Mad About the Major by Elizabeth Boyle Read Free Book Online

foolish notion.
    It wasn’t as if he cared for her, as if she had been more than a flirtatious—­albeit disastrous—­moment at a ball.
    Still, when her merry blue bonnet came into view like a beacon, and he spotted her in front of the bakeshop, he realized he’d been holding his breath, tensed and ready to pounce.
    For a chit he barely knew.
    Wanted nothing to do with. But he still couldn’t shake his relief as he fixed his gaze on her slim figure standing before the shop window.
    This looked harmless enough, he mused, relaxing his vigilant stance slightly. She’d get herself something to eat and then be back.
    At least he thought that until he realized the two urchins he’d spied moments earlier were now making their way toward her.
    And what unfolded next happened in the blink of an eye.
    Like most of the trouble that happens in London.
    G ood heavens , Arabella thought as she jumped down from the carriage, he sounded as pompous as her father.
    And as a duke, Arabella’s father was the very definition of pompous—­that is, according to her uncle Jack.
    Nearly skipping with the heady air of freedom beneath her feet, she moved quickly to the other side of the street, sending a triumphant glance over her shoulder at him .
    Then just as quickly glanced away. He rather towered above everyone else, and it wasn’t just the curricle’s height that gave him his lofty status. He was a tall, imposing figure of a man, and it made her shiver just to look at him.
    Oh, there wasn’t very much different about him—­though in the daylight she could discern that his driving coat was of a very good wool and an excellent cut.
    The sort of coat done by only the best, most exclusive of tailors.
    So, who the devil was he? Having been in Society for the last four Seasons, she should have some inkling as to who he might be, but she hadn’t the vaguest notion.
    Worse, it didn’t help that when she looked at him, her gaze strayed to his lips and she imagined what they might have felt like kissing her.
    Oh, bother . That was exactly how young ladies of quality got into trouble. And she was determined to prove that she was capable of taking care of herself.
    Which meant avoiding any entanglements that could be misconstrued. Yet here was her would-­be rescuer glowering at the scene before him as if he thought she was wading through the plague.
    Really, did he think her such a child to be chided and reminded how to walk in the street?! Though she hadn’t any notion of what she was going to do next, certainly she wasn’t about to be ruined on a street corner in Mayfair.
    Not when the scent of freshly baked buns tickled at her nose. She turned in that direction.
    A bakeshop. Arabella’s stomach growled, a very unladylike noise, but one that reminded her that she hadn’t eaten breakfast this morning.
    Having never purchased anything in her life, she found it rather daring to walk right up to the woman, tray in hand, and ask, “One of those, if you please.”
    The woman glanced at her and then at her reticule.
    Oh, yes, the coins. Arabella had almost forgotten. She fumbled with the strings and got out one of the pennies tucked inside and handed it over. “Will that do?”
    â€œIt will,” the woman said, relinquishing one of the hot buns.
    Triumph ran through her. Yet as she turned around to show her prize to her doubting Sir Galahad across the way, she found a small girl in a tattered dress in front of her.
    â€œExcuse me, miss, but I haven’t eaten in two days.” The little urchin’s grimy hand shot out and she looked up at Arabella with wide, sad brown eyes that implored for help.
    â€œOh, that’s terrible,” Arabella said, as she looked down at the poor forlorn little dear, her heart nearly breaking. Why, it appeared as if the child hadn’t eaten in a week. She was so thin, and, dear heavens, shivering something