*Rosalind*
As he draws his horse to a halt, I do the same with mine, then watch in fascination as he swings his leg back and dismounts. Why does every movement of his, no matter how common or small, have to intrigue me? He can hold my attention for hours by doing nothing more than taking in breaths. It is utterly ridiculous that he should have a claim over my senses.
He comes to stand before me and wraps his hands around my waist. Such large hands, such capable ones.
Hands that could effectively close around my throat and stop all breath from entering my body should he discover my plans, should they fill him with rage. I should have chosen a smaller man, but the truth is that I had little choice once he had approached me, once I had lured him in.
He wants me now, and I know he is not o
