Page 7 of Courting the Vicar’s Daughter

“I’m afraid she will refuse to do so. She rarely climbs trees, at her age, but the last time she did she stayed up for two days until I bribed one of the earl’s under gardeners to go up after her.”

Though tempted to laugh, Harry took off his coat and went to the tree, draping the article over a branch before beginning his climb.

“Oh, Mr. Devon, you really shouldn’t—”

“It’s perfectly safe, Miss Ames.” He went further into the tree, though his clothing was ill-suited for his adventure. Still, closer to the cat than the ground, he continued on. The animal noticed him drawing near and set to making an awful sound, part-growl and part-yowl. Nothing about the noise was friendly.

Harry reached up with one hand, the other holding tightly to a thick branch above his head. “Come, Bell,” he coaxed, hand nearing the animal’s wide-eyes and snarl. “I’ll help you down.”

She hissed and puffed out her fur, then raised one paw in an obvious threat, claws extended.

He froze, realizing this exact thing had happened years before, only he’d been better suited for climbing trees and the cat had been much smaller.

Of course, he’d grown a little wiser, too.

Crouching down on his branch, he held his hand out. “Throw me the coat, Miss Ames.”

Much to her credit, and despite her frown of puzzlement, she tossed his coat upward with a great deal of force. He caught it by a sleeve and then went about finding his balance again, teetering as he had to snatch the cloth out of the air.

Harry stood again, gripping the branch above him, and studied his precarious perch as well as the cat’s stubborn position.

“Maybe we ought to leave her,” the lovely Miss Ames said from below, obvious worry in her tone. “It would teach her a lesson.”

Judging by the malevolent gleam in the cat’s eye, Harry very much doubted the truth of that statement.

“Miss Ames, I am a gentleman. I will not leave man or beast in distress.” He angled himself to look down at her and shared his most charming smile, the one which made many a young woman blush and flutter their fans. But Miss Ames only stared at him, wearing an expression that appeared to question his sanity.

Harry faced the cat again, then carefully swung his coat in the animal’s direction. Distracted, the cat turned its hissing and growling toward the cloth, batting at it with a paw. But, as Harry suspected, the animal didn’t move from her chosen spot.

“Right.” He swung the jacket in a wider arc, then another, and finally tossed it onto the cat. The horrid little beast froze, though its strange noises continued, now muffled by the fabric, and Harry reached out with his free hand to scoop the jacket, wrapped around the animal, up into his arms.

Immediately, Bell started writhing within his grasp, howling with rage. One clawed foot emerged. Harry tightened his hold on the cat, pulling it against his body in an attempt to keep it from moving. At least a dozen claws dug through the jacket and into his chest.

“Careful,” the young woman from below said.

Harry gritted his teeth against the pain, realizing he hadn’t grown as wise as he’d hoped, and tried to make his way down with one free arm. It was slow going, and his rescued prize didn’t tire of thrashing and digging claws into his jacket. He heard an astonishingly loud rip.

“Oh dear.” Miss Ames must have heard it as well.

He was on the branch closest to the ground when the cat came through the coat’s collar, claws in his shoulder, and sprung to the ground at the same moment he meant to swing down. The animal’s unexpected maneuver threw him off balance and Harry tried, through flailing his arms, to find purchase.

His boots slid off the bark and he tumbled backwards, five feet to the ground, and landed on his back and shoulders.

His breath left him with an “oof.” He laid there, his body stiff as a board, staring up into the branches of the tree. Miss Ames moved into view, brow pinched with concern and eyes full of worry. She knelt beside him and reached out, her slim fingers brushing against his cheek.

“Mr. Devon? Mr. Devon, can you hear me?”

At last Harry’s lugs loosened, and he sucked in a deep breath of air. “Jezebel.”

Miss Ames drew back her hand, her concern replaced with affront. “Pardon me, Mr. Devon, but I had nothing to do with your fall. Calling me names—”

Harry couldn’t help the laugh that escaped, even though it made the muscles in his body contract in a way that told him of bruises sure to come. “Not you, Miss Ames. The cat.” He folded his hands over his chest, in no hurry to get up. “Jezebel. It suits her.”

“Oh.” She covered her lips with one hand, but not before he saw the flash of her pretty smile. “She is a terribly ungrateful creature. She’s already streaked away like a bolt of lightning. I am so sorry you were hurt in her retrieval.”

“I’ve fallen out of trees before.” Harry at last started to push himself up, into a sitting position. He managed not to grunt, though the ache in his back promised to stay for some time.

“I would hope you haven’t had much practice at that feat recently.” Miss Ames stood and held her hand out to him. He considered it for a moment, wondering if he ought to allow a woman to help him up. He had little pride left to lose, so he wrapped his hand around hers.