Enoch truly couldn’t imagine what Jemima might have had in her bag that was of any value, or indeed what she would consider something of worth. From a family of comfortable means or not she seemed the sort that put value on the most ludicrous things – he would bet any money that she painted nothing but watercolour scenes and owned far too many worthy novels.

“And suddenly I pity the poor thief that has to rummage through your dross to find anything of worth,” he snapped back, though in truth he had no intention whatsoever of letting the thief get away with anything less than a sound thrashing. Even if it might, if one squinted and ignored every word that came out of either of their mouths, be construed as him avenging the slight done to Miss Dempsey.

“Footprints,” Enoch said aloud, narrowing his eyes at the marks on the ground that were little more than scuffs really but definitely gave him a starting point. “This way,” he muttered, not to her, definitely not to her, because he did not want her to come with him. Even if it might be slightly more convenient to have her there so she could retrieve her bag and he would not feel obliged as a gentleman to return it to her even though she didn’t deserve the courtesy.

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Indecently attractive set by MJ