Page 2 of Gone With the Rogue
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 straightahead 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 twoaway. “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.”
There was a firm set to his full lips and jaw. He placed his hands on his hips again and in a resolved manner asked, “Can you move?”
Such a simple question. Her temples were beginning to pound from the oppressive heat, from the exhaustion of holding first one hand and then the other over her head. “Very little without strangling myself,” she confessed, realizing even the fresh green scent had become stifling. “My collar isn’t detachable but I will manage.” Somehow. Surely. She would get herself down.
“I’m not leaving you up there.”
Grabbing the sides of the substantial trunk with his gloved hands and fine-leather booted feet as if steelspikes were attached to them, he started climbing up. One firm clutch at a time.
“No, don’t do that, Mr. Stockton. Please. No.”
It seemed only a second or two later he was standing on the widest point of the same wobbly limb with her, but with his back and weight pressed tight against the trunk and his eyes staring intently into hers. She suddenly felt as if all the quivering leaves on the tree were in her stomach as every muscle in her body tensed at his closeness. He stood beside her, tall, confident, and decidedly male. An unmistakable awareness passed between them. What struck her even more disturbingly was that he had ignored her pleas to go away. He was determined to help her. How many times had she asked others to help her break free of the duke’s domination so she and Chatwyn could be free to live by themselves? Countless. Everyone had refused her, including the duke’s two older sons and his daughter. They were as restricted by him as Julia was. And now this man was helping her when she wasn’t even in need of it. Julia knew Miss Periwinkle would return.
Rays of late-afternoon sunshine found a sliver of space between the bouquets of leaves, glistening off his golden-brown eyes and highlighting strands of his tawny-brown hair. She wanted to reach out and brush the wayward strands away from his forehead, but held back that feminine instinct and asked, “How did you do that so fast?”
