Each time he tried to say something, he’d look into her rich, brown eyes and get lost in them. In the process of doing so, his tongue would seemingly thicken, and then nothing came forth from his lips. It was becoming a bloody nuisance. Timidly, she rose from the settee she’d been upon, smoothing her hands down the silky yellow muslin of her skirts in a gesture that seemed to be merely a means to calm her nerves more so than a necessity. To his eye, there wasn’t a thing out of place, not an imperfection to be found within her apart from the spot of redness from yesterday’s fall peeking out from behind her hair. At least today there was no more blood. His heart had nearly stopped when he’d seen the wet, red trail moving down the side of her face. Golden ringlets fell about her heart-shaped face in tiny wisps, a few of those tendrils blocking what was sure to be a scar upon her forehead, though most of her hair was held in a soft knot behind her head. And then he was back to her eyes again.
What do You think about Bexley-Smythe Quintet 02 - Rhyme And Reason?
