скачать книгу бесплатно
Beguiled by Her Betrayer
Louise Allen
WHAT USE ARE DRAWING-ROOM MANNERS IN THE MIDDLE OF THE DESERT? Falling unconscious in the Egyptian sand at Cleo Valsac’s feet is not part of Lord Quintus Bredon Deverall’s plan. He’s supposed to be whisking this young widow away from her father’s dusty camp and back to England—to her aristocratic grandfather and a respectable husband. Despite Cleo’s strong-willed nature, she can’t help but feel comforted by Quin’s protective presence. But she has no idea of this wounded stranger’s true identity…or of the passion that will begin to burn between them under the heat of the desert sun! “Allen reaches into readers’ hearts.” —RT Book Reviews on Married to a Stranger
Cleo wriggled back a little and he opened his arms to release her, half-thankful, half-regretful.
Then he realised she was simply putting enough space between them so he could kiss her. Who is seducing whom? he wondered. He bent his head and took the proffered lips. Just one kiss.
Her mouth, hot and soft under his, opened without him needing to coax. She was willing and yet, despite it all, shy. Quin took a firm grip on his willpower and kissed her with more gentleness than passion, his tongue sliding against hers, his palms flat on her back in the loosest of holds. She was trembling slightly, he realised, like a woman fighting emotion.
Quin raised his head. ‘Cleo?’ Her eyes were wide and dark and flooded with unshed tears. ‘Cleo—’
AUTHOR NOTE (#ulink_14bbe7d6-bdb6-5baa-a6b1-133c973d6086)
Several years ago I stood in the temple of Kom Ombo in Upper Egypt, fascinated by the graffiti left by French soldiers around 1800, very high up on the walls. I soon realised that the very tops of the monuments were all that Napoleon’s troops would have been able to see because the sand had covered many remains to within feet of the roof.
Today, knowing so much about Ancient Egypt, we still marvel at these monuments, but I began to wonder how they must have seemed to these men, right at the beginning of modern archaeology. The more I read about Napoleon’s savants, the group of scholars he left with his troops in Egypt to explore this mysterious civilisation, the more I admired them for their courage and endurance.
The Nile valley is so beautiful and so romantic that I knew I had to set a story there, and gradually the characters of Cleo and Quin began to take shape.
I hope you enjoy reading BEGUILED BY HER BETRAYER as much as I enjoyed writing it.
Beguiled by her Betrayer
Louise Allen
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
LOUISE ALLEN has been immersing herself in history, real and fictional, for as long as she can remember. She finds landscapes and places evoke powerful images of the past—Venice, Burgundy and the Greek islands are favourite atmospheric destinations. Louise lives on the North Norfolk coast, where she shares with her husband the cottage they have renovated. She spends her spare time gardening, researching family history or travelling in the UK and abroad in search of inspiration. Please visit Louise’s website—www.louiseallenregency.co.uk (http://www.louiseallenregency.co.uk)—for the latest news, or find her on Twitter @LouiseRegency (http://www.twitter.com/LouiseRegency) and on Facebook.
