A Proper Lady's Gypsy Lover Read Online Free Page A

her his hand as they climbed the steep wooden steps and stepped through a yellow curtain.
    The sunlight streamed though the yellow curtain, infusing the interior with a dim, golden light. Lucy-Ann remembered the way the wooden walls bowed out, the bed at the far end. She recalled how happy she had been, how free she had felt, when she had been here last.
    She looked up at Liberty and gently touched the scar on his cheek. It was painful to think of the injury he had suffered—and that it had been at the command of one of her own family.
    “How can you ever forgive us?”
    “Can you forgive me for not succeeding in rescuing you? I followed after you to London, but I could not learn where you were staying.”
    She stepped close to him, put her arms about his waist, and rested her head on his broad chest. “I dreamed about you, longed for you, and now here you are.”
    “I am with you at last,” he said, “after so many months of wishing for it.”
    When she looked up at him, she saw the raw passion evident in his eyes, and she felt the heat of an answering desire ignite within her. She brought her arms about his neck, pulled his head down so she could kiss him, and did so softly. He kissed back gently and then his lips grew harder, more demanding, and his tongue pushed past her lips as he held her tighter to himself. She could feel his member pressing against her as she caressed his tongue with her own.
    Liberty slid his hands up and down her back and then up her sides, barely touching the edges of her breasts, making her shiver and ache for more. Then he untied her bonnet, tossed it aside, and tried to run his hands through her hair. He pulled back and looked at her, smiling.
    “I never thought to see you with pins in your hair,” he said.
    She raised her arms to pull out the pins, conscious of his gaze upon her, conscious that her breasts lifted and that he looked at them with desire. She longed for his touch, she longed for him to reach out to her, to stroke, to fondle, to make her feel as she used to. His hands moved toward her, as though he knew what she wanted, but then dropped to his sides again. He watched her intently. She pulled out the pins so her hair tumbled about her shoulders and down her back.
    Liberty stepped toward her and took a strand in his hand. “The color of sunlight,” he mused, letting it slip through his fingers.
    He took her by the shoulders and drew her to himself again. He kissed her hard and deep as he pulled at the ribbon that held her dress together and opened the bodice. He kissed the tops of her breasts where they rose above her petticoat and short stays. His hands snaked through her hair, stroking, smoothing, and then took tight hold and pulled her head back. He kissed and nuzzled her throat, tenderly, tantalizingly. He nipped and nibbled as she sighed with the pleasure of it.
    He helped her out of her dress, then she helped him pull off the patched shirt. He kicked off his boots and, kneeling, he tenderly untied Lucy Anne’s mud-stained shoes and the ribbon ties that held up her stockings while she ran her fingers again and again through his luxuriant black curls, amazed at the softness of them and at the miracle that Liberty was really here.
    She turned so he could undo her petticoat, and she pulled it off over her head. She undid the buttons of his breeches and he pulled them off. She gasped as his shaft, hard and erect, sprang free. She turned and he unlaced her stays and dropped them to the floor. He brought his hands to her breasts and she leaned back against him, luxuriating in the feel of his touch through her chemise. His member pushed hard against her back. She moaned with overwhelming desire for him.
    She said softly, “I’ve dreamed of this for so long.”
    “And I too,” he said as he nipped the back of her neck, bending his knees a little to do so. Now his member pressed hard against her bottom, finding its way between her cheeks while his finger stroked her