Freedom Forever Read Online Free PDF Page A

or some bright thread—as if he knew that when she was left alone at the farm, the world faded into greys and browns.
    And he brought warmth. Always, he stood close so that she could feel the heat of him, and she blushed at his closeness, knowing what he wanted—in the meaning of it, if not exactly what he hoped she might do. The thrill of danger, what every woman was warned against, made her pulse beat a little faster.
    When she appeared at the bottom of the stairs with a fresh ribbon in her hair, he rose at once and bowed. In the presence of Clara and her mother, he was the most perfect of gentlemen, and the eager press of his body against Cecelia’s when they embraced was all the more a shock. She curtsied.
    “Mr. Thompson.”
    “Miss Dalton, you are as radiant as always.” He looked outside at the still day. “Perhaps we might walk outside? I have been shut indoors too much, of late. That is, of course, if it pleases you, ma’am.” That last was directed to Millicent.
    “Of course you may go.” The woman found a smile from somewhere. Whatever she thought, deep in her heart, she knew this was an advantageous match for Cecelia. She was nothing but polite to Abraham, though he took liberties with his courting.
    As always, Abraham waited until they had walked for some time before he spoke. The day was still, and so the cold did not so easily sink into their bones. Cecelia wore the green cloak he liked so well, hoping that he would think her pink cheeks were a blush of pleasure at his presence, not from working outside like a servant.
    “Cecelia,” he said finally, and she felt the shiver of anticipation that always came with these conversations.
    “Yes, Abraham?”
    He always waited for her to speak, and he liked it when she said his name. In a way, it made her sad to know already how to put him in a good humor—which words to use, how to smile at him. It was as if he was a puzzle, and she had figured him out. Except, of course, for what she knew was coming.
    “Will you let me kiss you today?”
    He always asked it, and Cecelia always, properly, refused him. She was a God-fearing woman, she told him sometimes. Other times, she only smiled and let him kiss her hand, her lips parting in surprise at the intimate brush of lips against her skin. Once, he had turned her hand over and planted a kiss on the inside of her wrist, seeming to savor her shocked gasp.
    What he made of it, she could not say. He wanted her to say yes, she was not a fool. He wanted kisses, and he wanted more than that as well. But he enjoyed it when she said no to him, as if it lit his blood on fire to hear the word no . As if she was a challenge to be figured out. And as if he approved, for he knew as much as she did that they should not be kissing, not when they were not betrothed. The fact that other young couples did so, they both pretended not to know; they hide behind propriety, and it excited him as much as it stoked his frustration. Cecelia, walking carefully along the knife edge she had always known existed, but never experienced, felt a heady rush of...
    What was it? What, truly, could she call it?
    It made her feel alive, in this house of ghosts and tears. It made her feel as if she was flesh and blood and living now , not just waiting for a messenger that might either bring them all back to life or shatter them into dust. She felt as if she was living in a doll house where time never passed, waiting for life to resume again. Abraham, urgent and with his pulse beating quickly at his throat, was alive and wanting the future.
    So she smiled and watched desire kindle in his eyes, and she lowered her lashes demurely and looked away while his hand found hers under her cloak.
    “No,” she said softly, nipping at her lip in the way she knew he liked, and he took a deep, shuddering breath.
    “You must let me.” He sometimes said this, and always his voice sounded thick.
    When she looked up, she saw a hint of red in his eyes. His breath