Mad About the Major by Elizabeth Boyle Read Free Book Online Page A

terrible. “How very sad. You poor, poor thing.”
    â€œCould you—­if it isn’t too much . . .” The child glanced at the roll and then glanced down at the dirty cobbles as if the sight of the fresh baked roll was too much to hope for.
    Behind Arabella, the mistress of the bakeshop snorted and picked up her laden tray, moving it out of reach.
    That, she later realized, should have been her first indication that something was amiss.
    And then she made her second mistake. Some might point out that this was her third error—­if one counted that she should never have gotten out of the curricle.
    But at that point her number of miscalculations was moot, for she handed over her breakfast.
    Arabella would argue to her dying day that it hadn’t been wrong to offer food to a starving child.
    But a starving thief?
    She held out the roll with both hands, leaning over to look the little girl in the eyes. In that instant, all the pretenses of suffering and agony fled from the child’s face, replaced by a feral look of glee.
    The roll left her hand in a flash, but so did her gloves, stripped off her hands in an instant. Even as she stumbled forward trying to retrieve them, she was bumped from behind and felt a jerk on her reticule strings.
    Or rather where her reticule had been—­cut from where it hung on her wrist. As she twisted around, she was able to spy a second slight figure loping off with his prize held in his greedy grasp.
    â€œOh, goodness, no!” she called out.
    Realizing she couldn’t catch him, she tried to snag the child closest to her, but that little urchin was ready for her. She caught hold of Arabella by the hand and spun her, shoving her in yet another direction, leaving her off balance.
    And by the time she righted herself, both of the little miscreants were gone.
    Behind her, she heard a carriage pulling to a stop.
    â€œHad enough, or do you still think you can make it to the corner?” came the insolent query.
    She cringed and then turned around, nose in the air. “Not one more word.”
    He didn’t need words. He laughed. “Get in, you goose,” he told her, scooting over to make room for her.
    She glanced over her shoulder where the pair had run off to. “They took my reticule! Aren’t you going after them?”
    He laughed again. “No.”
    â€œNo?”
    â€œAs in, decidedly not.” He crossed his arms over his chest and glared at her.
    Arabella had never heard such a thing. “Well, that tells me one very important thing about you, sir.”
    â€œWhich is?”
    â€œYou are no gentleman!”
    He laughed again. “I had rather thought you’d come to that conclusion the other night.”
    She had indeed. But she supposed today she’d been lulled into a false sense of security by his well-­cut coat and fine carriage. “You truly intend to just sit there and ignore a lady’s plight?”
    He snorted. “A lady’s plight! I will point out that you wouldn’t be in such a ‘plight’ if you had listened to me in the first place. Nor have we settled the matter of whether or not you are a lady.”
    Arabella had the suspicion he was right—­about the first part—­ but she certainly wasn’t ready to concede that point—­or any other—­just yet. Instead, she swiped her now gloveless hands over her skirt. “I would have been perfectly safe, save for a bit of uncommonly bad luck.”
    â€œUncommon, my aunt Abigail,” he barked with laughter.
    â€œSir, I will point out that this is Mayfair,” she told him, adding a stubborn tromp of her boot, as if planting herself in hallowed ground.
    â€œThis is London, you silly goose. Do you think the residents of Seven Dials find the air too rarefied here in Mayfair for their tastes?”
    Seven Dials! She glanced around. Why, they wouldn’t dare!
    Yet . . . as she