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“I can free myself,” he countered.

She folded her arms across her chest. “Oh?” Did her lips twitch? Did she think this situation humorous?

He arched a brow. “If you think you can free me from the clutches of this murderous vine, do your best.”

“Murderous vine?” Her head tipped. “I didn’t know you were prone to exaggeration. Now, give me your hand.”

He reached up, as far as the vine wrapped around his arm would allow. Even through their gloves he could feel the warmth of her hand envelop him and snake its way up his arm. It was not, in the least, unpleasant.

“You’ll need to help me pull,” she said.

He flexed his arm and tried to pull himself up. Instead, he watched as his wife tumbled on top of him, her eyes wide with surprise.

She came to rest on his chest, her legs scrambling for purchase. “Oh, Frederick, I’m so sorry. It seems I’d not properly braced myself.” One of her side curls fell forward, brushing softly against his cheek. If the warmth of her hand was pleasant, this was something else entirely. He had not the words to describe the sensations moving throughout his extremities. He looked at her, and couldn’t help but wonder if her lips were as soft as they looked.

“Saints above,” she called out. “How do we free ourselves?”

He shook his head, trying to regain his bearings. This was no time to imagine kissing his wife.

“Freddie? Pippy? Where are you?” Ari’s voice sounded in the distance.

“Can you get up?” Freddie asked. “Or do we need help?”

She licked her lips, and he found himself distracted again. “Let me try to free myself. I may, however, need your father’s help to free you.”

Freddie sighed, cold air dousing the warmth within him. “Lud. That’s just what I didn’t want.”

Pippy put her hands to the side of his chest and pushed as she pulled her legs up, trying to regain her footing. She kicked him in the thigh as she stood.

He grunted.

“My apologies.” She winced.

He shook his head. “It couldn’t be helped.”

She stood up and took a step back, letting out a surprised yelp as she backed up. “Oh, I beg your pard—” she said as she looked behind her and her eyes locked with his father’s.

Lord Kentwood’s brows arched high, and his sisters’ hands covered their mouths.

“Really, Weymouth? There’s little time for such nonsense. And it’s a poor example to set for your sisters.” Lord Kentwood directed the last comment at Pippy.

His sisters looked at each other, their laughter gone.

His father put out his hand and hauled Freddie up as if there were nothing to it.

Freddie wiped the dust from his clothes, but frowned at the dirt patches on his trousers and elbows. What had happened to all the vines holding him down? If he didn’t know better, he’d say the vines had loosened as soon as Pippy stood up. He shook his head. That was a ridiculous notion.

He glanced at his wife. Although, in hindsight, it had not been a terrible experience.

Eleven

Pippy sat in the carriage, her hands clasped in her lap. Freddie sat next to her, and Lord Kentwood across. His daughters sat beside him.

She need not look to see him watching her…watching them. What was he trying to determine?

Without warning, Freddie reached over and took hold of her hand. He lifted it to his lips before setting their clasped hands on his thigh.

Lord Kentwood sucked in a breath, but she didn’t look at him. She couldn’t.