Free Only With Your Love by Lisa Kleypas Page A

given?
    Celia rested her chin on her hands and closed her eyes. She was about to collapse from exhaustion. Scowling, Griffin decided they would rest for the night. The sleep would do them both good, and a few more hours would make little difference to his plans. As for the debt he had threatened to claim from Celia, he’d said that merely to torment her. She had been correct earlier. He would not force himself on a woman, certainly not one brittle enough to break in two if he touched her. She was in no danger from him.
    At Griffin’s command the crew pulled to shore following a route they knew well. Smuggling was their business, and no one was as familiar with the lakes and bayous near New Orleans asthey. The pirogue touched ground. Two of the men clambered out to hold the vessel fast while its passengers disembarked. Celia opened her eyes and stared at Griffin blearily. She did not appear to understand his order to leave the vessel. He spoke to her sharply and took her upper arm, dragging her onto the marshy shore. Giving a short nod to the rivermen, he headed into the woods.
    “Where are we going?” she asked, stumbling beside him.
    “Keep pace with me,” he said curtly.
    Celia tried to hold her tongue, but after a minute of walking her resentful words burst forth. “How far must we go? Five miles? Ten? I am not wearing shoes! And you have boots, and long legs, and my feet are…” She fell silent with surprise as he pulled her into a small clearing that held a lean-to house and a paddock and stable.
    With no attempt at subterfuge, Griffin strode to the dwelling and banged on the rickety door. “Nettle,” he said gruffly. “Nettle, get out here and saddle a horse.”
    There was an apprehensive voice from inside. “Captain? Captain Griffin?”
    “Aye, I’ll take Lebrun tonight. Saddle him, and be quick about it.”
    A slim, mousy man with a balding head appeared. He looked first at Griffin and then at Celia. He was clearly shocked at the sight of a woman dressed in only a shirt.
    “Nettle,” Griffin said abruptly, “do you have another pair of breeches?”
    “Of…of…yes, I do, Captain.”
    “My companion has need of some additional clothes. And bring food if you have any.”
    “Yes, sir.”
    Hurriedly Nettle darted into the house, emerged with a small sack, and handed it to Griffin, his gaze averted from Celia. Without a word he rushed to the stable. Griffin handed Celia a pair of worn but clean breeches.
    “He works for you?” Celia murmured, yanking on the breeches gratefully.
    “In a way.”
    “This is his horse you are taking?”
    “It’s my own horse,” he said in a voice that forbade further questions.
    In a remarkably short time Nettle led a magnificent chestnut horse with a white forehead over to them. The large horse, at least sixteen hands high, seemed nothing but a bundle of nervous energy.
    “I’ll return tomorrow,” Griffin said to Nettle.
    “Yes, sir.”
    Griffin took the horse’s reins, inserted a foot in the stirrup, and swung himself into the saddle with ease. He stretched an arm down to Celia. “Take hold.”
    Gingerly she grasped his arm with both hands, and he caught her frail wrist, pulling her up to sit sideways in front of him. The chestnut pranced uneasily at the added weight. Celia grabbed for some means of support, her hands searching wildly over Griffin’s thighs, waist, and arms.
    His breath hissed through his teeth, and he clamped an arm around her, nearly cutting her in two. “Don’t move,” he said, sounding oddly strained. “Don’t touch anything.”
    “I-is something wrong?”
    Griffin considered telling her yes, something was very wrong, he was a hair’s breadth awayfrom throwing her on the ground and falling on her in a frenzy of lust. The feel of her against him was agony. There was a demanding ache in his loins. His hands itched to roam over her breasts, down her waist, between her thighs. As his mind searched for a subject to distract it from