Free Provocative in Pearls by Madeline Hunter

Or tempted her, with allusions to potential freedom.
    A four-minute tree, she had called it.
     
     
    S he had never actually climbed the big apple tree at the back of Daphne’s garden. The narrow skirts of her dresses did not permit it. However, with the aid of a ladder she would manage to perch on a low branch, and use a rake’s handle to knock down the higher ripe fruit.
    It had been years, then, since she had done this, but the skill came back. The way she had tied the wide swath of her undressing gown’s fabric high in the middle between her legs, then around her thighs and knees too, allowed her to be fairly nimble. The garment served her purpose of testing herself and the tree tonight. The next time, when she left for good, she would need to find something less ridiculous to wear.
    She swung onto the tree and an old, latent, girlish thrill bubbled through her. One felt like a bird when high in a tree. It was very different from looking out a window. It also felt secretive and private. The branches formed a little home that no one else could enter.
    She settled herself on a thick branch and looked up. There was not much moon, but the stars were very bright. She loved the way the leaves fluttered against her view of the sky, and the lovely patterns they made.
    She deeply inhaled sea air and the promise of freedom. She had not expected the latter to affect her so much, but she was fairly drunk on it.
    The potential of being alive in the world made her heady. She felt the cautious, retiring nature that she had assumed after her father died drying, splitting, wanting to be shed like a skin that no longer fit. Sitting in this tree, she tasted again her childhood joy of life.
    She unaccountably wanted to laugh. A smile stretched her face for no reason. She acknowledged the Verity Thompson of long ago, reawakening now these last few days. That Verity was something of a stranger after these years, unsure of herself still, because in the time she was asleep, she had also grown up.
    Images of Michael came to her, more vividly than they had in months. She saw him as a child and a boy, and as a youth stealing that first kiss. She saw his crooked smile through the years, and its absence the last time they had met, when she had stolen to Katy’s house only to find him full of anger at the world.
    He was not at all like Hawkeswell. She knew Michael as well as she knew herself, and Hawkeswell would forever be part mystery. Maybe it was the mystery that caused her to react to his kisses the way she did. She could not imagine Michael making her feel that way. She would not want him to.
    She closed her eyes, and pictured Michael again, and tried to summon something of that excitement anyway. It would probably be good to have a little at least, if he agreed to marry her. Of course, before that could happen she had to find out if he was even alive, and where he was, and whether she could undo whatever Bertram had done. Still, if all that happened, and they lived in that house together, would there be thrills in their marriage bed, or friendship and comfort?
    She opened her eyes again and looked out to the garden, and knew the answer. Not a bad answer. Probably a better one. Fires could be enthralling, but they were destructive too. They consumed that which gave them power until they died from lack of fuel.
    She checked the ties that created her odd pantaloons, then began her descent. It took longer than four minutes. It was a tall tree. She was out of practice and a lot bigger than when she did this as a girl. Next time it should go more quickly. She would throw down her valise, scamper down the tree, and run. She was good at running.
    Finally, her leg dangled down, seeking the trunk, so she could brace herself while she lowered herself from the bottom branch to the ground.
    Her foot hit the solid support and she began to lower herself. Then the trunk grew claws and grabbed her foot, shocking her.
    With her weight still on her last