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Tewksbury was as prepared for Enola’s arrival as he always was. That was to say: not at all, truthfully.
She barely spared him a glance before sliding past him towards the parlor, leaving him standing with his mouth agape in his own front door. Tewksbury turned and followed without a second thought, breathless and awestruck at the sight of her.
It had been weeks since he had seen her. Weeks since the Lord’s vote, since the feel of her hand beneath his lips, since watching her walk away with wet eyes.
Weeks, and yet it was as if it had been years, decades, instead. He couldn't breathe, couldn't think straight.
Enola only sat down carelessly on the parlor sofa, sighing and appearing entirely unaffected. Tewksbury gingerly sat down on the sofa across from her, movements careful and nimble. Should he move too fast, she might just disappear completely.
“I’ve come to ask for a favor,” she said, meeting his eyes carefully. She did not smile, did not quirk her brows or relax her jaw. It was as if the weeks between them hadn’t passed at all. As if seeing her in his parlor was common.
“Of course,” he said over the pounding of his heart. She smiled gently at last. His shoulders relaxed and his breath caught, the sight of her smile muddling his thoughts uselessly.
She smiled politely as a maid appeared at the door with a tray of tea, taking one cup with gentle fingers. Tewksbury took the other, the liquid almost spilling onto his lap completely with his sights set on Enola.
The maid exited. Enola turned her eyes back his way.
“I’m sorry to drop in so suddenly, but I really do need a favor.”
“Of course.” Tewksbury nodded, rubbing his thumb along the edge of his cup. “What is it?”
Enola, miraculously, flushed ever so slightly. Tewksbury grinned at the rare sight, leaning forward in his seat to ready himself for the request.
“Are you aware of the Richmond ball?”
He nodded slowly. “Yes, why?” His mother hadn’t stopped pestering him about the ball, telling him about the wonderful ladies he would meet there. He had only agreed to go because it seemed as if she truly wasn’t going to give up.
Enola inhaled gently, as if preparing herself to speak. Her cheeks were still flushed pink. “I need you to escort me.”
Tewksbury froze as a flush climbed over his own cheeks. He grinned despite it, and asked, “Escort you? To the ball?”
Enola groaned, slumping back into her seat. “Yes.”
He laughed breathlessly, enamored and amused at once. “And why, exactly, am I escorting you?”
He was not fool enough to believe she was simply asking for his company. His heart, however, pounded in anticipation anyhow, cheeks red and fingers shaking against his cup. Enola Holmes was entirely too easy to be fond of.
She straightened, tea sloshing over the rim of her cup as she did. With a grin creeping onto her lips, she whispered, “I have a case.”
Tewksbury blinked before grinning. “That’s wonderful! What is it?”
“I can’t tell you everything, not yet and not here. But I have reason to believe my suspect will be at the Richmond ball, and so I must too be there.” He nodded his understanding, tampering down the growing delight in his chest. At her wanting his help, at being her escort, fake as it would be.
“Understood. I’ll gladly be your escort.” She grinned, as did he.
Weeks had passed, and yet the time between them was meaningless. It was fruitless when compared to Enola Holmes, as was everything else.
—
Two days later, and Tewksbury stood outside of Enola’s lodging house, restlessly awaiting her appearance. He had knocked once already and she had shouted that she would only be a moment more, and so he rocked onto the balls of his feet as he waited.
He wasn’t even truly her escort, he reminded himself. It was for a case, and so there really was no need for him to be quite so nervous. But, despite it all, his heart began to pound and his palms began to sweat the moment her door began to swing open.
And, rightfully so, it seemed.
Tewksbury blinked. Blinked again.
He could not fathom the sight of her, could not quite comprehend it. Her dress was a dark blue fabric, her hair pulled back partly from her face, her eyes gleaming in the low light of the hall. She was breathtaking. A blooming flower amongst wilted petals, a drop of sun in the dark.
“Are you alright?” Enola asked, looking him up and down. He swallowed, eyes meeting hers. She raised one brow in scrutiny, seemingly unaware of the effect she had on him.
“Yes, of course,” Tewksbury said, shrugging the nerves from his shoulders. She nodded slowly, turning to shut the door to her room. When she turned back, he was holding out the pink camellia that had before been clutched to his side.
Enola looked from the flower back to him. A breath passed, then another, before she reached out and primly took the camellia from his grasp. “How kind.”
