“Quite possibly, Miss Stitch.” He was. Immensely.
Miss Stitch finally gestured to her foot, where a twisting vine covered in small thorns wrapped around the curve of her ankle. “This thornbush—”
“Attacked you without provocation.”
“Why must you do that?”
“Do what, Miss Stitch?”
“Finish a person’s thoughts by interrupting them?” She gave a small shake of her head, drawing his attention back to the bits of copper in her dark hair. “It’s very rude.”
“A talent of mine.” Sunlight bathed the delicate curve of her ear as he waited for her to ask for help. He was enjoying this far more than he should. His eyes lowered again to the thorny vine clinging to her silk-clad ankle, which was attached to a lovely stretch of well-toned leg, the rest of which remained hidden in her skirts.
Christ.There was an entire expanse of skin beneath the silk stockings just begging for his touch.
She looked away as if something more important than Henry had caught her attention. Finally, a puff of resignation left her, and she turned back to him. “I require assistance to free myself.”
“Are you asking for my help, Miss Stitch?”
“I’ve no other choice.”
Henry took a step forward. “May I?” He knelt before she could answer, the honeysuckle of her skin flowing into his nostrils making his cock twitch and his hands unsteady. There was absolutely no reason for him to be so…enamoredof Miss Stitch. He enjoyed feminine companionship on a regular basis. Women found him attractive. There was no reason to lust after this woman.
“Unhand me,” she said tartly as his fingers neared her ankle.
“Unhand you? I’ve yet to touch you. Besides, haven’t we established that I couldn’t possibly find someone of your wizened state attractive? Good Lord. You must be all of twenty-five, possibly twenty-six.”
“I’m twenty-eight.” She glared at him, as if declaring her age was some sort of gauntlet thrown at him.
“Far too elderly to incite my interest.”
Her lips thinned. “Hurry this along.”
The pads of his fingers slid over the silk-clad ankle, and he admired the shape of the flesh beneath as he plucked off the burrs. Her calves were well shaped, her legs beautifully curved. Strong. She’d grip him tightly, trapping his hips with her thighs as he thrust into her.
Henry abruptly dropped her ankle with a plop. He retreated into chilly politeness because it seemed that even trading insults with her aroused him. “There you are, Miss Stitch. Good as new.” He held out his hand to help her up.
Miss Stitch, true to form, ignored the offer of his hand. She struggled with her tangled skirts, flashing Henry again with her ankles and legs. It took a few moments before she regained her feet with any sort of dignity.
“This is your fault, my lord.”
Henry was still thinking of those legs wrapped around him. “I’m not sure how it could be,” he replied.
“You were barreling about like some enraged beast, startling me so much I fell into the bush where the thorns caught in my skirts.” She furiously brushed the dirt from her dress. A small twig with a bit of leaf still attached managed to stay wedged just above her forehead.
“I didn’t realize you possessed such a nervous disposition, Miss Stitch.” The leaf beckoned Henry, begging him to touch the silk of her hair.
“Anyone, at thinking themselves alone in the woods and then hearing such a commotion, would have been startled. You could have been a bear. Or a wolf. A band of gypsies—”
“There hasn’t been a bear in this part of England in ages. No packs of wolves either. I’m afraid I’ve no idea about the roaming bands of gypsies.”
The little leaf in her hair caught the breeze and fluttered atop the twig.
“The point, my lord, is that I assumed I had the path to myself.”
“You aren’t on the path, Miss Stitch.” He pointed in the direction from which he’d come. “You wandered off it, for reasons known only to yourself.”
“It isveryearly in the morning, my lord.” She looked down at the ground, as if that explained anything. “Nevertheless, I thank you for your assistance. I am grateful.”
