The horse tossed its head and shuddered.
The man looked up.
Julia froze.
“What the deuce are you doing up there?” he asked incredulously, looking as startled as she was.
“Nothing,” she answered defensively, tamping down her horror at being caught, yet somehow managing not to be completely mortified by the unfortunate event.
She was now sure she’d never seen the man before. And even more sure he was no gentleman. Gentlemen removed their hats—or at the very least pushed them farther up their foreheads—when meeting a lady. Even if said lady was in a tree. He did neither.
Focusing on his face, she took in his full, nicely shaped brows, angular cheekbones, and slightly square chin that made him as handsome as any man she’d ever seen. She watched his gaze skim over her, too, just slowly enough to cause a curl of feminine interest to shimmy in her chest. At that, the heat of the afternoon swelled heavily around her, flaming her already flushed cheeks.
Staring up at her with a quizzical expression, he offered, “That’s a rather odd place to be standing around and doing nothing.”
But true. She’d long since given up on finding the strength to break the durable tatting thread, tear the well-made fabric, or twist in two the branch that held her captive. She must have sworn a hundred times already that she’d never trap another butterfly in a net to give it closer inspection no matter how much her son pleaded.
Realizing she still held the tail of her dress above her boots, she quickly released it and said, “Never mind about me, sir. I don’t know who you are and you should be on your way.”
Sweeping his hat off his head, he tossed it on top of his saddle without taking his gaze from hers, and with a teasing glint in his eyes he said, “Mr. Garrett Stockton at your service.”
Julia almost gasped again. She knew the name and the man’s reputation as a rake and a man who didn’t obey anyone’s rules. He was said to have a mistress on every continent and more than half a dozen in London alone. She could understand why. He was a handsome devil—just as she’d heard. Strangely, their paths had never crossed when he was in London. He wasn’t the kind of man she’d forget meeting.
There was a building in St. James that bore the name Stockton Shipping Company, and it was his. She’d heard talk about the intriguing sea adventurer fighting pirates, and having the Spanish armada chasing his ships. Looking at him, she supposed it could be true. The gossip in Society seemed to be that whenever he was invited to parties every young lady in attendance wanted him to take her out on the dance floor. Julia wondered why the gossip wasn’t that all the ladies wanted him to take them into the garden for a forbidden kiss.
But now wasn’t the time to keep thinking about how attractive he was or peruse her memory for more gossip about him. She had to figure out how she was going to get out of this with some of her dignity intact.
She needed him to go away and forget he ever saw her.
“I am Lady Kitson Fairbright, Mr. Stockton.”
He gave her a bow and said, “My lady.”
Julia wasn’t sure whether he recognized her name as the daughter-in-law of the influential Duke of Sprogsfield. Mr. Stockton pushed both sides of his dark blue coat behind him, rested his gloved hands on decidedly slim hips, and continued to stare.
He wasn’t making this easy for her. Did he think a lady wanted to be caught in a tree by a stranger—or by anyone? Usually Julia could control whatever situation in which she found herself. But this afternoon everything had gone wrong.
She attempted to dismiss him again by saying, “Whatever it was you were going to do or whatever secret rendezvous you might have planned, you’ll have to move away and find another place.”
With a slight, intriguing half smile, he said, “I have no secret plans to meet anyone under this tree. I’m in London because a friend of mine will be marrying soon and I want to attend his wedding. I’m in the park because trees are something I want to see after a long voyage. Now, that branch you’re on doesn’t look particularly sturdy. I don’t think it’s safe.”
“I’m perfectly fine,” she responded confidently, even though there was no truth to her words. She was getting more worried by the moment in her cascade of greenery. Her arms were tired from holding on to the limb above her head, first with one hand and then the other to keep from losing her balance, falling off, and hanging herself. But that was too gruesome to think about. And admitting she’d done something so outlandishly impulsive that she needed any help she could get right now didn’t come easily to her nature.
Instead, Julia resisted the urgency and cold hard truth of her peril again, continued to stare straight ahead as if studying something important, and said, “I’m enjoying the view. In the distance I see at least three carriages rumbling along, and a lady and a gentleman are walking with a dog—a spaniel, I think. Another couple has three children with them, and much farther down, I see a crowd gathering around a cart. Someone must be selling sweet cakes, or perhaps there will be a puppet show.”
As if to emphasize her jeopardy, her arm trembled as she finished her sentence. Where in heaven’s name was Miss Periwinkle? It shouldn’t take her so long to get home, grab a pair of scissors and get back to the park.
A rustling noise caught her attention and she looked down. Mr. Stockton was wrapping the reins over a bunch of low-hanging leaves.
Her heartbeat skipped with apprehension. “What are you doing?”
“Securing the horse. I don’t know why you climbed the tree, Lady Kitson, but it will be dusk soon. I’m not going to walk away and leave you standing up there.”
Why was it that sometimes things that appeared relatively simple in their inception frequently had a way of turning into ill-timed problems for her?
She understood the wisdom of his words, but stifling her very real fears about her predicament, she said, “My son’s governess was here with me. She will be returning shortly.”
“How is she going to help you to the ground? You must be up at least eight or nine feet.”
Julia was hot, tired, and exasperated. A feeling of weary surrender settled over her. “Oh, piffle,” she said as a pain of anxiety struck her stomach. She had to believe Miss Periwinkle was only a minute or two away. “I might as well tell you so you’ll leave me in peace. If you must know,” she began, recounting the misadventure that had her trapped. She concluded, “Thankfully the butterfly is now free.”
She watched his eyes scan the tree and knew when his gaze lighted on the dangling net. “You must have been running and jumping to get it caught up that high. Climbing the tree was brave and kindhearted.”
“But foolish as well,” she suddenly admitted honestly, hating to reveal the seriousness of her situation to this man but grateful he seemed to understand the reason behind her jeopardy. Out of frustration, she reached to the back of her neck and tugged on her clothing again. “When Miss Periwinkle returns with scissors I will cut myself free and climb down. You must leave. The Duke of Sprogsfield is quite rigid when it comes to my following the accepted behavior of widowhood, and I simply cannot be seen with a man helping me down from a tree.” Especially such a young and handsome one. “Now, please go.”