He grinned. “Well, I know just how much you love flowers.”
She made a low noise in her throat, looking torn between bolting back into her room and smacking him in the arm. She settled for a gentle elbow to the gut as she passed by him, leaving him coughing and her giggling.
“Come on, Viscount Tewksbury. Don’t want to be late!” She called, not turning back his way. Both knew he would follow her.
—
“Repeat it to me once more.”
“I know what I’m doing, Enola—”
“Priscilla!”
Tewksbury groaned and slumped over into his seat. “Priscilla, my apologies.”
Enola nodded her approval. She had spent the last twenty minutes of the carriage ride briefing him on the case: Ellis Cory, her culprit, was suspected of stealing jewels and other treasures, and Enola suspected he would do so again at the ball, where many of London’s elite would be.
Tewksbury’s part of her plan was simple enough. He would escort her into the ball, dance with her, and pose as a normal escort for the necessary time until Ellis was spotted. She’d slip away and capture him while Tewksbury stayed in the ballroom.
Simple. Should be, except for Tewksbury forgetting to call her Priscilla Dalton rather than Enola Holmes.
“Don’t blow my cover, Tewksbury! If Ellis, or anyone for that matter, hears that Enola Holmes is scouting the ball then my case will be entirely squandered,” she scolded, swatting at Tewksbury’s knee.
He batted her hand away, careful not to jostle the camellia in her lap. “I won’t, I swear.”
Enola squinted, assessing him. Finally, she sighed and said, “Alright. I suppose I trust you.”
“Such high praise.”
She snorted and kicked him in the ankle, giggling at his pout. As they quieted, she grazed a finger over the petals of the camellia. Neither spoke, instead looking at the pink of the flower.
The Richmond manor appeared through the window, and Tewksbury straightened. Enola turned to look out the window, shoulders tensing and jaw tightening. She turned back and met his gaze steadily.
—
They entered the ball easily, arms clasped and Enola pressed tightly to his side. He could almost revel in the feel of it, if not for the obvious. If not for it being a case.
Each time he looked her way, he remembered exactly why their arms were clasped, why he was her escort.
Truth be told, when he looked her way, she didn’t quite look like Enola Holmes.
Her smile was curved up flirtatiously at the edges, her steps measured with one foot in front of the other. She laughed breathlessly and flicked her hair over her shoulder with a cock of her head.
Looking like this, acting like this, it was easy enough to call her Priscilla.
He had never seen Enola curve around his arm in such a way, never seen her lean into his chest and bat her eyelashes up at him.
Tewksbury only smiled and tilted his head down against hers, letting them rest together.
“Shall we dance, Tewksbury?” she asked, fingers trailing from his elbow to his shoulder. He choked at the sensation and nodded furiously.
He led her to the dance floor with flaming cheeks, guests spinning around them as the music hummed. She grinned as he set his hand along her waist, his other curving along the length of her palm. He couldn't quite tell if it was Priscilla or Enola smiling up at him.
“You’re quite red,” she whispered, leaning up to do so. To the patrons of the room, they looked only to be two lovers embracing quietly, speaking tenderly. Tewksbury swallowed and willed the color on his cheeks to fade, lest his damn blush arouse suspicion. “Are you alright?”
He plastered a grin onto his lips and spun her gently. “Quite alright, Prissy darling. Just a bit hot in here, I suppose.”
Enola blinked, cheeks flushing gently at the endearment, even with another woman's name attached. A moment later it was gone, sly smile having taken its place as she batted her lashes. “Understandable.”
They spun a moment more. Enola’s eyes found something over his shoulder, and her gaze hardened at the edges. It softened as she turned back up to him, moving her hand to his shoulder. Her lips curved up at the edges. Her lashes moved gently.
“Dear?” she breathed.
“Yes?” He was just as breathless, though he had no name or part to play other than his own. It was only Tewksbury’s breath caught at the sight of Enola Holmes, her face so close to his, her body against his as they swayed.
“Perhaps we should find you a quiet place to cool you down?” she suggested. Tewksbury furrowed his brows in confusion until Enola tilted her head ever so slightly. Right. Of course.
“Yes, that would be wonderful, thank you,” he said. She smiled and turned, taking his hand in hers to lead them across the ballroom and out a set of side doors until they were alone in the hallway.
Enola dropped his hand as the door swung shut, lashes still, lips no longer quirked.
