Free Silken Dreams by Lisa Bingham Page A

throat, to my chest, to my underbust. His eyes followed every motion with the intensity of an actual caress, and despite the delicate silk fabric of my gown, I ached at his whispering glance as it passed across the fullness of my breasts. I longed for the moment when he would push the nightshift aside. And touch me.
    The bed sank beneath his weight The scent of rain and wind and his own masculine fragrance filled my lungs. Holding my breath, I reached out a tentative finger. I had to touch him, to see if he was real, or merely the product of my anguished soul.
    “Touch me, love,” he whispered. “Touch me!”
    With a choked sob, I closed the distance between us and lay my finger against his cheek. I encountered warm, masculine flesh, slightly stubbled, but real nonetheless.
    His arms whipped around my back and he bent toward me, holding me so that I was pressed against him, breast to breast, hip to hip.…
    Lettie jerked awake, her lashes flying open when she felt a crushing weight pressing against her chest. Briefly, she became aware of being pinned beneath a man’s torso, his head resting on her shoulder, his thigh flung over her hips.
    His hand covering her breast.
    Instinctively, she reared back and shoved him away. The man’s weight left her suddenly as he woke with a start, floundered, then dropped to the floor with a loud thump.
    “Dammit all to hell!”
    Lettie peeked over the edge of the bed to see him staring blearily at the ceiling, holding his head as if it might explode.
    “Lettie?” The voice of Lettie’s mother floated up from the floor below.
    Glancing at the window, Lettie realized it was dawn and another day had begun at the boardinghouse.
    “Lettie? Are you all right?”
    Laws! Her mother!
    Scrambling from beneath the covers, Lettie raced around the bed and grasped the stranger’s hand, yanking him upright and pushing him toward the wardrobe, which stood awkwardly against one sloping wall of the garret bedroom.
    “My hell, woman, what are you doing?”
    “You’ve got to hide!” she hissed, whipping open the door to the wardrobe. “Get inside.”
    “But—”
    “Get inside!” Reaching out a hand, she pushed a swathe of garments aside, then gestured for him to climb in. When he hesitated, she grasped a handful of his shirt and yanked him toward the open door. “That’s my mother! ” she whispered fiercely. “If she finds you here, you’ll be lucky if they only hang you for the robbery.”
    The rattle of the doorknob at the bottom of the stairway seemed to convince him, and he wriggled inside. Lettie quickly dumped an armful of dresses over his head, then slammed the door closed. Glancing down, she groaned silently to herself when she realized she was still dressed in yesterday’s clothes, and once again she’d managed to unbutton half of her bodice while dreaming of the Highwayman.
    Quickly ripping the rest of the offending buttons free, she tore the garment from her shoulders, opened the wardrobe, threw it inside, then reached for another bodice. She had only one glimpse of the Highwayman’s startled features before she heard her mother’s footsteps on the stairs and slammed the door closed again.
    “Lettie?”
    “Ye—” She cleared her throat when her voice emerged too high. “Yes, Mother?”
    “What on earth is going on up there? It sounds like a herd of buffalo has been stamping around.” Her mother stopped on the last tread, peering over the edge of the railing that surrounded the stairwell. Her lips pressed together in displeasure. One cardinal rule of the boardinghouse had always been, Never waken the boarders until absolutely necessary.
    “Well?”
    “I—I fell.”
    “You fell?”
    “Well, actually, I stubbed my toe first, then while I was hopping around the room … I fell.” The words sounded weak in Lettie’s own ears, and she hoped her mother wouldn’t catch her in the act of lying. She’d never been a good liar, but with her mother, she was notoriously