The Major's Faux Fiancee by Erica Ridley

at his legs. “Or foot, as the case may be.”
    Captain Steele grinned down at him from atop a rearing stallion. “I’ve a pony tied up behind the house, if these horses are too much for you.”
    Bartholomew flashed his teeth. A pony wasn’t quite as insulting as an ancient broodmare would have been—any pony of Captain Steele’s was bound to have a little devil in him—but the meaning was clear all the same.
    Frowning, Daphne tossed her reins aside and moved as if to dismount. “I’m staying with him.”
    “No.” He dashed forward to rescue the reins and placed them back into her gloved hands. When was the last time she’d ridden a horse? He couldn’t deny the sparkle in her eyes or the flush to her cheeks. Riding might be a rare treat. He couldn’t take that away from her. “Have a little fun. You deserve it. I’ll still be here when you get back.”
    The expression in her eyes was unreadable, but she accepted the reins and joined the others.
    Captain Steele raised his arm, his fingers cocked like a pistol as if about to fire the opening charge.
    Without warning or waiting, Fairfax launched off with a whoop, flying down the hill with reckless abandon and infectious laughter. Bartholomew couldn’t hold back a wistful smile. Everything Fairfax did was with reckless abandon and infectious laughter.
    The others instantly gave chase.
    Captain Steele was ahead of the pack in no time, his stallion impossibly swift despite its impressive size. Whitfield and Daphne raced neck-and-neck, just behind, until they split ranks to belt along opposite paths around a frozen pond.
    Bartholomew stood stiff and tall, watching her retreating form until he could no longer hear the horse hooves. Only then did he close his eyes and turn his back to the wind, to the things he could no longer do. To the man he could no longer be.
    He’d seen more than enough to know what he was missing.
    Everything .
    How he wished he could be racing across the hills at Daphne’s side. He wished he could treat her to the sort of courtship he’d always imagined undertaking, when the day came that someone finally stole his heart. Surprise flowers, dancing too close, moonlit kisses.
    Instead, he would be a faux fiancé in name only. Their “relationship” would never even leave these grounds. They weren’t even together on these grounds. She and her horse had torn off with the same buoyant joy as any of the others.
    To his surprise, she was an excellent horsewoman. He doubted she’d had much practice in the art. On the other hand, even as a young girl she’d been a quick study and curious about everything. He didn’t doubt she had a thousand hidden talents, with riding sidesaddle being the least of them.
    Nonetheless, the sight of her dashing off down the slope, every bit the equal to Fairfax or Whitfield, made him wonder anew if spoiling their suit was truly the right thing to do. With her passion and big heart and exuberance for life, she would make any man a splendid wife.
    Anthony Fairfax might frequent gaming hells more than a gentleman ought, but Bartholomew had known him his entire life, and could easily vouch for Fairfax’s good heart and integrity.
    Chauncey Whitfield was the current champ in London’s pugilistic underworld, but that didn’t mean he had rocks in his head or that a gentle young lady oughtn’t to take a chance on Chaunce. He was good-natured and easy to please, and could be counted upon to keep those he cared about safe and cared for.
    Bartholomew sighed. ’Twas precisely this sort of thinking—his tendency to analyze outcomes far into the future—that made him such an effective Army major and such a terrible knight in shining armor.
    Daphne didn’t want to wed. Blocking her guardian’s stratagems was the easiest way to win that battle. But what was the war?
    He furrowed his brow. The consequences of winning the current skirmish might be that she never got such an opportunity again. Daphne was a vicar’s