“What is it?” Tewksbury asked quietly. She turned her head to the side, eyes sweeping along the length of the hall. There was no one in sight, but still, she leaned closer and lowered her voice.
“I saw him. Ellis,” she said into his ear. He nodded as she pulled back a few inches, face still close to his. In this proximity, Tewksbury could see the flecks of green at the edges of her eyes, count each gentle freckle along her cheeks. There were only a few, but it seemed a travesty that he hadn’t seen them until now.
The door to the ballroom swung open.
Enola, without turning her head, cast her gaze to the side to see who it was. Her eyes returned to Tewksbury’s instantly, wide and panicked.
His brows furrowed, lips curving into a frown. He inhaled, about to ask who it was, but she surged forwards, pressing her lips to his frantically and pressing him back into the wall.
Tewksbury inhaled sharply through his nose. A beat passed.
She did not pull back, only pressed herself closer, and Tewksbury settled his floundering hands on her hips. She sighed gently into his mouth as he moved one hand to her lower back, pulling her into his chest.
One of her hands clutched at his shoulder, the other his elbow. She cupped his elbow to steady herself and he groaned low in his throat, clutching her all the more.
Footsteps passed behind Enola.
Tewksbury ignored them, savoring instead the feel of her body, the heat of her mouth. This was better than he had ever allowed himself to imagine, better than any careless fantasy he had conjured in the past. Nothing could compare to the reality of Enola.
The footsteps receded, turning a corner.
Enola pulled away, stepping back and allowing for a foot of space to rest between them.
Tewksbury panted against the wall, flushed and exhilarated, gaze caught on Enola’s lips. It turned, rose, and found Enola’s. She was staring down the hall, where the footsteps had disappeared to.
Oh. Oh.
He inhaled raggedly against the feel of his chest caving in, his heart collapsing. It had not been Enola he had been kissing. It had been Priscilla.
She met his gaze finally, brushing her hands down her dress and across her hair. Righting herself. Erasing the memory of his kiss.
“I’m sorry, truly,” she muttered, cheeks visibly pink. Tewksbury was still leaning against the wall, his legs feeling rather useless. He could still feel her lips against her own. “It was Ellis coming and he knows what I look like. I would’ve been caught.”
She was watching him carefully. He could only stare.
“Tewksbury?” she asked gently, fingers shaking as they clasped together. He shook his head. She did what she had to for the case. Anything more he felt was not her fault, was his, and he needed to control himself. This was not the time to be worried about them kissing, not when she was still on her case.
He stood, pushing away from the wall at last. “It’s alright. I was just… surprised.”
Enola nodded slowly. Tewksbury offered a shaky smile, one she barely returned. When she tilted her head, indicating the ballroom door, he silently offered his arm. She did not speak. Only took his arm and turned her face forward.
They walked into the ballroom side by side, silent and flushed.
—
Their next dance was different. Still, did Enola bat her lashes and smirk. Still, did she press herself close. But, each moment they twirled across the floor, Tewksbury would remember the feel of her lips on his, then her stepping back and looking for her suspect.
He smiled down at her with stiff limbs. She tilted herself closer to his chest, thumb rubbing along his elbow. It was the opposite elbow she had held in their hallway embrace, but he nearly flinched all the same.
He was pathetic, truly.
“Tewksbury,” she whispered not a moment later. His eyes found hers, and he could not resist the gentle blush that overcame his cheeks.
“Yes, Priscilla?” She raised her head ever so slightly.
“Follow me, would you? I’m feeling quite hot, I think I need some air,” Enola said quietly. He hesitated. Nearly refused. Should it be a repeat of before, another kiss and separation, he would surely break.
But this was not about him. It was about Enola and her case. And so he smiled leisurely and uttered, “Of course. The hall, perhaps?”
Her lips on his, the wall against his back, their flushed cheeks.
Her, her, her.
But Enola only shook her head.
“Outside, maybe? The weather is quite lovely,” she said with a smile. Tewksbury nodded and began to lead her towards the doors. They moved briskly once they were outside the ballroom, hands clasped and moving side by side.
“We need to go to the gardens,” Enola muttered. She turned them down a hall and out a set of doors, and then they were in the gardens. There was no one else in sight. Not Ellis, nor another patron.
Tewksbury looked Enola’s way. “Are you sure he’s here?”
She nodded. “I saw him come this way.”
