‘What are you doing here? This is private property,’ a voice thundered, bringing Natasha back to the reality of Lord Benedict Brinley, glaring down at her from his equally dangerous looking stallion.
Hastily she scampered to her feet, ‘Lord Brinley, it was such a beautiful day ---.’
His eyes narrowed, when she addressed him by name, but the untidy looking waif had the edge over him.
‘You are trespassing,’ he stated, looking critically at the untidy hair, the scruffy skirt that had seen too many washes. Only the olive green vest looked presentable, hiding a pair of beautiful, firm breasts. The vest matched her intelligent looking green eyes.
‘No my lord, my name is Natasha Grayson,’ she looked away. ‘We live on the estate.’ Okay, she was very far off from their allotted quarters on his estate, in fact, much to close to where she had no right to be. Their cottage was on the very far end of the huge estate, and of course he would not know her, he never mixed with his employees and their families. He had staff that managed his estate, her father one of them.
She would not know that he was inspecting the perimeter of his property, to see where the wild dogs were gaining entry and killing off his sheep. Her eyes trained on him, as he effortlessly slid of his mount, clicked his tongue, to instruct the horse to stay still. She watched fascinated as his rippling muscles flexed. She swallowed nervously, unable to look away as he dismounted.
YOU ARE READING
THE Marquis's Mistress: Historical Fiction
Historical FictionNatasha Grayson knew she was not pretty. She was also not expecting great things from her meager life, with her father being a servant in the house of the Marquis of Crowcombe. She was treated like a maid servant by her wicked stepmother, whose...
