Fionas Freckles

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After years of adventuring in exotic India, wealthy rakehell Lord Dyan St. Laurent Dare has been forced to return to England and assume the title of the 4th Duke of Darke, along with the attendant responsibilities, chief of which is to marry and produce an heir. Seeking to escape familial pressure, Dyan drops in on old friends whose house parties are a scandalous secret among society's elite, but, along with his hosts, Dyan is astonished when his childhood sweetheart, Lady Fiona Winton-Ryder, nicknamed Lady Arctic, unexpectedly arrives.

Fiona had scornfully dismissed him fifteen years before, and Dyan had left not just her but England, yet their long-ago, simmering attraction has only intensified Fiona has come to save a friend from a compromising situation, but the shock of encountering masterful, arrogant, senses-stealing Dyan after so many years takes her breath away and leaves her emotionally teetering.

Nevertheless, coolly assured and every bit the earl's daughter, she remains determined to rescue her friend, but will she be able to ignore her lifetime fascination and evade Dyan? Dyan knows this party is no place for a lady like Fiona, but, by using the heat of the moment, could he - just possibly - melt Lady Arctic's ice, and, at last, capture her heart?

This is drawn from the original manuscript and is the opening scene and a half of Chapter 1. And well! Laurent Dare, most reluctant fourth Duke of Darke, sent his gray hunter pounding along the woodland track. Outlier of the New Forest, the wood was thick enough to hide him. The pace he set was reckless, a measure of his mood; the demon within him wanted out.

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I could go on and on about the characters in this movie but instead I implore you to watch it for yourself. Miscellaneous items. The next day, Shrek wakes up to be human, and Donkey a stallion. This is a movie I feel comfortable recommending to everybody. Puss In Boots voiced by Antonio Banderas is hilarious and I thought he was a good addition to the cast.

The gray's hooves thundered on the beaten track; Dyan tried to loose himself in the driving rhythm. After an entire afternoon listening to his relatives' complaints, he felt wild, his underlying restlessness setting a dangerous edge to his temper. Damn Robert!

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Why had he had to die? Of a mere inflammation of the lungs, of all things. Dyan suppressed a disgusted snort, feeling slightly guilty. He'd been truly fond of his older brother; although only two years had separated them, Robert had seemed like forty from the time he was twenty. Robert's staid, conservative personality had shielded his own more robust and vigorous, not to say profligate character from their exceedingly straitlaced family.

Now Robert was dead - and he was in the firing line. Which was why he was fleeing Darke Abbey, his ancestral home, leaving his long-suffering relatives behind. He had to get out - get some air - before he committed a felony. Like strangling his great-aunt. Tolerance was not one of his virtues; he'd always been described as impatient and hot-at-hand.

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Even more critical, he had never, ever, tolerated interference in his life, a point he was going to have to find some polite way to make plain to his aunts, uncles - and his great-aunt Augusta. Naturally, they still saw him as his younger self. They had descended on the Abbey, intent on impressing on him the error of his rakehell ways. They all believed marriage would be his salvation; presumably they thought securing the succession would be a goal in keeping with his talents. They had made it plain they thought marriage to some sweet, biddable gentlewoman would cure him of his recklessness.

They didn't know him.

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Few did. Jaw setting, Dyan swung the gray into a long glade and loosened the reins; the heavy horse plunged down the long slope. He'd only just arrived back at the Abbey - for the past ten years, India had been his home. A decade ago, he'd left London intent on carving out a new life - that, or dying in the attempt; even now, he wasn't sure which of those two goals had, at the time, been his primary aim.

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His family had been relieved to see him go; the subcontinent was reassuringly distant, half the globe a comforting buffer against his scandalous propensities. Under India's unrelenting sun, his recklessness had found ample scope - for danger, intrigue, and more danger. He'd survived, and succeeded; he was now a wealthy man.

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On being informed of Robert's death and his ascension to the title, his initial reaction had been to decline to be found. Instead, a nagging, deeply-buried sense of responsibility had goaded him into liquidating his assets, realizing his investments - and disengaging from the clinging embrace of the Rani of Barrashnapur. By the time he'd reached London, Robert had been dead for well-nigh a year; there'd seemed no need to rush into the country.

He'd dallied in town, expecting to slide into the indolent life he'd enjoyed a decade before. Instead, he'd discovered himself a misfit. The predictable round of balls, select parties, and the pursuits of tonnish gentlemen engendered nothing more than acute boredom, something he was constitutionally incapable of tolerating.

Worse, the perfumed bodies of discreetly willing ladies, as ever at his beck and call, completely failed to stir his jaded senses. For one who, for the past ten years, had had his every sexual whim instantly and expertly gratified, abstinence for any measurable time was the definition of pure torture.

And self-imposed abstinence was the definition of hell. Reluctantly, knowing his family was lying in wait for him, he'd returned to the Abbey, his childhood home. Only to be met by the family's demands that he marry and ensure the succession without delay.

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It was enough to send him straight back to India. And the Rani of Barrashnapur. Memories of golden limbs, all silk and satin, wrapped around his senses; gritting his teeth, Dyan shook them aside. The end of the glade was rapidly approaching, the gray all but flying over the thick grass; Dyan hauled on the reins. Slowing the huge hunter to a canter, he turned into the bridle path that led from the glade. He was searching, still searching, as he had been for years.

Searching for something - an elusive entity - that would fill the void in his soul and anchor his restless passions. His failure to discover that entity, to fulfill his inner need, left him, not just restless, but with his wildness - that demon that had always been a part of him - champing at the bit. His predator's instinct was to focus on his target - then seize it. To be unable to define what his target was left him directionless. Like a rudderless ship in a storm. Drawing rein in the clearing marking the next bend, he sat still, breathing deeply, letting the gray do the same.

Thought of the day: Fiona in all her Glory.

Through the trees, lights twinkled. Shifting to get a better view, Dyan saw that the entire ground floor of Brooke Hall was ablaze. His childhood friend Henry, now Lord Brooke, and his wife, Harriet, were obviously entertaining. From the extent of the lights, a houseparty was in progress. Hands relaxed on the pommel, Dyan stared across the fields. Wisps of conversations caught during his stay in London wafted through his brain. Allusions to the Brookes, and the houseparties they gave. A vision of his relatives' faces, particularly his great-aunt Augusta's, if he failed to show for dinner - failed, indeed, to return at all that night - rose in his mind.

His long lips lifted, then curved. Get the latest inspiring stories via our awesome iOS app! Download Bored Panda app!

From the Community for the Community

What do you think? MarkFergel 3 years ago Seems like a lot of these have been edited to enhance the freckles. JuanAlbertoCastro 3 years ago I think is not Edit, i have seen freckled people that has so dark freckles and they are more noticiable under certain lights.