She walked forward slowly, hand still in his. She released her hold on him to step forwards, but there was nothing to be seen amongst the plants. A sound came from behind and Enola turned. Her eyes widened and he stepped forward in alarm, but it was not him she was looking at.
“Tewksbury!” she cried, stretching her hands toward him. A flash of pain flared across the back of his skull and his vision blurred. He began to sway as he raised a hand to his head, tipping to the side as Enola reached out. He saw her small, delicate hands before he fell to the ground.
A cluster of pink camellias shone in his peripheral before his eyes slid shut.
—
Tewksbury woke with a pounding in his head and a groan building in his throat.
He opened his eyes blearily, finding himself to be in near darkness. He was tied to a chair, his wrists rubbed raw from the ties when he shifted in place. His head was aching and his vision was foggy at the edges, certainly from whatever had hit him, but Tewksbury strained his eyes anyway. There was nearly nothing to be seen, the small window on the far wall not offering nearly enough light for him to see.
A moment passed. His vision steadied, adapting to the lack of light, and he turned his head, freezing immediately at the sight that greeted him. Enola, tied to her own chair a few feet away, head tilted to the side. There was blood sliding slowly down her brow and across her cheek, a cut across her forehead looking fresh. Down her other cheek was more blood, enough that he couldn’t see quite where it was coming from.
“Enola,” Tewksbury whispered, a near sob edging its way up his throat. He shook his head, cleared his throat. A hair louder, he said her name again. “Enola!”
She didn’t stir. His breath caught and he lurched in his chair, forgetting that he was tied down. He had to reach her, had to wake her. Tewksbury inhaled slowly and stretched out his leg. He was, thankfully, close enough that he could just reach her foot, and he nudged his own against hers.
Enola’s head rose a fraction with a particularly frantic nudge, her eyes opening slowly. Tewksbury could cry in relief, truly. He settled for muttering her name once more, tilting his head down to try and meet her eyes.
“Tewksbury?” she breathed. Her eyes moved slowly to his frame then over her own, widening as she took in their predicament. She jerked softly in her chair, testing the ropes. Had it been another night, another time, she might’ve been able to slip her wrists out or untie the rope. But her gaze was slack from the blood still dripping down her face, and so instead Tewksbury watched her lean her head back after a moment with a sigh.
As her head tipped back, her hair did too, and he could see faint bruises along her neck. There wasn’t yet light enough for him to see their shape, but with a squint, he made out the faint shades of blue and purple. He tried not to balk, tried to tamp down the sudden surge of concern and fury.
“Enola, are you alright?” he asked instead, forcing his voice to remain soft and quiet.
She nodded slowly. He wasn’t quite sure he believed her. “Are you? He hit you rather hard.”
Tewksbury furrowed his brows. “He?”
Enola looked his way once more. “Ellis.” Tewksbury let the name settle over him slowly. Right. Her case. He had almost forgotten. “He was in the garden. Just waiting for us, I suppose.”
“And he’s the reason we’re here?” She nodded, shifting in her chair.
“I tried to stop him, but I was a bit surprised when he jumped out of the rose bushes.” She groaned as she let her head fall back, the purple and blue marks exposed once more. “I should’ve been paying more attention.”
“It’s not your fault,” he argued quietly. She only shook her head.
“It is. I brought you here, and now I’ve gotten us knocked out and tied up.” Enola turned her gaze his way. “I’m sorry.”
Tewksbury shook his head, shifting to sit up straighter. “Don’t be. This isn't your fault, I promise. And I agreed to come, it’s not as if you forced me.”
She huffed but said nothing more. Tewksbury glanced around the room when it became apparent she was going to say nothing else. His eyes had adjusted enough that he could make out the room, barely.
It appeared to be some sort of warehouse, abandoned and run down. There was no other furniture in the room besides the two chairs they were strapped to, and along the farthest wall, there was one door, firmly shut.
“How did Ellis bring us here?” Tewksbury wondered aloud. “There are no warehouses near the Richmond manor that I know of, but he somehow dragged us both here.”
Enola said nothing as her eyes flitted across the room. Tewksbury sighed. She was surely working out all the details in her head, but did not seem interested in making him privy quite yet.
Both froze as footsteps sounded behind the door. Tewksbury spared Enola a glance, but she kept her own gaze firmly set on the door, jaw set. The door creaked open slowly, and the footsteps grew louder. The man that stepped forward was grinning, eyes stuck on Enola. Tewksbury had expected someone older, but he appeared to be their age.
