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Monday Puzzler
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Monday Puzzler, June 15, 2015: The Recognition Scene
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I don't recognize it. It is wonderful. I am also wondering whether heroine is blind? The scene sort of reads as if she is.
Yeeees, got one at last. But maybe that is because I only read it last week. Lovely story. Have loved this series.
Wow. I read this just a few weeks ago and I didn't recognize it at all. I love Hoyt's writing. Great choice.
He sounded nearly boyish. “It’s de rigueur at the beach. Come, walk this way.”
And she did, feeling the sand beneath her feet, the wind flattening her dress against her legs. As they neared the shore, she could hear the waves crashing louder, a roaring thunder. The sand was damp now, warm and squishy, an odd feeling but enjoyable nonetheless.
And then a wave lapped at her feet, cold and sudden.
“Oh!” she exclaimed.
For a moment she stood stock-still, feeling the cool water coming over her instep and then retreating, sucking the sand out from between her toes.
She took another step in. The water covered her instep as her toes sank into the suddenly softer sand, and then the wave retreated again, leaving her feet wet and cold.
She laughed aloud, breathlessly, the sun on her back, Hero at her side, and tilted her face up as she stood, her toes dug into the sand beneath her feet. The waves caressed her like a sister’s touch, warm, alive, and familiar.
Eternal.
She must have looked like a madwoman but she didn’t care at all.
Not at all.
And all the while Hero didn’t say a word, simply stood by her, there in case she needed him. She felt as if she could soar. She hadn’t been so free in years.
Hero watched Heroine in the sea, the waves lapping about her ankles. She was laughing, her skirts lifted to her knees, her face shining in the sun, and he wished he could paint the scene. Keep it in his memory always.
Somewhere, at some indefinable point, he’d crossed a bridge and the bridge had crumbled behind him. There was no going back. He cared for Lady Heroine more than anything else in life. More than his family. More than his honor.
More than his freedom, should it come to that.
Bringing her joy was worth more than any amount of money. He knew – without doubt, without fear – that he would kill for her.
That he would die for her.
It was almost a relief, this realization. He might fight intellectually against it, using all those well-worn arguments: he was too old, she was too young, they were too far apart in class, but it simply didn’t matter. His heart had performed a coup d’état over his mind and there was nothing more to be done about it.
He loved Heroine, now and forevermore.