The Major's Faux Fiancee Read Free Page B

significant reputation for being ruthless to his enemies and loyal only to the highest bidder. And he’s your guardian?”
    She pursed her lips. “He doesn’t wish to be. That’s why he wants me married off at the earliest opportunity.”
    His eyebrows rose. “We should be thankful he didn’t throw you over his shoulder and haul you onto his ship.”
    “He said women are too much bother.” She lifted a shoulder. “His misogyny is my saving grace. He wants me gone. To rid himself of me legally, his options are limited. Marriage is the least distasteful.”
    “To him or to you?” He pinned her with his gaze. “Why not get married? Weren’t you planning to eventually?”
    “I categorically refuse to,” Daphne answered flatly. “I’ve an endless list of goals I mean to accomplish, none of which will be possible if I’m to act like an arm bauble the rest of my life. I cannot be both a wife and a crusader—”
    “A what? ” he choked out.
    “—and so spinsterhood it shall be.” She stiffened her spine. “I’m simply awaiting the month of March. I’ll inherit a small portion on my twenty-first birthday, and will no longer need to be anyone’s ward—or wife.”
    He rubbed his forehead. “Provided you can put off Captain Steele until then.”
    “Provided I can put off marriage until then.” She hesitated. “He wants the first banns read this Sunday. As soon as the contract is finalized.”
    Bartholomew recoiled. “I’m expected to sign a contract?”
    “You’re expected not to honor it,” she reminded him in a low voice. “It’s a lie. Nobody has to know. I certainly won’t hold you to it. In five short weeks, I’ll be out of your hair and out from under my guardian’s thumb. It’s distasteful, but my only chance for independence.” She lifted her chin. “Will you help me?”

Chapter Four

     
    Would he help her? Bartholomew swallowed. He wasn’t at all certain what he’d got himself into. Yet he inclined his head in assent. “Why else would I have come?”
    Why else, indeed. He’d hurried to play hero because… Well, because it seemed like it might be his last opportunity to do so. He was no longer in demand. As a rake, as a soldier, as anything.
    For a toff with a fake leg, a faux fiancée was the best he could do.
    He massaged his temple. When he’d been whole, he hadn’t been concerned with being heroic. He’d only wanted to be better than all the other men. Thief of every woman’s heart. Perhaps if he hadn’t been so damn successful at everything he did, he wouldn’t have believed himself invincible.
    Believed his twin equally invincible.
    Bartholomew could no more have stopped that bullet from entering his brother’s chest than he could have redirected the cannon-fire that had pulverized his own leg. He’d tried—for the first time in his narcissistic life, he’d tried like the devil to do something truly heroic—but he hadn’t been able to staunch Edmund’s wound or carry him from the battleground. If criminally kindhearted Oliver York hadn’t risked his skin to drag Bartholomew to safety, he would have died on the bloody soil right next to his twin.
    Every day, he’d wished that was exactly what had happened.
    Until today.
    “Why else would I have come?” he repeated, more softly this time.
    Her answering smile was weak. He wasn’t surprised. The look in Daphne’s wide green eyes was one he well recognized: Desperation.
    She was fighting her own war. With Captain Steele and the world at large. She’d lost her mother as a child, but her father had always seemed like the young, ruddy-cheeked, sparkly-eyed sort who would live forever.
    He knew better now. There was no such thing as forever.
    Even Daphne had changed. He could hardly believe she was twice as old as the last time he’d seen her. Twice as beautiful. She might not want a husband, but he was frankly surprised she didn’t already have one. She was young and smart. Whole. Happy.
    Any man would be