The Major's Faux Fiancee by Erica Ridley Read Free Book Online Page B

concern. “The horses are here and ready, as is everyone else. I won’t be spoiling anyone’s fun. Now tell me which of these fine animals you’d like to ride and I’ll fetch the mounting block.”
    Her lips tightened as if she were biting back a protest. Something in his eyes must have convinced her of his intractability on this point. Nodding, she pulled an apple from her spencer pocket and gestured toward the closest mare. “This one. Thank you for assisting me.”
    He left her stroking the mare and turned to fetch the mounting block.
    Once upon a time, he would not have needed such a thing. He would have handed her up himself without thinking twice. Lingered a moment too long with his hands cupping her curves.
    He no longer could do such things.
    His fingers clenched. He had thought the ridicule of his peers would be the worst part of returning to Society, however briefly.
    Now he suspected the worst would be the thousand little deaths every time he wished to do something and could not. His hands wouldn’t know the feel of her waist as he lifted her onto a horse. His arms wouldn’t know the warmth of her embrace as he pulled her into a waltz. His mouth wouldn’t know the feel of her lips, the sweetness of a stolen kiss.
    He was here to be a faux fiancé, nothing more. He should be satisfied with that much. If it weren’t for her, he wouldn’t have left his town house. Even that ’twas more than expected, after the accident.
    Once his leg had healed—as much as it ever would—an all-consuming depression had kept him bedridden for several weeks as he came to grips with his new reality. He was crippled. It was never going to get any better. Life as he knew it was over.
    In despair, he’d dragged himself from the bed to the bottle, and might’ve whiled away the next forty years with whisky and laudanum his only companions, had his insufferable pride not snapped him out of it at last. Others might see his ruined body as useless, but he wouldn’t be worthless . Not in his own home. That had been the end of the whisky and the laudanum.
    From that day forward, he spent every waking hour stretching and exercising. Pushing his limits. Becoming stronger.
    His atrophied muscles had screamed with agony. Mottled bruises had covered every inch of his skin from a series of endless tumbles as he’d taught himself to sit and rise without aid, to walk without a cane, to climb ropes and increase endurance.
    But he never expected he’d have to endure a challenge like this.
    He hefted the mounting block and carried it back over to Daphne. One of the footmen was already fitting the horse with a sidesaddle.
    Bartholomew could have sent a servant after the mounting block as well, but he’d wanted to do something helpful. Given he couldn’t lift her up himself without risk of falling. He shuddered at the thought. Embarrassing them both would be a fate even worse than embarrassing himself. He couldn’t bear to have her look at him in pity. Or contempt.
    “Thank you,” she said softly as he placed the block next to her horse. She laid her hand in his for balance as she mounted the mare.
    He gave her fingers a light kiss before releasing them. “Enjoy the ride.”
    She tucked a stray tendril behind her ear and blushed. “I would enjoy it more if you joined me.”
    An entirely different image of her riding him rose unbidden to his mind and his stomach tightened with desire. He pivoted away before the hunger in his eyes could betray him.
    There would be no riding of any kind. Not today. Not ever.
    He saluted Captain Steele and turned back toward the house. He would watch Daphne ride away from a distance. Out of her way. Away from temptation.
    “Are you certain you won’t join us?” Whitfield, bless his soul, still seemed to believe Bartholomew the unstoppable juggernaut he’d once been, back when Bartholomew’s legendary antics were fodder for amazement and envy.
    “I’d rather keep my feet on the ground.” He gestured