Conjuring up the image of the two-wheeled invention unwittingly moved his feet in the direction of it. He hadn’t meant to follow the lone woman down Ladies Mile, but now that he was heading her way, he was surely doing it out of pure and proper gentlemanly solicitude. He couldn’t help but be concerned for her safety. Nevermind that by approaching her and putting them alone together was the type of gossipmonger danger he should be protecting her from.
Those were the thoughts that sallied through his mind as rounded a corner shrouded in shrubs. He couldn’t see more than a foot in front of him when–
WHAM!
That was the sound of the contraption’s wheels plowing into his thighs.
EEK!
That was the sound of the woman flying from her seat.
THUMP!
That was the sound of the two of them crashing to the dirt ground. His heavy body rolled to protect her, exerting all its strength to keep her on top of him.
Combined, those were the sounds of Arthur tumbling and falling. In more ways than one. And as he tumbled, thoughts of spectacles, a pale face, and freedom fell into place. And when the tumbling stopped, and the rolling ceased, he could finally feelit. He had his hands on freedom. Had a grasp on it. However fleeting it would be.
“What the dickens are you doing?” Those were the first words out of her shell-pink lips. Reminding him of the ocean and the times he and his family would go collecting shells. Hope, his littlest sister, was always the one to commit to searching the longest. Arthur would stay by her side, as the dutiful oldest brother, But secretly, he loved foraging for shells. It was calming. There was something about the ocean that conveyed depths unknown, mysteries undiscovered, and curiosities unexplained. But to simply look at, one would simply think of its vastness. Its free flowing waves and openness.
Those soft and plump lips were moving again. Pouting. Those shell-colored, ocean-reminding lips were utterly and completely kissable.
“Are you trying to kill us both?” Those kissable lips were looking slightly less kissable.
“Me?” His hands were on her hips. Her soft, supple hips that fit cozily against his groin. He had one knee raised and one thigh between her legs. Had it been so long since he had been with a woman that the only place his mind knew to reside was in the bedroom? Or on a grassy knoll at sunset? Or in the library after dark?
“Yes, you. What are you doing? You nearly killed me.”
“Me?” He was beginning to realize how incompetent he was sounding. “Me? What rot! I’m not the one on a…a…”
“A Glider,” she spat out.
“A Glider. Right. Well, I’m not the one gliding around in a most unladylike fashion on a…a Glider in the wee hours of the morning damaging her reputation.” Only, she didn’tfeelunladylike. In complete contradiction to his words, she feltonlyladylike, all over his manlike parts.
“Me? Damaging my own reputation? I think that’s certainly within my rights to do. Should I venture to do so.”
“What rubbish.”
“I need not listen to your pedantic strictures on the propriety of my behavior. Your supercilious disposition does nothing to endear yourself to me.”
“You and your multisyllabic vocabulary. You must be a bluestocking.” He said it with disdain, but the larger parts of him felt admiration. “I’m not trying to endear myself to you.” Though his body disagreed. “I’m trying to protect you.”
“Protect me? You blighter.” She laughed. A beautiful laugh. A laugh that rang out into the trees and encouraged the birds to sing. “You think by following me in the woods, crashing into me, and holding my person against your body you are protecting me? I should like to know what genius contrived that plan.”
“I wasn’t following you.” Not intentionally, anyway. “But said genius would be yours truly, Arthur.” He had not meant to say that. His Christian name. Of all things. But something in his gut, or perhaps lower, convinced him that he needed to steal closer to her. Closer than bodies pressed together, that is.
Her eyes flew wide in surprise. His would have too, save all the years of training himself to remain composed in the face of any and all circumstances.
“Well, Arthur, do you think you can do your protecting from an upright position?”
Upright. Bent over. Sideways. Upside down. From behind. He was pretty sure he could do it from any position.
He cleared his throat to diminish his mortification. “Yes, quite.” Begrudgingly, he lifted her to a seated position, where she now straddled his chest. Only then did he realize that her frock was actually sewn up the middle, rendering it a pantsuit-slash-frock of some kind. This meant that even though she was, essentially, riding him astride, he only felt the layers of fabric bundled against his torso. Pity, that.
She flexed her legs and rose to stand. His hands dropped.
“Where are your spectacles?”
“How do you know I wear spectacles?” She pointed her finger at him as he lay still on the ground. For some reason he was unable, or unwilling to stand up just yet. “Aha! You were following me.” She shuddered and rubbed her upper arms, giving herself a hug in comfort. “I really must go, as cordial as this meeting was.” Her eyes scanned the ground. From the way she was squinting them into slits, it was apparent she could see nothing.
