As he looked at Delilah’s sleeping body, he felt the need to capture the image before him. The dark hair fanned out over the pillow, her palm was turned up, the vein pulsating in her wrist, her breasts sitting on her chest, rising with every breath she took.

He pulled out his sketch pad from his bureau and began to draw.

Samson loved drawing ever since he was little boy. He’d had a privileged upbringing in one of the finest households in England. His parents had been patrons of the arts and had encouraged him even as a little boy to follow his passions.

He’d always thought he’d be an artist when he grew up, but unfortunately his father made some unwise investments, and suddenly the family had been penniless. What could a young man with an artistic education do to make money? Nothing. His only chance was to scrape together what he could and get onto a ship to the New World. There were reports that enterprising young men could make a fortune in America, and he’d had nothing to lose.

Leaving his parents behind was heartbreaking, but Samson hoped to return a wealthy man to take care of them the way they’d taken care of him when he was a child. He never thought that the last time he’d see them was when they waved goodbye to him as he boarded the ship.

Without any skills to speak of, he found it hard to find employment until the bored wife of a British officer hired him as a tutor to instruct her children. It wasn’t the only thing she expected him to do. Whenever her husband was away she would sneak into Samson’s chambers and request his sexual services. As a relatively inexperienced young man, he appreciated the instructions in the carnal arts the woman was willing to provide him with. He was an outstanding student.

With a very healthy sexual appetite, there seemed nothing wrong with what he was doing. Somehow word spread among the bored wives of the area, and offers of employment started flooding in. Suddenly everybody wanted their children instructed in the arts—and their sexual needs met at night.

He’d had no qualms about it, and he’d finally had choices. Until one day, when suddenly there was only one choice left in his life, only one more decision to be made. Her name was Elizabeth …

The day he realized he was in love with her, the rain came and finally cooled the muggy air. Samson opened the door to the stable to get both himself and his horse out of the downpour.

He shook the water out of his hair as he allowed his eyes to adjust to the dim light in the barn. A faint whimper made him spin around. There, huddled in the corner was Elizabeth, the seventeen-year-old beautiful daughter of his latest employer.

“Elizabeth. What are you doing out here in this weather?”

He let go of the horse’s reins and walked to her. When she looked up at him, he realized she was crying. Instinctively he knelt down and pulled her into his arms.

“What’s wrong?”

“Oh, Samson,” she wailed. “I am to be married in a fortnight!”

No! Not Elizabeth; not the woman he wanted for himself.

“Who said that?”

“Father announced it today. He’s chosen Fitzwilliam Herman for me. Samson, please help me, I can’t marry that man. He’s old, he’s ugly, he smells. I don’t like him.”

He stroked her flaxen hair, then put his hand under her chin to make her look at him. Her eyes were puffy, swollen from the tears she must have been shedding for hours.

“Elizabeth, do you trust me?”

She nodded.

“I know this is not like you would have imagined this day. And this is not the right place for it.” He glanced around the stable. “But I don’t have much of a choice. I can’t let you marry Herman. Because I love you.”

Her eyes widened.

“And I won’t allow it. Please marry me. We’ll go away tonight. We’ll hide. We’ll find a place where we can be together.”

Her answer was immediate. “Oh, yes, Samson. Take me away from here.”

And then he kissed her. For the first time he kissed the woman he’d secretly been pining after for months. The woman he was hopelessly in love with. Hopelessly, because he knew her parents would never approve of him. All this didn’t matter now—action was required. Losing her to another man was not an option.

Her lips were soft and sweet. His Elizabeth was pure, decent—not like the many married women who sought his bed.

“We’ll leave tonight. Pack only what we can take on a horse. I’ll be waiting for you here at midnight. Be careful,” he cautioned her. “Tell no one.”

He kissed her again, unable to get enough of her sweet taste.