Mad About the Major by Elizabeth Boyle Page A

thought—­”
    â€œUnprepared? You? Truly?”
    Her nose poked a bit higher, prodded by his teasing. “Yes,” she conceded. “It might be true that I don’t know London as well as I ought—­”
    This time he didn’t tease. He snorted. “Might?”
    â€œAre you going to argue with me on every point or hear the terms of my agreement?”
    He chuckled a bit. “Aha! Your father isn’t a cit , he’s a lawyer.”
    She sniffed with disdain and imagined the second black eye her father would give him for such an insult. “He’s no such thing. Why would you say that?”
    â€œOh, no reason.” He chuckled. “Your terms, my fair milkmaid?”
    â€œI have two—­no, make that three things I would like to do today. And if you are willing to escort me, then I will grant you a . . . a . . .” Oh, bother she couldn’t say it.
    For in her mind’s eye, her imagination ran wild. At least until she squared her shoulders and did her utmost to set aside such scandalous thoughts.
    Oh, bother, if she was going to take charge of her day, then she’d demmed well better be upfront about it.
    â€œYour boon,” she forced out. When his eyes lit up with that same lascivious light that had lured her outside last night, she hastily added, “But only a kiss.”
    Wasn’t it as Papa always said? The devil is in the details.
    One kiss and only one kiss.
    Yes, that would be sufficient.
    Wouldn’t it?
    â€œThree things you would like to do,” he began, adjusting the ribbons in his hands. “Sounds rather mythical.”
    â€œI don’t need a hero,” she told him. “Just an escort.”
    â€œGood to know,” he told her. “My days of heroism are well behind me.”
    K ingsley glanced over at the gamine bit of muslin next to him and knew there was one thing he certainly couldn’t do.
    Let her go.
    And not because he wanted her or her kiss.
    Not in the least.
    Oh, she was fetching enough—­those wide blue eyes, that fair skin, and worse, because he’d held her, he knew exactly the lines and curves beneath her gown. What held him back was a liveliness to her that seemed to bubble just beneath the surface, as if being held back by a low flame.
    It sparked in her eyes, it teased at her lips when she smiled. And he had a feeling that when she laughed, when something truly amused her, it had that infectious sort of quality that made everyone else around her smile, want to share in her mischief.
    So yes, she intrigued him. But that was all she could be.
    An intriguing bit of muslin.
    More to the point, he could hardly let this chit loose in London. She’d end up being robbed of everything right down to her boots, or worse, end up in some Seven Dials whorehouse.
    Beside him, she was muttering again. “Oh, bother!”
    â€œWhat is it?”
    â€œYou’re traveling somewhere,” she said, nodding over her shoulder at the valise and trunk strapped to the back of his curricle. “And here I thought you were free for the day.”
    â€œYes, well—­” he began, looking at the reminders of what was ahead of him.
    Kingsley did his best not to shudder—­for if he was being honest, he was in the same sort of scrape she was. He didn’t want to go home.
    He’d been avoiding this trip for days, but when yesterday’s summons had arrived, borne in hand by his father’s long-­suffering secretary—­complete with a secondhand lecture on familial duties long-­neglected—­he’d had no choice but to pack up his bags and turn his carriage toward Sussex.
    That, and he was broke. His inheritance from his grandfather was gone. He’d managed to live on it all these years—­avoiding any indebtedness to his father—­though it hadn’t been a fortune to begin with, and with it spent, so was his freedom.
    At