Free Mad About the Major by Elizabeth Boyle Page A

carriages.
    He still didn’t look convinced.
    â€œI will do whatever you ask, Kingsley,” she told him. Pleaded, really. Oh, to be so close to an actual boxing match and not be able to see it—­well, that was worse than just having to content herself with reading about the matches in The Sporting Magazine .
    â€œWhatever I say?” he asked.
    â€œOh, yes!” she promised. “I will be a paragon of obedience.”
    Again he snorted, but he did move the carriage off the road and handed the reins to one of the local lads who came to the matches just to manage the horses and make a few extra coins. After flipping the lad a bob, Kingsley climbed down and caught hold of her, swinging her free from the carriage.
    Arabella landed against him—­her feet tangling in her elaborate hem—­and she had to catch hold of his jacket until she could find her footing.
    It was a dangerous place to find herself. Back in his arms, her hands splayed across his chest.
    She could feel his heart, beating soundly beneath her palm. Strong and sure.
    His heat, a whiff of bay soap, leather, and horses, and all the things that made a man so very different from a woman surrounded her. Left her feeling far more vulnerable than she ever had.
    She was trusting this man with . . . well, with everything. Her reputation. Her safety.
    Her heart.
    Her breath stopped in her chest. Where had that thought come from?
    She didn’t dare look up at him. Get lost in those eyes of his—­the way they seemed to smoke with desire. With tempting lights from faraway places meant to lure her onto paths into the unknown.
    His arm curved around her hip as he steadied her, his other hand playfully batting at the ridiculous collection of plumes atop her bonnet. She wanted to lean in so their bodies were nearly joined. She wanted . . .
    Oh, goodness, she didn’t know what she wanted.
    All this was so intimate and playful, as if they were meant to be thus—­together. Together traveling about the Continent. Exploring Paris. Pottering about Rome.
    Just them. Just the two of them where no one could dictate their future, their days, their hearts.
    But that was impossible and best not dwelt upon, Arabella realized.
    Instead, with a determined air, she stepped back and away from him. Shook out her skirt and straightened her bonnet, all the while willing her heart to stop pounding in such a haphazard fashion.
    â€œWhatever could go wrong?” she managed, her mouth dry and the fateful words nearly choking her, even as she finally got the nerve to look up at him, caught instantly in the heat of his gaze.
    Trapped. Bound. Yes, that was it. Bound .
    For she felt as if there was an invisible thread between them, weaving them closer, pulling with it desires unknown.
    As she shivered, she changed her mind. No, make it a chain. A heavy, unbreakable binding.
    A thread she could snap. But this . . .
    This heat, this promise, it would not go unanswered for long. For here he was, stepping closer to her, his head tipping down as if he was about to kiss her, his hand reaching for hers . . .
    Not that they had much time to discover what could come next, for Kingsley’s arrival hadn’t gone unnoticed.
    â€œHo there!” called out a voice. “Kingsley! Is that truly you?”
    Arabella felt, rather than saw, Kingsley flinch.
    â€œOr should I say Major Kingsley?” came the query.
    Major? she mouthed at him.
    â€œNot a word out of you,” he told her. More like warned her. More to the point, he stepped back from her, putting a bit of distance between them, so that whatever had bound them together moments earlier snapped.
    â€œNot a word,” he repeated.
    Arabella shivered. There was so much she didn’t know about him. “But—­”
    Kingsley’s dark brow furrowed into a hard line. “Speak a word and we go back to London.”
    She pressed her lips