Mad About the Major by Elizabeth Boyle Page B

least the bruise around his eye was now fading, so his mother wouldn’t fuss over his less-­than-­perfect appearance and give his father more evidence of his “unruly state.”
    â€œI would never have asked, if I’d—­” she told him, making a small sigh as she looked back at the valise.
    â€œYes, well, it isn’t all that important—­” Kingsley took another look at the trunk. After all, how long could her three tasks take? The errands of an innocent miss? Most likely he’d find himself having to endure traipsing past the animals at the Tower. Or perhaps a show at Astley’s Circus. Most likely, some shopping on Bond Street. Ices at Gunter’s.
    He’d be done by teatime and whatever pique had set her off to abandon her home and family would be abated by then so he could set her down at her doorstep and still make it home to the Abbey before supper was finished.
    His mother did like to make a long-­winded production of the evening meal.
    Certainly if he arrived in the afternoon as he’d planned, that would only give his parents additional hours to go on and on about the paragon they’d chosen for him to marry.
    Or he could trim away some of that needless nagging and spend the day with this troublesome minx.
    And if he were willing to admit it, he rather liked the idea of spending the day with her.
    â€œI suppose I could help you,” he offered slowly. Immediately her face brightened, that impetuous smile on her lips enticing him to consider that perhaps a day wouldn’t be enough. “Yet there is one problem—­”
    â€œThere is?”
    â€œI don’t know your name.”
    She stilled immediately, her smile shifting as she bit her lips shut. Even her bright eyes narrowed in alarm.
    â€œYour name? You have one, don’t you?” he teased.
    This was enough to goad her into giving up some hint of who she might be. “Birdie. My family calls me Birdie.”
    He supposed a nickname was better than nothing. “Birdie, then. Nice to meet you.”
    She nodded, then she looked at him.
    Oh, yes, he needed to give up something as well. A name. At least one of his. He certainly wasn’t going to give her his real name. She could turn out to be yet another pretty face looking to raise her standing in society with an advantageous marriage. He’d been all but mobbed when he’d first come to Town years ago.
    And that had been one of the myriad of reasons why he’d joined up once he’d discovered just what lengths a miss might go to gain a lofty title. At the time, the French had seemed an easier adversary.
    So he used the name that had gotten him into the army without detection. The one that had served him all these years. The one his friends found so amusing.
    â€œKingsley,” he told her. His maternal grandfather’s name. For it had been the old codger who had bought him his commission when his father had refused.
    â€œKingsley,” she said, as if trying it out. “Just Kingsley?”
    He knew what she was asking. Was he a lordling, an honorable, a sir, or perhaps some sort of heir with an honorific attached to this moniker? Well, if she wasn’t going to be forthcoming, neither was he.
    â€œJust Kingsley will do.”
    â€œExcellent, Just Kingsley,” she teased in return. “Do we have a bargain?”
    â€œIndeed we do,” he told her, pulling off one of his driving gloves and sticking out his hand.
    She took his great big paw in hers, her bare fingers slipping into his grasp, and he was struck with how her hand fit into his. The trust and innocence that was even now being placed into his grasp.
    Into his protection.
    â€œLet’s be at it,” he told her, letting go of her hand, for suddenly the magnitude of what he was being entrusted with became a bit overwhelming. “Where to first?”
    â€œW here were we?” Arabella asked, smoothing her hands