Some bloody catso had gone and stolen his sister’s bag and Enoch was determined that the rapscallion would rue the day he had attempted his malversation upon her – even if it was Jemima she was still a Rosier. She might have been an embarrassment most of the time but blood was blood and he would not allow anybody to prey upon her ridiculously infuriating good nature.

Griselda would have taken one look at the catspaw and known what he was about instantly but no, his foolish little sister had actually believed the man’s plea for alms and had been retrieving her coin purse when he had snatched it and ran. Were it just the bag Enoch might not have bothered but the glowsy fuckwit had gone and pushed his sister to the ground too and that he couldn’t ignore – to bruise her was to bruise him.

Even if she was an idiot who could be shigged out of her purse so easily.

He sprinted in the direction Jemima had indicated through the park, lion-drunk intentions forming in his mind for when he caught up with the deviant, and put on a burst of speed when he spotted a clear skid in the grass where a boot had hurriedly ran by the side of the lake. Enoch looked around him and immediately stopped in his tracks, staring dumbfounded.

“You!”

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Indecently attractive set by MJ