Previous novels by the same author:
THE DANGEROUS MR RYDER* (#ulink_69205f3c-e4b8-54f5-bc3e-6630df2b9dc2)
THE OUTRAGEOUS LADY FELSHAM* (#ulink_69205f3c-e4b8-54f5-bc3e-6630df2b9dc2)
THE SHOCKING LORD STANDON* (#ulink_69205f3c-e4b8-54f5-bc3e-6630df2b9dc2)
THE DISGRACEFUL MR RAVENHURST* (#ulink_69205f3c-e4b8-54f5-bc3e-6630df2b9dc2)
THE NOTORIOUS MR HURST* (#ulink_69205f3c-e4b8-54f5-bc3e-6630df2b9dc2)
THE PIRATICAL MISS RAVENHURST* (#ulink_69205f3c-e4b8-54f5-bc3e-6630df2b9dc2)
PRACTICAL WIDOW TO PASSIONATE MISTRESS** (#ulink_acffb908-2ce2-5ac9-b6ed-24a03b3bed04)
VICAR’S DAUGHTER TO VISCOUNT’S LADY** (#ulink_acffb908-2ce2-5ac9-b6ed-24a03b3bed04)
INNOCENT COURTESAN TO ADVENTURER’S BRIDE** (#ulink_acffb908-2ce2-5ac9-b6ed-24a03b3bed04)
RAVISHED BY THE RAKE† (#ulink_8af773b5-e67e-5cb1-8433-77ceed672b01)
SEDUCED BY THE SCOUNDREL† (#ulink_8af773b5-e67e-5cb1-8433-77ceed672b01)
MARRIED TO A STRANGER† (#ulink_8af773b5-e67e-5cb1-8433-77ceed672b01)
FORBIDDEN JEWEL OF INDIA†† (#ulink_874dfea8-a618-51cb-a23c-5993b31b2d71)
TARNISHED AMONGST THE TON†† (#ulink_874dfea8-a618-51cb-a23c-5993b31b2d71)
FROM RUIN TO RICHES
UNLACING LADY THEA
SCANDAL’S VIRGIN
* (#ulink_7d84a8d1-5066-5289-9cfe-42c66096057f)Those Scandalous Ravenhursts
** (#ulink_5ec60705-12db-5c06-8181-0abdbb9be63b)The Transformation of the Shelley Sisters
† (#ulink_baf27e52-6091-5b7e-a220-7665357ff300)Danger & Desire
†† (#ulink_64e454eb-7dfd-5b87-9473-a80125419750)Linked by character
and as a Mills & Boon
special release:
REGENCY RUMOURS
and in theSilk & Scandalmini-series:
THE LORD AND THE WAYWARD LADY
THE OFFICER AND THE PROPER LADY
and in Mills & Boon
HistoricalUndone!eBooks:
DISROBED AND DISHONOURED
AUCTIONED VIRGIN TO SEDUCED BRIDE** (#ulink_acffb908-2ce2-5ac9-b6ed-24a03b3bed04)
Did you know that some of these novels are also available as eBooks? Visit www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
Contents
Cover (#uc2f17faa-04bf-501a-a479-aaec0c117827)
Introduction (#u01d20d08-4986-5e65-98b0-e07738e2105e)
Author Note (#ulink_89e9370c-1834-57e0-a56f-8be9e5d52b6d)
Title Page (#u28ecea00-3fc1-53d6-b765-4d2e56cbf22b)
About the Author (#u4c8ec092-7394-5c54-9a59-49a2a200cfc5)
Chapter One (#ulink_7262bc73-7eaf-5fe3-aa00-fa2a792f280f)
Chapter Two (#ulink_be7fbf4d-f297-5d84-85be-69568fa658fa)
Chapter Three (#ulink_2c6c05c3-ffb2-5801-979e-a5a7a0a78e57)
Chapter Four (#ulink_b96ec4bf-31f1-5a4e-8e66-3885f0ac3e3b)
Chapter Five (#ulink_9b2e2b48-d5df-52f7-8420-74b202f55a14)
Chapter Six (#ulink_13fb3e43-3b4d-5ba8-a76d-502ac38c6378)
Chapter Seven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eleven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twelve (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Thirteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Fourteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Fifteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Sixteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Seventeen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eighteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Nineteen (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty-One (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty-Two (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Twenty-Three (#litres_trial_promo)
Historical Note (#litres_trial_promo)
Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter One (#ulink_60d639ec-de87-5a92-a7f9-aab20a1ceb66)
Early April 1801—Upper Egypt
There was shade down there and water jars sweating themselves cool and the start of the green growth that ran from the desert edge into the banks of the Nile. Too soon. Quin lay flat on the hot sand of the dune’s crest and distracted himself from thirst, heat and the throbbing pain in his left arm by concentrating on the tent below.
Tent was perhaps too modest a word. It seemed to consist of several interior rooms surrounded by shaded areas formed by poles and flaps of fabric which, he supposed, would collapse to make outer walls at night.
It was an immaculately neat and well-organised encampment, although there were no servants to be seen. To one side was an animal shelter with hitching rail and trough, on the other a reed roof covered a cooking area. A thin wisp of smoke rose from the banked fire, there was no donkey tied to the rail and the only occupant appeared to be the man in shirtsleeves who sat at a table in the deep shade of an awning, his pen moving steadily across the paper in front of him.
