Free By Love Unveiled by Deborah Martin Page A

anyone noticing.
    “I should remind you,” he snapped, “that if I wished, I could have you thrust in the gaol.”
    “You would do that for a few missing herbs?” she dared to taunt him. “And because I refuse to satisfy your lust? I should have expected as much from such a varlet. Well, then, call the constable. I daresay he’d rather have me free to help his wife with her sickly newborns than locked up at your whim.”
    She prayed he wouldn’t call her bluff. Although the constable had supported the townspeople’s harboring her, the man would have no choice but to act if the earl brought her to him.
    But her audacity merely seemed to surprise Lord Falkham. “You would risk being sent to the gaol to avoid giving me one kiss. You’re a strange gypsy indeed.”
    Devil take him! Must he always remind her that she acted far differently from what her role would warrant? What would a gypsy girl do? Probably use his passion to eke out some small reward for herself.
    “I merely quibble over your price. These are only plants, hardly worth a kiss. Now, if you were to offer me more of an enticement . . .”
    Eyes narrowed, he closed the distance between them to press his hands on either side of her and trap her against the tree. “So the gypsy princess shows her true colors.”
    His eyes glittered like winter sleet as they dropped to her lips. “You’re right. One taste of your sweetness would be worth more than mere herbs, but the bargaining is done. You’ll satisfy my ‘whim,’ sweetling, if you want your plants.” When she eyed him warily, he softened his tone. “Come, Mina, give me my taste.”
    His voice washed over her like sun-warmed water, holding forth a rich promise just as enticing. Annoyed by her reaction, she plucked an apple and thrust it at him. “If you’re hungry, my lord, this will serve your needs better.”
    “Adam may have fallen for that trick, my little Eve,” he murmured, “but I am not so foolish.” He pulled her body up against him, then brought his mouth down on hers.
    His lips demanded a response. She pushed at his chest, but that brought her no respite from his strength. He held her anchored against him too firmly.
    But just as she was feeling panic, his mouth softened and his hands stroked down to hold her waist. Gently. Far too gently. It took her off guard.
    And the kiss began in earnest. He toyed with her mouth, teased it, coaxed it. Her body began to tingle with an odd anticipation. His morning whiskers abraded her skin, but she scarcely noticed, for an unfamiliar pleasure stole through her. She curved into him, her mouth clinging to his like sugar to a pastry.
    Only when he had her resting limply against him did he lift his head, his eyes a tempest of emotion. “Ah, Mina,” he murmured, “you’re even sweeter than I expected.” He kissed her nose, her cheek, the sensitive skin beneath her ear.
    “My lord, please—”
    “Garett.” He nuzzled her neck. “With you I am not the Earl of Falkham, sweetling, but plain Garett, who just wishes to keep tasting you.”
    Falkham. The word rang warning bells inside her muddled head. This was her enemy! How could she allow him to touch her so intimately?
    How could she derive so much enjoyment from it?
    Even as his lips moved to her shoulder, sending warmth like summer’s heat throughout her body, she protested, “One kiss, you said. Only one kiss.”
    “And you said, ‘Since when do rogues stop with one kiss?’ ” He brushed his open mouth over her collarbone. “As it happens, you were right.”
    Her aunt’s warnings sprang into her mind, of gypsy women seduced and abandoned by lesser nobles than the earl. And Marianne was a lady, who should know better than to let a man seduce her.
    That thought acted upon her like a bracing blast of cold air. She balled up her fists and struck his chest, surprising him as he was about to lower his head to hers again.
    “Would you take an unwilling maiden?” she demanded.
    The