Mad About the Major by Elizabeth Boyle

insisted you could take care of yourself.”
    It was rather humiliating to realize how little she knew of being on her own. She glanced around the streets before her and knew that navigating them without protection might not be the best choice.
    She needed an escort. A guide. A rogue. Looking again at the man beside her, her gaze narrowed. “What sort of favor?”
    â€œSay we finish what we nearly started the other night at the ball.”
    Arabella stilled. Certainly he wasn’t suggesting . . .
    Then again, this was the same man who’d traced his fingers over her with a practiced air and proposed that she . . .
    Well, never mind what he’d proposed. That wasn’t going to happen.
    But she knew this: she needed him. Not that she wanted to admit as much. So she feigned an air of indifference. “You said a great many things that night. I barely remember—­”
    â€œLiar. The blush on your cheeks says otherwise.”
    She pursed her lips together. Did he have to sound so confident? So sure of himself? Never mind that he was right.
    Actually, every night since the ball, she’d lain in the quiet of her lonely room and tallied up everything he’d suggested, how he’d touched her, where he’d stroked her, one by one, like one might count a string of pearls.
    I’ll trace my tongue over you, again and again . . . I’ll fill you . . . stroke you . . . I’ll tease you until you come quaking beneath me. . .
    She did her best to cool the heat rising on her cheeks and when she glanced over at him she came to a shocking realization. “Now? In the middle of the day? Why, that is impossible.”
    â€œShows you how much you know,” he teased.
    Oh, she knew. She was forever walking in on Papa and Elinor in some passionate embrace in the library or the hallway as if they were the only two ­people in the world.
    Late at night, in the shadows of the halls. And in the middle of the day. As if the secret world they shared was indiscernible to anyone but them.
    A world she knew nothing about, and yet the man beside her did.
    Tonight, my sweet, I’ll fill you, leave you gasping. . .
    He couldn’t expect such a boon, could he?
    When Arabella slanted a glance at this fellow, what with his dark eyes and thick brown hair, all she could imagine was him finishing what he’d been about to do that night—­kiss her; no, make that devour her.
    The very thought left her mouth dry, sent her very Tremont blood on its own wild course.
    Heavens, if her stuffy, all-­too-­proper father was willing to have scandalous preludes in the middle of the day . . . what would a rake like this want to do?
    â€œDo stop looking at me as if I mean to ruin you here on Oxford Street in front of everyone,” he said. “That isn’t what I meant.”
    â€œIt isn’t?” she asked, hoping she didn’t sound as disappointed as she suddenly felt. No matter how much her curiosity tugged at her to discover just why a kiss could turn a perfectly sane person into a madcap fool.
    But there was something else to consider. If she truly wanted this day, her own London holiday, she needed help.
    His help.
    Even as a wild, misguided plan slowly formed in her thoughts, Arabella began to speak. “I will grant you your boon—­”
    â€œYou’ll wha-­a-­a-­t—­?”
    Apparently not the answer he’d been expecting. “If—­” she began.
    â€œIf?”
    â€œYes, if you help me with a rather complicated matter.”
    â€œHaven’t I already accomplished that?”
    â€œYes, but I wouldn’t be in the straits I am in, if the other night you hadn’t—­”
    â€œYes, yes, we’ve already established my fault in all that—­”
    â€œAnd because I have come to realize that I may not be as prepared as I