His soothing words penetrated her fears. Julia’s lashes fluttered up.
“It’s going to be all right. I’m not going to let you get hurt.”
Mr. Stockton was looking at her calmly. His faith that everything was going to be all right flooded her. She sensed a bond developing between them and knew she could trust him to get her down safely. He was going to save her. She gave him a hint of a nod. Cautiously, he took another step, and another, and then he was right beside her.
It had been a long time since she’d been so close to a man. The way his physical presence filled the crowded space between the branches was calming but also wonderfully stimulating. She couldn’t help but notice how broad and strong-looking his shoulders were and had to suppress her innate desire to grab on to him for safety and to feel his masculine strength beneath her hand.
“I’m going to reach around you, so don’t try to look at me or worry about what I’m doing,” he said, in a low voice.
She was attuned to his every breath as he gently placed the back of his ungloved hand on her chin and urged her to turn her head to one side. A faint, pleasant scent of a spice she couldn’t identify clung to his skin. She found the unfamiliar fragrance titillating. His touch was tender, sure, and undemanding, so she complied without complaint.
When he slipped his arm behind her, Julia’s heartbeat seemed to thrum in her ears. A tantalizing shiver washed over her. She was attracted to this man and had to resist the temptation to lean in closer and take comfort from his nearness.
She felt his fingers lightly touching her nape. A shiver of pleasure washed through her again. Whirls of wondrous feelings spun inside her. She could tell he was assessing the tangle of twigs, leaves, and lace, deciding what needed to be cut and where best to do it, and not meaning to cause such womanly feelings to awaken inside her. They did just the same. It was maddening, really. Bound as she was, completely without defense, she should be frightened out of her wits, but no, she was enthralled by the rogue’s touch.
“Tell me about your son,” he said, his machinations squeezing the collar tighter around her neck for a few seconds.
Determined to stay steady, she fortified the strength in her arms and toes and rolled her eyes toward her rescuer. There was an easy-going charm about him that was irresistible. “Are you trying to distract me from what you’re doing?”
Mr. Stockton ignored her question and asked his own. “What’s his name? His age?”
“Chatwyn. He’s just turned four, with hair as dark as mine. His eyes are a bright blue. He’s quite inquisitive about all things but especially butterflies. He loves to be outside and running free, as I do, and—”
“Shh,” he said, interrupting her as she felt the first thread break, giving her a little more moving room.
“What is this? You just asked about him and already you’re tired of hearing—”
“Someone’s coming,” he whispered as the last thread broke, freeing her so she could move her head at will. She lowered her feet and rested one arm by her side. “Shh.” With the tip of the knife, he pointed toward the ground.
Suddenly Julia heard the voices, too. Ladies’ voices. Neither of them Miss Periwinkle’s. They were coming closer. Apprehension gripped her with its cold, icy fingers of dread. She was no longer trapped but might still be caught.
“Look over here,” one of the ladies said excitedly. “Don’t you think this is the horse we saw Mr. Dryden riding?”
Julia cringed. She recognized the voice as Miss Lavinia Etchingham. Of all the people in London who could have stopped to check out Mr. Stockton’s horse, why did it have to be her? She was thought to be the person who fed gossip to the scandal sheets.
“I have no knowledge of horses,” a softer voice answered.
“You know some are brown, gray, or black, and some are this reddish-brown color which happens to be the color Mr. Dryden was riding when we saw him.”
It sounded as if the ladies had stopped right under them, still Julia didn’t dare look down. She was hardly breathing for fear they’d be noticed. “I don’t know why anyone would want to ride such a big beast, though most gentlemen seem to enjoy the opportunity.”
“Of course they do,” Miss Etchingham remarked. “It makes them feel more powerful to have such a magnificent animal beneath them and to be in total command of it.”
“How like you to be so truly improper.”
“Whenever I look at Mr. Dryden I feel rather naughty.”
A loud giggle from one of the ladies startled the horse. The mare snorted and nickered restlessly. Dizzying fear ripped through Julia again. She felt her heart might beat out of her chest. Her gaze locked with Mr. Stockton’s. His brow furrowed with concern.
“Oh, never mind about this horse. We’re wasting time and it’s probably not Mr. Dryden’s animal anyway. And do walk faster, or we’ll never find him before dusk overtakes us and we must return home.”
After more than a few seconds ticked past, Mr. Stockton lowered his head and looked down at his chest.
So did Julia.
His shirt front and the ends of his neckcloth were rumpled into her tightly curled fist.
Chapter 2
A tremor of arousal slammed through Garrett Stockton and his pulse soared as he stared at the feminine hand fiercely clutching his chest. Lady Kitson’s touch was as explosive as lighted gunpowder to a man who had been at sea a very long time and had only this day put his feet on English soil. The pull of pent-up desire made his body throb, and no amount of deep breathing was helping to curb the ache or the force of it. It didn’t matter that she was a lady and should be treated like one. Like the legends of the sea sirens, she silently called out to him, and his body reacted. It made no distinction between lady and mistress. It only felt need.
That Lady Kitson hadn’t jerked her hand away from him the instant she realized she was holding on to him was testament to her inner strength and keen sense of control. For now, they would both have to endure their vulnerability and not move until the ladies below them were far away. Not that he was in a hurry to shift away from her touch.
His gaze eased up from her soft hand to her beautiful lips, and then to her intriguing eyes. They were a rare and vivid shade of dark blue-violet, and staring straight into his. Her complexion was flawless and the color of pale parchment, except for the bright flush of heat in her cheeks. Bits of leaves and tiny pieces of twigs were scattered throughout her lush, chestnut-colored hair. Long damp strands had escaped from her chignon and framed her face.
Oh, yes, she was a beauty.
Lady Kitson’s fingers slowly relaxed. She gently slid her palm down the buttons on Garrett’s waistcoat until she dropped her arm to her side. His skin pebbled deliciously as he felt every inch of her light caress. It sent a hard throb of pulsating heat directly to his lower body. The madness of what it did to him threatened to overwhelm his control. His hand tightened around the limb above his head. She was making it too easy for him to imagine the hunger of his lips crushing against hers, and the thrill of his hands skimming her bare skin in passion and pleasure, the need to—Garrett swallowed down the primal desires warring inside him, fighting to take control of his common sense.
There were usually two things Garrett wanted to do after his boots touched London soil. His first stop was to visit a mistress and his second was to ride in the park. Today, he’d reversed that order. At the time, he didn’t know why getting on a horse seemed more important. Now he knew. She was standing right beside him.