Falling in Love Again by Cathy Maxwell Page A

throughout her body. She’d been kissed only three times before—twice by John on their wedding day; once by Hal, when she’d said she’d consider his marriage proposal as soon as she’d obtained a divorce.
    But this one was different from all the others.
    Before she could gather her addled wits, John dropped his hands and scrambled over her to pound his fist against the wall next to the driver’s seat. “Peterson! Peterson, hold up.”
    The wagon came to a complete halt. John made his way to the back of the wagon and opened the door.
    The fresh air smelled wonderful. Mallory wondered again what the peculiar odor was. It smelled of chemicals, like the sort used in a druggist’s shop.
    John jumped to the ground. “Lord, Peterson, what a bruising ride.” He started to shut the doors—in Mallory’s face! He’d forgotten her presence already!
    â€œJohn,” she said with fierce control.
    â€œOh, Mallory, here, let me help you.” He held out his hand.
    Mallory ignored it. How dare he give her a push on the rump, kiss her, and then forget her? She hopped down from the wagon on her own.
    John frowned at the hand he still held out to her, his expression puzzled. “Have I done something wrong?”
    â€œWhat would make you think that?” Mallory asked crisply. She straightened her skirts and used her fingers to try to restore some semblance of order to her hair. Even in the dark, she knew she looked a fright.
    John shut the doors. The man he called Peterson had climbed down from the driver’s seat and now rushed back to them. “Are you two all right?” The nervousness in his voice suggested he truly regretted driving like a lunatic.
    â€œWe’re whole and in one piece, thanks to you,” John replied. “Oh, please meet my wife, Mallory, Lady Craige. Mallory, this is Major Victor Peterson, one of my most trusted friends.”
    Major Peterson made a short, proper bow in Mallory’s direction before saying, “Actually, John, I may be the only friend you have left. AtLady Ramsgate’s, someone ran in with the news that your house was surrounded by a battalion of Runners and bill collectors.”
    â€œI imagine that cleared the party.”
    â€œIn an amazing fashion.”
    â€œEven Applegate?”
    â€œApplegate was with me when I rushed over to your home, but he turned tail when I decided you needed to be rescued. By the way, Hadley won’t be happy with you. His coach flipped over and is smashed.”
    â€œAre the horses all right?”
    â€œYes, they’re fine, but Hadley will want your head on a platter.”
    â€œHe deserves it,” John agreed soberly. “By the way, Peterson, where did you get this wagon? It smells damned funny inside.”
    â€œIt was standing behind one of your neighbor’s houses, John. It’s an undertaker’s rig. Guess one of the servants died. You know how it is, no one wants a dead body in the house. I’m just relieved the body hadn’t already been loaded into it. Could have been a mess during the chase.”
    Mallory looked in horror at the black lacquered wagon where she could now make out in the gloom gold letters on the side proclaiming “Frederick Breward, Undertaker.” She turned on Major Peterson. “You stole this wagon?”
    â€œI didn’t steal it, Lady Craige. I borrowed it,” he said politely.
    He turned to John as if to continue the conversation, but Mallory was fed up to her eyeballs with their cavalier attitude. “You stole this wagon, and the horses, and you call that borrowing ?”
    Major Peterson’s eyebrows rose in surprise. “It was an emergency, Lady Craige. I had to rescue you and your husband.”
    â€œRescue us for what?” Mallory demanded. “Our hanging?”
    â€œLady Craige—”
    â€œBefore, we were guilty only of being bankrupt,” Mallory said reasonably.