she said, and instantly closed her eyes, pivoting away from him toward the pond in a self-conscious manner he found utterly charming.
He walked down and stood beside her. "I beg your pardon, but that is rather obvious, madam. You've no idea how to go about it."
Her cheeks flushed, she glanced at him from the corner of her eye. "I… I was getting the feel for it."
He chuckled, squatted down, and
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