Mad About the Major Read Free

sent a tremor of desire, a rare curiosity down her limbs. His cock aside, whatever had he meant, that he’d devour her in return?
    Just considering the notion sent a delicious shiver down her spine. Especially when she looked at his full, strong lips. Which, she guessed, would be only the beginning of what was strong and firm about him.
    Oh, good heavens, she shouldn’t even be thinking such things. Considering such notions. Then again, no man, no one, had ever spoken to her thusly.
    And Arabella, for the first time in her life, was at a loss as to what to say in return.
    While she knew what she should do—­protest loudly and send him off with a sharp, stinging retort—­at that moment, he pulled her close, and the desire in his eyes, a mesmerizing light, left her once again wavering as her world took an unfamiliar tilt.
    Not even the realization that she was far deeper in the gardens than she ought to be, or that she was up against him, his arm wound intimately around her waist, gave her the wherewithal to panic properly. For there was one undeniable truth that held her in place.
    He was indeed strong. And very firm.
    Yet this time when he spoke, it had the opposite effect, his words breaking the passionate spell he’d cast. “My lovely Mrs. Spenser—­”
    Mrs. Who?
    Then the name came to her. Mrs. Spenser. “You cannot think—­”
    â€œOh, dear Vestal, I can think a lot of things. Like how I’ve discovered you first. Which I understand has earned me a perfect night.”
    â€œA perfect wha-­a-­at?”
    â€œA perfect night in your bed, isn’t that so?” He grinned again, this time wickedly, and much to Arabella’s horror, it only made him that much more distracting.
    Then, to make matters worse, he began nibbling on her earlobe, whispering a litany of ways he was going to make her night memorable.
    â€œI . . . I . . . I hardly think—­” she stammered to protest. But all too quickly it became clear she wasn’t going to be able to think for much longer. Suddenly she was drowning in wave after wave of the most distracting suggestions . . . and sensations.
    Oh, heaven help her! Whatever was he doing with his tongue?
    Truly, he should cease such improprieties immediately.
    Or very soon.
    â€œNo, no, you needn’t protest,” he whispered, his breath hot and warm in delicious contrast to the cool breeze in the garden. “Perhaps you need references. A hint of what is to come?” His hand slid up from her waist and cupped her breast, his fingers quickly finding her nipple and teasing it into a hard point
    â€œI don’t think . . . Oh, my!” she gasped. His touch left her spiraling, falling even as she rose up on her tiptoes. She couldn’t help herself. His touch, his lips were heaven, guiding her, pulling her toward something she’d only imagined.
    â€œI promise, I will surprise you,” he whispered in a deep, husky voice.
    Arabella blinked and tried to make sense of what was happening. Truly, he needn’t promise such a thing. He’d already made good on that pledge.
    She was utterly surprised. No, make that shocked.
    â€œAll that is left to do is slip off that mask of yours, so I can see the beauty that has all of London in your thrall,” he said, as his fingers reached behind her head to untangle the ties holding it in place. “Tomorrow morning, after I’ve discovered every delectable, delightful corner of your divine body, will you perhaps tell me what happened to Mr. Spenser?”
    Mr. Spenser? There had been a Mr. Spenser? Arabella couldn’t help herself, she smiled. That was quite contradictory to what Lady Davinia had claimed the other day at her mother’s afternoon in.
    They call themselves Mrs. This or Mrs. That, but there never was a “mister .” None whatsoever , Davinia had told her avid audience. And Lady Davinia would