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The trees are not licentious.
“Going down,” the harpy cried cheerfully.
The vines shuddered, there was a snap overhead, and suddenly he was being lowered to the ground at pace. He managed to right himself and bent his knees to brace for impact, working to avoid the sharp sticks below. His hair lifted, and his spectacles bounced on the bridge of his nose.
Breath rushed out of him when he landed on the ground.
Thankfully, the ground was softer than it had appeared, and his years of boxing proved surprisingly helpful when plummeting to the earth. When one was a slender, bookish type, larger creatures liked to assume they could take advantage. Theo enjoyed correcting those assumptions. Now he had an additional reason to appreciate the sport.
“There.” She landed neatly beside him. “You are saved.”
“My eternal gratitude, madam,” he said, giving a bow.
He held out his hand in silent invitation. “I realize we have yet to complete our introductions. As I said, I am Mister Theodore Essex—” He paused, and cleared his throat. He loathed men who lied to ladies, even by omission. “As I’ve broken into the grounds of an estate holding a ball for eligible monsters, I fear I must note that I was likely cast out for both being an older brother and for being a penniless gentleman set to inherit a broken Baronetcy and who is going into trade as an attorney. Those facts notwithstanding, I am in your debt.”
“Lady Enid DeWhitt.” Lips quirking into an amused smile, she placed her fingertips in his grip. “Wealthy heiress and generally scandalous harpy, who enjoys bold honesty.”
“Charmed.” He bowed over her hand and pressed his lips to the inside of her wrist. The gesture should have been chaste, yet the taste of her rocked through him and he had to fight the urge to yank her into his arms.Dear God, breaking into a ball for eligible monsters had just become a great deal more complicated.
Enid
Enid feltthe brush of his lips all the way to her core.
Good. Grief.
If Mister Theodore Essex had a title or any amount of fortune to his name, he’d be in a great deal of trouble. As it was, she’d spent too much of her life dodging the advances of the fortune-hunting ilk to drop her guard. Despite his dedication to his sister and his bold honesty, she’d learned the hard way to keep any man lacking a fortune at a comfortable distance. Even if she were inclined to break her own iron-clad rule, she could not: the terms of her inheritance required her to choose a man with a title or forsake all her funds.
More's the pity.
She’d never much minded that clause before.
Now it chafed her skin like a poorly fitted corset. Because she’d just discovered that her tastes ran to bookish men with spectacles, a slender build, and an unexplainable edge of danger surrounding their person.
How a man she’d rescued from ivy could have such an air she could not explain—but he did. There was something shockingly sexy about the way the glass of his spectacles reflected the light just so, always obscuring his eyes. He looked like an Oxford librarian run amok, but she’d noticed the toned muscles of his arms and thighs as he’d fought those vines. The gentleman might appear bookish, yet he had enough muscles to make her feather ruffle with interest. Impossible as it was, his narrow jaw and red hair lent him a hard edge.
And she wanted more of it.
She clicked her tongue and considered her options.
Unlike the men attending the Ball, Mister Essex had neither fawned over her, nor treated her with undue caution. He did not appear unnerved by the strength of her claws. He seemed to genuinely care for his sister—something that mattered greatly to Enid, as she valued her own sister immensely. And his arrival had certainly proved entertaining.
Lord, she’d been bored in that ballroom.
Now that she’d freed him from the vines, she really ought to return. Only, she did not wish to. Her friends were all avidly engaged in the hunt for a match—or making an outstanding display of faking the task—while she’d found herself at an impasse with the eligible men of the Ball.
It was a great pity that Mister Theodore Essex had been evicted from the Ball, because she longed for a dance with such a man.
Still. She had no rule against casual entertainment.
Her head tipped to the side and a slow smile spread across her features.
Yes, indeed. This was exactly the solution her evening required. Whether he was thrown dramatically from the grounds or managed to sneak past the footmen to reach the ballroom, she was in for a diversion of the highest order. That would surely scratch the itch that none of the other attendees at the Ball seemed capable of reaching.
As if reading her thoughts, Mister Essex took a step back and glanced around the glade. “Uh, madam?”
“I shall help you spy on your sister,” she announced cheerfully.
“Ah…” He stared at her. “I beg your pardon?”
