The bed wrapped her in warmth and security. But bright light filled the room and there was no denying morning had broken. She rolled over and realized she was alone in the bed. Not far away, though, a figure stood in front of the room’s only window. Straight, tall and gloriously clothed only in the radiance of sunlight spilling in from outside, Lord Jeoffrey stared outward. Lost in some private contemplation, his body was held tautly, his expression stern. Through the mist of sleep still clotting her eyes and the haze of dust particles swarming in the sunbeam, he seemed to her to shimmer with glints of light sparkling off his golden hair and smooth, tawny skin. For a transcendent moment he was a creature completely beyond her experience, something more than human, more than normal man. An angel, or a saint, transfigured in the presence of God, perhaps, glowing with power and glory and goodness. Bathed in light, he was radiant. The most beautiful sight she’d ever seen. Tears burned her eyes, whether from joy at being granted the privilege of such a vision, or from sorrow that such a creature should be so far beyond her grasp, she could not have said.
