Chapter One #2
“Truly, Mr. Reeves, I think if I give it one more pull—oh!” With a forceful tug, the lace gave way, as did her right foot.
In an instant, the palm of one of her hands slipped free.
Her breath caught, and she cried out as her center of gravity shifted.
Panicked, she flailed both arms, grasping at thin branches.
Her heart raced as she stared down at the ground.
His head snapped to her.
“That’s enough. Stop moving,” he ordered. “I’m coming up to you. Stay where you are and I’ll—” His voice trailed and his eyes shifted away as a slight movement in the air captured his attention. No. Cassandra glanced up to her hand where the page had been.
Gone.
No, no, no!
Between them, the folded page wafted to the ground, landing directly at Mr. Reeves’ feet. With a curious hum, he picked it up.
“What is this?”
He flicked the folded page back and forth between his fingers. Slowly, he straightened, met her eyes, and with a wolfish smile, he folded the page once more and placed it in the pocket of his trousers.
Worse than Caroline finding it, Cassandra would have to move to another continent to escape her humiliation if Mr. Reeves read it!
“That’s mine!”
“Is it?” he asked. “It rather seems like it’s mine now.”
Careless of her indignation, he brought himself up to the first row of branches. Swifter than she had done, he effortlessly climbed until he reached her level. When he took a step onto the branch beneath her feet, it lowered and creaked with his added weight.
Her eyes shot down to the ground once more. People didn’t die from falling from this height… did they? Gulping, Cassandra closed her eyes to fend off the dizzying vertigo and prayed. Please don’t let me fall, please don’t let me fall.
“Miss Cooper.” The branch lowered further when Mr. Reeves took a step closer. He snapped his fingers softly in front of her face. “Look at me.”
She shook her head. Another step and the branch curved at such an angle that her feet slipped until she was balanced on her toes. Her hands tightened and her fingernails dug into the bark.
“Miss Cooper.” A sigh sounded, and a calloused fingertip tapped her cheekbone. “Cassandra. Look at me, sweetheart.”
She opened her eyes, meeting Mr. Reeves’ gentle gaze. His eyes were as dark as midnight, and so close to her own.
“You’re safe.” He smiled. “I won’t let you fall.”
He balanced with one arm above him, both feet steady. Soothed by his composure, but not trusting her voice, she nodded. His lips raised at the corners and he reached for her. “Let’s get you free, little bird.”
Mr. Reeves bent down, and with one jerking movement ripped the fabric from the branch and handed the tatters to her. “You hold on to your dress,” he opened his free arm, “and I’ll hold on to you.”
“Absolutely not!” Cassandra blushed. “I’m free, thank you, but I’m fine to climb down by myself now.”
“You’ll forgive me for not having confidence in that claim, my lady.” He arched a brow. “I believe you’re concussed.”
“I am not concussed!”
“Concussed and offended. What a treat.” He scowled. “Need I remind you that I’m late to a meeting that benefits us both? Wrap your arm around my shoulders and I’ll carry you down.”
“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. Reeves smelled of clean soap and starch, with the underlying and ever present sulphuric tang of gunpowder and…
cedarwood? It was Matthew’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 distract me.” 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 with something.
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 eye contact 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!”
“—and with the trouble you went through to retrieve this,” he brought the page forth and held it above her reach, “it must be quite valuable.”
With a smug grin, Mr. Reeves slid the page into his chest pocket. “If I cannot be given a hero’s reward, I’ll settle for this.”
With a broad-faced grin and a mock salute, he ducked into the house, leaving her alone in the yard.