“Miss Holmes. I’m glad you’re both awake,” he said, head tilting to the side as his gaze swept over her. He did not look at Tewksbury even once. Enola tilted up her chin and remained silent. Ellis stalked forward until he was directly in front of her, leaning over her form. Tewksbury’s chest seized.
Ellis caught the motion out of the corner of his eye, gaze slowly sliding over to Tewksbury. But he didn’t push away from Enola, didn’t step toward Tewksbury. He only smiled, brows raised.
“I haven’t quite figured out who this is, however.” Enola swallowed. Ellis looked back to her, gaze sweeping over her bloodied face. He lifted a hand to her face, thumb brushing along the blood on her cheek.
Enola flinched at his touch, face jolting back, but he caught her chin with his thumb and pointer finger, blood smearing across her skin. Tewksbury seethed and jerked in his seat, fighting his restraints at the sight. His vision was tainted red with fury. Neither Enola nor Ellis looked his way.
“You need to stay out of my way, detective,” Ellis murmured, face tilting closer to hers. Tewksbury jerked once more, but he wasn’t strong enough to break the ropes.
“You were robbing them. I wasn’t going to let you run free,” Enola hissed. Ellis released her chin with a glare, moving to place his hands on the chairs arm rests atop her tied down arms.
“If you had left well enough alone I wouldn’t have had to do all of this,” he said with a scowl, as if kidnapping them had personally offended him.
“You could always just let us go,” Tewksbury offered. Enola’s head snapped in his direction, eyes sharp and warning him to remain quiet. He looked to Ellis instead. “We could all go our separate ways.”
Ellis pushed back from Enola’s chair with a startled laugh while Enola slowly shut her eyes. If they weren’t currently kidnapped, Tewksbury was sure she would be lecturing him.
“I still don’t know you are.” Ellis pointed at Tewksbury. “What’s your name?”
Enola shook her head frantically, glaring daggers.
“Viscount Tewksbury.”
Enola let her head fall back with a quiet groan. Ellis appeared positively giddy, laughing once more. “Lord Viscount Tewksbury? The Marquess?”
Tewksbury was smart enough to remain silent that time, but the damage had been done. Ellis made a show of tilting his head, shoulders relaxing as a realization seemed to wash over him. Before Tewksbury could even blink, he had shot towards Enola again, a hand wrapping around her neck loosely.
Enola choked softly while Tewksbury cried out, his body involuntarily lurching. There was nothing he could do but sit and seethe. The realization was gut-wrenching.
“I’ll make you a deal, Lord Tewksbury,” Ellis sneered, thumb tapping at the skin of Enola's throat gently.
“Anything. Anything, just—stop. Please,” Tewksbury choked out.
Ellis’ sneer curled into a sadistic smile. Tewksbury knew that was exactly what he had wanted to hear, exactly the sort of admission, but he didn’t much care. Not when his hand was trapped around Enola’s throat, squeezing gently with each breath Ellis took.
“Compensate me for Miss Holmes getting in my way tonight, and I’ll let her go. I’ll let you both go.” Money. Of course. The whole reason Enola was after him was his habit of robbery. Tewksbury should’ve offered him money the second he had stepped into the room, the second he had looked at Enola.
“How much?” Tewksbury asked, fists clenched against the cold wood of the chair. Enola’s eyes slid his way, wide and confused at his easy acceptance, as if there had been a chance he wouldn't accept a deal to save her. Tewksbury nearly scoffed at the thought.
Ellis opened his mouth to name his price, but Enola shifted in her seat and cleanly brought up her knee between his legs. Ellis yelped as he was forced back several steps at the impact, and Enola rushed to stand, his hand no longer restricting her airway or holding her down.
It seemed Enola had been planning her escape for some time now. Her ropes fell to the ground as she stood, free of their previous knots, though Tewksbury truly could not fathom how she had done it.
Ellis was still kneeled over, and Enola took the chance to bring her knee up and into his face. Tewksbury heard his nose crunch beneath it, and Ellis slammed onto his back with a cry. Tewksbury turned to his own ropes. He wasn’t particularly useful in a fight, not like Enola was, but any sort of help would be better than sitting and watching.
He twisted his wrists beneath the ropes, searching for any sort of give or opening. Enola cried out in front of him and his head shot up, finding her clutching her side, Ellis back on his feet and fist retracted from a blow. Tewksbury twisted his wrists harder.
