“Won’t I be heavy?” She cringed.
“There’s only one way to find out.” Grinning, he opened his arm to her once more. “Shall we?”
Holding her skirts to her in a bundle, she shuffled closer to him. Dark stubble appeared a stark opposition to the silvery sheen of tight craters and pockmarked burn scars that marred the left side of his jaw and part of his neck. His chin scratched against her forehead as he turned to her. With one arm, he gripped her around the waist.
Setting aside her shame, she awkwardly tried to put her arm around his neck and buried her heated face in his shoulder. Mr. Reevessmelled of clean soap and starch, with the underlying and ever present sulphuric tang of gunpowder and… cedarwood? ItwasMatthew’s pomade. Mr. Reeves held her as if trying to soothe a trapped animal. Pinpricks of sensation erupted under his touch when his hand closed around her hip.
“I’ve got you,” he murmured into her hair.
Then they were moving.
“Have you done this before, Mr. Reeves?”
“I’ll admit this is a first.”
“I mean… have you climbed many trees?” She burrowed her head into his neck.
His grip tightened, and his voice lowered.
“Don’t talk. You’ll distract me.”
“I’m talking to distractme.” Her voice pitched. “You said that you’re a climber?”
“Hmph.I thought that much was obvious.”
In moments, Mr. Reeves’ feet touched the ground. With his hands on her hips, he guided her onto the soft grass. She dropped her skirts and removed her arm from his shoulder, but he didn’t release her right away. His eyes were unfocused, brows furrowed, almost as if he were looking through her. They were too close. The air between them was heavy withsomething. He stepped forward, easing her until her back was flush against the tree. Head down, eyes darkened, he took half a step closer. He leaned in—
“Mr. Reeves?” Cassandra whispered.
He snapped his eyes to hers. Swiftly releasing her, he took a step back, narrowly avoiding tripping over roots. He blinked rapidly and then averted his gaze. Face burning, Cassandra’s breath came out uneven.
What in the world…?
Wordlessly, Mr. Reeves set to redressing. He continued to avoid eyecontact as he laced his shoes and donned his jacket. Fully dressed, he smoothed his hair back with his fingers.
Cassandra took in her own appearance, aghast. Sticks and leaves clung to her ruined skirt. Her hair had long since abandoned its pins, flowing about her freely, and it had taken so long to get it to behave. The flats of her feet felt scratched, possibly even bruised, and there would be no saving her stockings. She dared a glance at Mr. Reeves and wondered how he could look more put together than before he climbed the tree.
An uncanny sensation washed over her, as if she were staring at an entirely different person. Who was this handsome stranger with intense ultramarine eyes that were gazing at her with a similar appraisal?
“You look like you’ve been mauled by a dog.”
She shot him a venomous look. She took it back. She took back everything that she thought about him being handsome, or clean, or that he smelled good, or—
“Such vitriol!” He smirked. “Normally, a damsel rewards her hero with a kiss. Perhaps next time I will leave you in the tower.”
With lazy strides, he set off toward the house. She shot after him.
“Mr. Reeves, please return that parchment to me.”
He paused in his steps, seemed to contemplate her request, and shook his head.
“No.”
“No?!”
“I went through a lot of trouble to save you, and you’ve yet to thank me—”
“I did thank you!”
