by Téa Cooper
He sucked in a deep breath, inhaling the welcome scent of the sun-baked bush and of freedom, finally erasing from his mind the dank, damp horror of the cells of Cockatoo Island. A matter of weeks had been more than enough to prove he had been right. He was not a man who could live a life of incarceration and thankfully with the help of Lily’s uncle and his connections his gamble had paid off. He had learned his lesson too. The next bet he laid would be on Lily at the racetrack and not on the whim of the Governor.
He patted the pocket of his breeches for reassurance. His compass still sat snugly against his leg, the last reminder of his former life. The room at The Settler’s Arm had been emptied and taken to Sydney. Later his trunks and notebooks had been delivered to Government House where they had been appraised and his records of expenditure scrutinized. He had been cleared of every accusation of excessive spending and his offer to donate his maps to the government finally clinched the deal. He had accepted his pardon with as much grace as he could muster and now he had only one more hurdle to overcome.
Kicking Graybeard into a canter he crested the hill and headed for the river. The curl of excitement in his belly blossomed and he urged the horse into a full gallop racing recklessly down the hills to the roadway he could see curling in the distance. Throwing caution to the wind he bent low over his horse’s neck and encouraged him faster. The wind whipped around his face, dust and dirt sprayed up and stung his hands and face as he pushed onward suddenly impatient to make an end to his journey and have the pieces of his life fall into place.
As the miles disappeared beneath Graybeard’s hooves he remembered Lily storming down the hillside and flying over the convict wall. He envisioned her galloping madly across the Common, her hair streaming behind her like a copper pendant and, finally and perhaps most poignantly, the bleached look on her face as he had pulled her from the swollen waters of the Hawkesbury and the coil of dread that had knotted his belly when he thought he had lost her forever.
He had no intention of ever feeling that way again. Everyone he had spoken to from Will and Bonnie to Lily’s Aunt Emily and Uncle Richard had assured him she would welcome his return, and with the new title deeds firmly back in his possession there was little Edward Dungarven could do. He was simply going to have to come to terms with the fact the Roscomons would occupy the neighboring property. He chuckled to himself–as he envisaged acres of horses and children with violet eyes and fiery spirits careering across the river flats. Everything depended on Lily’s answer, and no matter what he said or did it would undoubtedly be her own. No matter what her answer, he would carry those poignant memories of her to the end of his days.
* * * *
It might have been the play of light on the hillside or simply a passing fancy but she turned westward and shielded her eyes to confirm the sight of a figure on the dusty track, so far away it could have been anyone. She brushed the grass from her breeches, wiped her hands and whistled through her teeth to Nero.
He trotted over obediently and she mounted without hesitation, calmly walking in the direction of the dust cloud. The hairs on the back of her neck prickled, matching the goose bumps flecking her arms. When she could finally control neither herself nor Nero a moment longer she broke into a canter as the figure rounded the last curve of the track into the house paddock and dismounted to stand slouched against the shoulder of the large gray horse. She spurred Nero on, flying in a madcap frenzied gallop across the paddocks clearing fences and fallen tree trunks until she reined him in and leaped from the saddle.
Tom stood, his shoulder resting against his horse, his legs crossed at the ankles and his hat pulled low. He stared at her from below the felt brim, his face expressionless, his eyes, despite the dark rings and the hollow cheekbones, the same smoldering obsidian chips branded on her very soul. She didn’t dare believe it.
“Good afternoon, madam.”
She seized the greeting he threw at her and tossed her head and then hurled herself into his arms laughing with sheer delight.
He caught her in his strong muscled arms and held her fast. His hat fell to the ground but she was intent only on the warmth of his body and his familiar touch. The very essence of his being filled her and her heart finally settled. He stilled and she sank to the ground. For a brief moment he leaned away from her and she immediately regretted the space between them. Her gaze never left his face as he reached into his pocket and pulled out his compass. The brass glinted in the sun, the reflection of a single white cloud playing on the worn glass.
“I don’t believe I will be needing this anymore,” he murmured as he pulled her close and finally claimed her as his own.
About Téa Cooper
Téa Cooper lives in a little stone cottage in the historic village of Wollombi, a couple hours north of Sydney, Australia.
She is thrilled to join Lyrical Press, and looks forward to seeing her first historical romance novel, Lily’s Leap released. She is currently working on another story featuring two of Lily’s friends and more of the fascinating characters that haunt the local museum.
Visit Téa Cooper at http://www.teacooperauthor.com
Lily’s Leap
9781616504588
Copyright © May 2013, Téa Cooper
Edited by Ann-Marie Smith
Book design by Lyrical Press, Inc.
Cover Art by Valerie Tibbs
First Lyrical Press, Inc. electronic publication: May, 2013
Lyrical Press, Incorporated
http://www.lyricalpress.com
eBooks are not transferable. All Rights Reserved. This book may not be reproduced, transmitted, or stored in whole or in part by any means, including graphic, electronic, or mechanical without the express written consent of the publisher except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.
PUBLISHER'S NOTE:
This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the writer’s imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locale or organizations is entirely coincidental. The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party Web sites or their content.
Published in the United States of America by Lyrical Press, Incorporated
Want more?
Lyrical Press Store: http://www.lyricalpress.com/store
Follow us on Twitter:
http://twitter.com/#!/lyricalpress
Friend us on Facebook:
https://www.facebook.com/LyricalPressIn
Join us on Lyrical’s blog:
http://lyricalpress.blogspot.com/
Your new favorite author is just a click away!
http://www.lyricalpress.com/