At last, his ropes loosened. Tewksbury exhaled in relief, pulling his wrists harder. They slipped down his wrists further, his left hand sliding free. A masculine groan sounded out, but Tewksbury only ignored the noise, gaze still on his hands. His right hand slipped free with another jerk of his hand, the ropes falling to the ground uselessly, and he stood from his chair.
The familiar slam of a body echoed throughout the room. Tewksbury froze, but when his gaze turned, he found Enola panting over Ellis’ prone body. The boy was breathing shallowly through bloodied nostrils in his unconscious state, and Tewksbury wondered if she had once again slammed into his face to knock him out.
Enola turned towards him at last. Tewksbury couldn’t help but rush forward, hands gentle as they settled over her arms the moment she was close enough to touch. He couldn't quite settle them, brushing his fingers over her bloodied cheeks, her bruised neck, her shaking arms.
“Are you alright?” He breathed, frantic and breathless.
She nodded once, hands coming up to cup his elbows. “I’m fine, I promise.” A beat, before she smiled playfully. “Thanks for your help, Tewky.”
He let out a burst of short laughter. “You’re very welcome, Prissy dear.”
She giggled softly, thumb rubbing along his elbow. Tewksbury swallowed, and, in a burst of affection, tipped his forehead forward to lean it against hers. “You were made to fight, Enola Holmes.”
Enola exhaled raggedly, breath hot across his lips. They did not speak for another moment.
She pulled back first, and both turned their gazes down to Ellis’ form. Tewksbury sighed, and asked, “And how do we deal with him?”
—
Dealing with Ellis Cory turned out to be a rather simple affair. Enola and Tewksbury left the warehouse side by side, discovering it to be only a few streets away from the Richmond manor. From there, they only had to slip back inside and ask for the police.
They were given quite a few stares, considering the blood and bruises, but no one asked any questions. The police were quick to arrive and thank Enola for her help, and retrieved him from the warehouse, where he was still unconscious.
Tewksbury had to resist sneering as they dragged out his body, had to push away the memory of his fingers along Enola’s cheek and arms and neck.
Enola’s gentle fingers on his arm gave him pause. She was watching him carefully when he turned, blood now cleaned from her face and cuts stitched. “Thank you for your help.”
He offered her a gentle smile. “There’s no need to thank me. I’ll be here whenever you need me, Enola.” He knew the same could be said for her. He remembered her on the train, in the flower markets, at his house. She was constantly saving him, it seemed. Always ready to offer aid. It seemed time he returned the favor.
Quietly, he said, “Goodnight Enola.”
She smiled shakily. “Goodnight Tewksbury.”
Tewksbury pivoted slowly, arm growing cold as her fingers fell from his arm. He took a step, then another, walking away from Ellis and Priscilla and Enola. Her fingers snagged his coat, jerking him back around to face her, and he nearly stumbled into her at the force of her hold.
“Enola, what-” he breathed, but her lips against his halted the rest of his words. Tewksbury wondered for a moment if perhaps she was on another case he wasn’t aware of, if she was hiding under the name of Priscilla or Jane or anyone other than Enola Holmes.
He pulled back gently, eyes trapped on hers. They were wide as they darted between his and down to his lips, cheeks flushed, lips parted and panting.
It was her. It was clearly, plainly, Enola, and the realization left him dizzy.
Tewksbury surged forward and crushed his lips to hers, hands cradling her cheeks. Her own clutched at his shoulders as if she would collapse should she let go. His thumb traced along her cheek, down her jaw.
Ellis had touched her there, Tewksbury thought. He let his thumb linger, softly, lovingly. Let it try and erase the memory of the man’s ruthless touch as moved his lips against hers. She pulled back with a quiet exhale, forehead tipping forward against his.
He was helpless to stop the breathless laugh he let out, nor the next gentle sweep of his thumb along her jaw. Enola only smiled, leaning closer to press herself more firmly against him.
“I’ll see you soon, Tewksbury,” she promised with a whisper.
“Of course,” he said, breathless and enamored. “Whenever you need me.”
Enola stepped back slowly, letting her hand fall from his shoulders. She turned away first and looked back only once to wave gently. Tewksbury returned the gesture and turned his own way. When he returned to his carriage, he found the pink camellia laying innocently in the seats, awaiting his return.