Untamed Read Online Free PDF

Uncle’s death he ordered a variety of marbles to be brought to the isle. I have used up most of them,” she stated with a frown. Again she stroked the dark marble bust. “I saved this chunk for Jim. He deserves my best work.”
    “It is very striking,” Trystan complemented and then drained the cider. He rose, deposited his dishes on the bench and joined her at the work bench. He stood directly behind her, close enough to almost be touching.
    “Thank you.”
    “Did you carve the statues on the terrace?”
    Her answer was barely audible.
    “Oh, no. Those were carved by masters. My uncle collected them on his Grand Tour.”
    Trystan casually took hold of her hands. He was almost hugging her now. He felt like a scoundrel taking advantage of an innocent, yet he could not stop himself. They were entirely alone on this island and the impression of being wholly alone in the world overcame him. The customary dictates of society did not seem to apply here. A level of intimacy was establishing itself between them that defied understanding. Desarae let herself be pulled backwards into his embrace as his long fingers caressed hers.
    “These scars. They are caused by slips of the knife?”
    “Yes,” she whispered. He could feel her trembling. “Are they ugly?”
    “No.”
    Trystan could not help himself from swaying as another undulation of weakness passed through him. He staggered to the side and almost brought them both to the floor.
    “Come, you must sit and rest.” Desarae took his hand and led him out the exterior conservatory door to where some benches lined the edge of the goat paddock.
    “This is Artemis. She’s a saucy bit of goods with a mind of her own.” The goat bleated and butted the split rail fence.
    “After all that sleep, I’m surprised by my weakness,” Trystan said, sitting thankfully down on the stone bench. “Oh, I forgot the hairbrush. I left it in the conservatory.”
    “I shall retrieve it.” She hurried away and returned. “Here you are. Why do you wish it?”
    “If you will sit, I will brush your hair for you.”
    “I like to have my hair brushed.” Desarae grinned and readily sank down onto the grass at his feet, her back to him. He lifted a hank of hair onto his knee and began to gently remove the tangles.
    “I grew up in Bristol,” he stated. Her hair felt luxurious. “My father is also a sea captain. He sails pilots out of the treacherous Bristol Channel to waiting ships so that they can be safely navigated into the harbor. He wished me to be a pilot captain, too. However, I wanted to sail the world.” When he twisted a lock back and forth her auburn hair gleamed in the warm spring sunlight. “My mother, before she married my father, was a governess. She married below her station when she married my father, but they love each other very much. I used to brush her hair in front of the parlor fire while we waited for Father to return from the sea. Mother’s blonde hair was long and curly like yours.”
    “Hmm,” she sighed, relaxing under his ministrations. “Does she live still? Your mother?”
    “Yes, she does. Her hair is mostly gray now, though. I have two younger sisters. Ophelia will be nineteen in August. Carrabelle is just sixteen. I am the oldest of three brothers. Brant is twenty-six. Wyman is twenty-four.”
    “And you are?” Desarae asked, tilting her head to one side so that he could bring her hair back from her face.
    “Twenty-nine.” Trystan collected all of her hair across his lap and continued to brush it even though all the tangles had evaporated. His father had assured him once that the day would come when the woman meant for him would appear in his life. Almost magically, this woman had wound her way around his soul the same way her curls wound around his fingers—and it didn’t hurt a single jot. This island was like a place out of time, separate and complete.
     
    His hands in her hair felt so delicious that Desarae could hardly think. Perhaps