Read Online My Darling Gunslinger by Lynne Barron - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Lynne Barron
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more about sex by the time he’d lit out at fourteen than most men learned in a lifetime.
What he knew about kissing ladies wouldn’t fill a thimble.
Charlotte would have found herself flat on her back with his cock buried between her trembling thighs before she could have even thought to call out for help.
Ty quietly made his way down the stairs, his footfalls silent on the worn runner. The front door was open, sunlight streaming across the polished wood floor of the foyer. Charlotte stood on the porch with her back to the house, one hand wrapped around a wooden pillar, the other idly twitching her dress at her thigh as if she was unhappy with the drape of her skirts.
He smiled at the feminine gesture.
She sure was a dainty little thing, all pale limbs and big eyes.
Too delicate, too pure for the likes of him.
Without warning, the lady spun around, her gaze unerringly finding him at the foot of the stairs, one hand going to the yellow bow of the wide ribbon wrapped around her waist.
“Didn’t mean to startle you,” he said as he crossed the foyer and stepped out into a balmy spring afternoon.
“Daisy is in the barn milking Blossom,” she offered, taking a step back. “She’d be happy to accompany you on a walk. She knows the land better than I do, having lived here a number of years.”
“Reneging on your offer?”
“I thought you might be more comfortable with Daisy.”
Ty couldn’t dispute her words. Miss Daisy would definitely be a more comfortable companion. For all he had the odd notion he’d seen the mousy little housekeeper before, she didn’t set his heart to racing or inspire lurid fantasies of pale limbs and soft moans.
“You’ll do,” he muttered.
“Why, thank you kindly, Mr. Morgan,” she replied wryly.
“Tyler.” He waited expectantly.
She spun around and marched down the three steps and onto the lawn that spread out before the house. “Are you coming, Tyler?” she called over her shoulder.
“Don’t I wish,” he murmured below his breath. Christ, she was going to kill him with her innocent words delivered in crisp accents.
They walked along the side of the house toward the barn and the rolling pastures beyond in silence, Charlotte two steps ahead so that Ty had the pleasure of watching her hips sway under yards of muslin and petticoats so starched he could hear their rustle over the sounds of sheep bleating and wind ruffling through the trees.
“We’ve had a letter from Uncle Jasper. It seems he has set off for Prussia.”
Charlotte’s words snapped Ty’s gaze up to fasten upon the back of her head covered by the silly straw bonnet. Tendrils of golden hair had escaped their pins to bounce jauntily against her neck and shoulders with each step she took.
“Jasper Heimlich is your uncle?” Ty asked in surprise. The old coot had a lot to answer for.
Charlotte looked back over her shoulder to meet his gaze before turning forward once more. “In truth, Jasper is a distant cousin on my mother’s side, but I like to think of him as the uncle I never had.”
“Are you Prussian, then?”
“English on my father’s side,” she replied, slowing to allow him to walk beside her. She peered up at him from beneath her bonnet, her eyes startlingly blue in the sunlight. “I spent much of my childhood traveling between London and Berlin.”
“You speak Prussian?”
“Naturlich,” she replied with a smile.
“Your uncle kept muttering something while we played,” Ty began.
“Uncle Jasper is a great one for muttering to distract others,” she agreed with a soft laugh.
“Not much distracts me when I’ve a winning hand.”
“I would imagine not much ever distracts you.”
Ty might have told her that she distracted him. Mightily.
“I’ve been wondering what he was saying,” he said instead.
“Do you remember the words?” She strolled over to the white-washed fence enclosing the long, narrow sheep barn. Leaning her hip against a post, she faced him, her
What he knew about kissing ladies wouldn’t fill a thimble.
Charlotte would have found herself flat on her back with his cock buried between her trembling thighs before she could have even thought to call out for help.
Ty quietly made his way down the stairs, his footfalls silent on the worn runner. The front door was open, sunlight streaming across the polished wood floor of the foyer. Charlotte stood on the porch with her back to the house, one hand wrapped around a wooden pillar, the other idly twitching her dress at her thigh as if she was unhappy with the drape of her skirts.
He smiled at the feminine gesture.
She sure was a dainty little thing, all pale limbs and big eyes.
Too delicate, too pure for the likes of him.
Without warning, the lady spun around, her gaze unerringly finding him at the foot of the stairs, one hand going to the yellow bow of the wide ribbon wrapped around her waist.
“Didn’t mean to startle you,” he said as he crossed the foyer and stepped out into a balmy spring afternoon.
“Daisy is in the barn milking Blossom,” she offered, taking a step back. “She’d be happy to accompany you on a walk. She knows the land better than I do, having lived here a number of years.”
“Reneging on your offer?”
“I thought you might be more comfortable with Daisy.”
Ty couldn’t dispute her words. Miss Daisy would definitely be a more comfortable companion. For all he had the odd notion he’d seen the mousy little housekeeper before, she didn’t set his heart to racing or inspire lurid fantasies of pale limbs and soft moans.
“You’ll do,” he muttered.
“Why, thank you kindly, Mr. Morgan,” she replied wryly.
“Tyler.” He waited expectantly.
She spun around and marched down the three steps and onto the lawn that spread out before the house. “Are you coming, Tyler?” she called over her shoulder.
“Don’t I wish,” he murmured below his breath. Christ, she was going to kill him with her innocent words delivered in crisp accents.
They walked along the side of the house toward the barn and the rolling pastures beyond in silence, Charlotte two steps ahead so that Ty had the pleasure of watching her hips sway under yards of muslin and petticoats so starched he could hear their rustle over the sounds of sheep bleating and wind ruffling through the trees.
“We’ve had a letter from Uncle Jasper. It seems he has set off for Prussia.”
Charlotte’s words snapped Ty’s gaze up to fasten upon the back of her head covered by the silly straw bonnet. Tendrils of golden hair had escaped their pins to bounce jauntily against her neck and shoulders with each step she took.
“Jasper Heimlich is your uncle?” Ty asked in surprise. The old coot had a lot to answer for.
Charlotte looked back over her shoulder to meet his gaze before turning forward once more. “In truth, Jasper is a distant cousin on my mother’s side, but I like to think of him as the uncle I never had.”
“Are you Prussian, then?”
“English on my father’s side,” she replied, slowing to allow him to walk beside her. She peered up at him from beneath her bonnet, her eyes startlingly blue in the sunlight. “I spent much of my childhood traveling between London and Berlin.”
“You speak Prussian?”
“Naturlich,” she replied with a smile.
“Your uncle kept muttering something while we played,” Ty began.
“Uncle Jasper is a great one for muttering to distract others,” she agreed with a soft laugh.
“Not much distracts me when I’ve a winning hand.”
“I would imagine not much ever distracts you.”
Ty might have told her that she distracted him. Mightily.
“I’ve been wondering what he was saying,” he said instead.
“Do you remember the words?” She strolled over to the white-washed fence enclosing the long, narrow sheep barn. Leaning her hip against a post, she faced him, her
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