The Hawk and the Dove by Virginia Henley EPUB & PDF – eBook Details Online
- Status: Available for Free Download
- Authors: Virginia Henley
- Language: English
- Genre: Historical Romance
- Format: PDF / EPUB
- Size: 2 MB
- Price: Free
Cheltenham, 1586
Spring had not yet arrived. Icicles hung by the river and the horses’
breath formed frosty clouds upon the air as the two young riders
playfully raced the last hundred yards before reaching the stables.
Inside, the warmth enveloped them and the tang of horse, leather,
and hay heightened all their senses in a most disturbing fashion. The
young man, so fair, took both hands of the vibrant beauty into his
own and drew her toward him. He knew he must taste her or go
mad. “Sara.” He breathed her name raggedly against her lips, before
covering them in the kiss they had both been anticipating for weeks.
Now that they were finally fused, they had no strength to pull
apart. Her arms were lovingly entwined about his neck and his
hands caressed her back and slowly moved to cup and fondle her
breasts. He moaned low in his throat and sank down into the hay,
pulling his beautiful tormentor with him.
Sara was tempted, tempted badly. She had never felt like this
before. It was as if her bones wanted to melt with the delicious
languor that was stealing over her. “Andrew, no, we cannot.”
“Please, Sara, please. I’m going to offer for you.” And once more
he covered her protesting mouth and fumbled with the buttons of
her riding dress. He had managed to undo three before she found
the strength to tear herself away from him.
It wasn’t that she didn’t believe him. She knew he was as good as
his word and that he would certainly offer for her. But others had
offered for her and nothing had ever come of it. Now she held his
hands firmly to keep them in check. She laughed up at him lovingly.
“You haven’t even proposed to me yet!”
“Sara, darling, will you marry me?”
She heard the words echoing in her mind, then the scene
dissolved in a shimmer as she gazed through the window, unseeing.
She forced back unshed, unwanted tears before anyone ever
suspected she was crying. She would rather die!
Witches! thought Sara Bishop, barely hanging on to her infamous
temper. She set her teeth and faced her four half sisters in the
beautifully appointed family room. The two older ones from her
mother’s first marriage were dark, sleek, almost smug from their
secure position in the family hierarchy. The pair younger than
herself, from her mother’s third and present marriage, were pretty
and blond, spoiled and selfish to the core.
They had gathered to organize the details of the upcoming
wedding—to make lists of potential guests, to word the actual
invitations, and to choose material for their gowns. Their gently
bred mother, Mary Bishop, had already retired with a headache;
never had she been capable of coping with her daughters en masse.
“’Tis a conspiracy!” Sara stormed, and her hair, the color of pale
molten copper, flew about her shoulders. “You know damned well
that deep rose pink makes me look hideous, and ’tis precisely why
you always choose it.”
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