Quin narrowed his eyes against the dusty sunlight. Mid-fifties, burly, salt-and-pepper brown hair: that was certainly his quarry, or one of them at least. Sir Philip Woodward, baronet, antiquarian and scholar, neglectful husband, selfish widower and father and, very possibly, traitor.
A flicker of movement out of the corner of his eye betrayed robes caught in the light breeze. Someone was approaching. Quin shifted his gaze to where the monumental columns of the temple of Koum Ombo rose from the enshrouding sand, dwarfing the mud-walled huts of the little village of fishermen and farmers beyond it. The person leading a donkey must be familiar with the area, for they spared no glance for the great ruins as they passed them by. It was a woman, he saw as she came closer, clad in the enveloping folds of a dark blue tob sebleh, but like most of the country women of Upper Egypt, unveiled. A servant—or the other person he had been sent to find?
Madame Valsac, widow of Capitaine Thierry Valsac of Napoleon’s Army of the East, daughter of Sir Philip Woodward and, maybe, another traitor. But unlike her father, whose safety was of little concern to the hard-faced men who had briefed Quin, Madame Valsac was to be extracted from Egypt and restored to the custody of her grandfather whether she liked it or not, and regardless of where her loyalties might lie.
That this might prove troublesome, hundreds of miles from the coast and the invading British army, in the path of France’s fearsome Mameluke allies who were believed to be heading north at that moment, and in the midst of one of Egypt’s periodic outbreaks of plague, had not concerned the gentlemen in Gibraltar. Quin was a diplomat who spoke French and Arabic and knew enough of antiquities to pass as one of the French savants, the scholars left by Napoleon to explore Egypt under the protection of his underpaid, diseased, poorly resourced army. That, so far as they were concerned, was sufficient qualification.
‘Classical antiquities, my lord,’ Quin had pointed out. ‘My knowledge of Egypt is virtually non-existent.’ Nor am I qualified in kidnapping females, he might have added, but did not.
‘Plenty of time to read it up on board ship between here and Alexandria,’ his unsympathetic superior had retorted. ‘Just remember, the Duke of St Osyth wants his granddaughter back, never mind if she’s taken an entire French regiment to her bed. Her father no one wants, but if he’s a traitor, then we need to know the ins and outs of it. Then you can dispose of him.’
‘I am not an assassin, my lord.’ Quin had said it with an edge missing from the protest about his lack of knowledge of Egypt. He might be ambitious, but he drew the line at murder.
‘Then introduce him to a hungry crocodile or lose him in the desert.’
Quin blinked to clear his vision and realised that the black dots swimming before his eyes were not flies.
The woman and the donkey were close now. She spoke as she passed the man sitting under the awning, but he made no reply. A servant, then.
She halted the donkey and began to heave the water jars from its back with the economical strength of someone accustomed to manual labour. She filled the donkey’s bucket, poured more water into the large storage jars and finally carried a pitcher to one of the open-sided shaded spaces facing the dune where Quin lay.
Through the insistent throbbing in his head it took him a minute to realise what she was about. The woman pulled the cotton folds of the tob sebleh over her head, removed the twisted cloth that tied up her hair and was unfastening the sash around her waist before he assimilated not only the colour of her hair—honey-brown, waving and most decidedly not Egyptian—but the fact that she was about to strip off her under-tunic and bathe.
He did not ogle women in their bath like some Peeping Tom, any more than he fed inconvenient baronets to the crocodiles. Quin rose to his feet, surprised at how unstable the shifting sands were. Now was the time to put his plan, such as it was, into effect.
One step down the slope and he knew it was not the surface that was making him so unsteady. Hell, I’m sick, he thought, getting his legs under precarious control as he half-slid, half-ran. He hit the flat ground at the foot with a force that jarred his spine and took six weaving steps towards the woman. She made no move and no sound, simply stood there, her hands arrested on the knot of her sash, staring at him.
Quin halted a yard from her. ‘Bonjour,’ he managed before his knees gave out and the ground came up to meet him. ‘Mada—’
* * *
