Alas, it was a thing the roguish Fisk had been known to do — lead inquisitive ladies away on adventures, and more. A few times he had been mistaken for a ticket to a better, wilder, more interesting life; but he couldn't be that. He lived too autonomously, from moment to moment. But this was different. The girl with the parasol was not asking to tag along with him every time he stepped beyond the threshold. She was asking for a taste of the wild side. And he could give her that. He'd already begun.

Arven could explain all this in words, accept her alluring suggestion with some broken-up soliloquy. But instead he responded by sliding his fingers gently through her silken brown hair and kissing her beneath the wild green canopy.