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Enchanted in Regency Society: Wicked Rake, Defiant Mistress / The Gamekeeper's Lady
Ann Lethbridge
WICKED RAKE, DEFIANT MISTRESS When a mysterious woman holds him at gunpoint, Garrick Le Clere, Marquess of Beauworth, knows he’s finally met his match! Lady Eleanor Hadley has been forced to take drastic steps. She’s without hope – until the notorious rake offers a way out of her predicament.But, once she is in his bed, can her scandalous secrets stay hidden… ? THE GAMEKEEPER'S LADY Frederica Bracewell grew up under a cloud of shame. It is only when she encounters the new gamekeeper that shy, innocent Frederica starts to feel like a true lady… Lord Robert Mountford has been banished by his family. After a debauched existence, he revels in the simplicity of a gamekeeper’s lifestyle. Until temptation strikes! Frederica may just be his undoing… and unmasking!
SEDUCTION in Regency Society August 2014
DECEPTION in Regency Society September 2014
PROPOSALS in Regency Society October 2014
PRIDE in Regency Society November 2014
MISCHIEF in Regency Society December 2014
INNOCENCE in Regency Society January 2015
ENCHANTED in Regency Society February 2015
HEIRESS in Regency Society March 2015
PREJUDICE in Regency Society April 2015
FORBIDDEN in Regency Society May 2015
TEMPTATION in Regency Society June 2015
REVENGE in Regency Society July 2015
ANN LETHBRIDGE has been reading Regency novels for as long as she can remember. She always imagined herself as Lizzie Bennet, or one of Georgette Heyer’s heroines, and would often recreate the stories in her head with different outcomes or scenes. When she sat down to write her own novel, it was no wonder that she returned to her first love: the Regency.
Ann grew up roaming England with her military father. Her family lived in many towns and villages across the country, from the Outer Hebrides to Hampshire. She spent memorable family holidays in the West Country and in Dover, where her father was born. She now lives in Canada, with her husband, two beautiful daughters, and a Maltese terrier named Teaser, who spends his days on a chair beside the computer, making sure she doesn’t slack off.
Ann visits Britain every year, to undertake research and also to visit family members, who are very understanding about her need to poke around old buildings and visit every antiquity within a hundred miles. If you would like to know more about Ann and her research, or to contact her, visit her website at www.annlethbridge.com (http://www.annlethbridge.com). She loves to hear from readers.
Enchanted in
Regency Society
Wicked Rake, Defiant Mistress
The Gamekeeper’s Lady
Ann Lethbridge
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
Table of Contents
Cover (#u19a5c595-5284-5146-8bfb-33bff01e03f7)
About the Author (#u3f717b91-89d1-5dd1-ac95-ced8e7ee3cd8)
Title Page (#u0b734ab5-93af-5b19-8784-7496270cee3b)
Wicked Rake, Defiant Mistress
Dedication (#u8978db1c-b9e2-5082-887d-4dce840fd08b)
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
The Gamekeeper’s Lady
Dedication (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Copyright (#u2c82a943-7bd9-577a-9c3e-bfcc6f724d62)
Wicked Rake, Defiant Mistress (#uf28c3a4d-c0fa-5522-8022-f6e8f6d4eb93)
Ann Lethbridge
ISBN: 978-1-474-00647-7
ENCHANTED IN REGENCY SOCIETY
Wicked Rake, Defiant Mistress © 2009 Ann Lethbridge The Gamekeeper’s Lady © 2010 Ann Lethbridge
Published in Great Britain 2014
by Mills & Boon, an imprint of Harlequin (UK) Limited
Eton House, 18-24 Paradise Road, Richmond, Surrey TW9 1SR
All rights reserved including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form. This edition is published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, locations and incidents are purely fictional and bear no relationship to any real life individuals, living or dead, or to any actual places, business establishments, locations, events or incidents. Any resemblance is entirely coincidental.
By payment of the required fees, you are granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right and licence to download and install this e-book on your personal computer, tablet computer, smart phone or other electronic reading device only (each a “Licensed Device”) and to access, display and read the text of this e-book on-screen on your Licensed Device. Except to the extent any of these acts shall be permitted pursuant to any mandatory provision of applicable law but no further, no part of this e-book or its text or images may be reproduced, transmitted, distributed, translated, converted or adapted for use on another file format, communicated to the public, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of publisher.
® and ™ are trademarks owned and used by the trademark owner and/or its licensee. Trademarks marked with ®are registered with the United Kingdom Patent Office and/or the Office for Harmonisation in the Internal Market and in other countries.
www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
Version: 2018-10-26
I would like to dedicate this book to my husband, Keith, and my wonderful critique partners, Molly, Maureen, Mary, Sinead, Teresa and Jude. My special thanks go to my editor, Joanne Grant, whose skill and patience is gratefully acknowledged.
Chapter One (#uf28c3a4d-c0fa-5522-8022-f6e8f6d4eb93)
Sussex, England—May 1811
The anger burning in the Marquess of Beauworth’s throat tasted of bile and bitter regret. While the horses thundered through shadows and moonlit tracts of rolling Sussex landscape, Garrick fought the urge to turn back for London.
He swallowed his ire and the carriage raced on. Home to Beauworth. The place he hated most in the world.
Not even the person closest to him, Duncan Le Clere, understood his hatred of the place. Sometimes he didn’t understand it himself, but lack of knowledge didn’t lessen the tension in his shoulders or the foreboding.
The pain of bruised tendon and bone reminded him of the reason for his return. One by one, he unclenched his fingers, forcibly relaxing his hands in his lap, breathing deeply and slowly, regaining control. He lounged deeper in the corner, stretching his legs along the gap between the seats, a picture of insouciance. After all, the Marquess of Beauworth, idle rake, reckless gambler and bored dandy, had a reputation to uphold.
The carriage swayed violently. He grabbed for the strap beside his head. The vehicle slowed, then stopped.
‘Mon Dieu! What now?’ He let down the window and stuck his head out.
The carriage horses tossed their heads uneasily, their shapes indistinct in the shadow of the high hedges lining the road. The sound of their hard breathing and jingling harnesses cut through the warm stillness. Garrick narrowed his eyes, staring ahead into the dark. ‘What do you see, Johnson?’ Probably a puddle. The poor old fellow should have retired years ago.
Something white gleamed eerily in the shadows ahead. A white horse walking in the centre of the road, moonlight slipping luminescent over a dappled coat. At first he saw only the horse. Then another dark shape, a slight figure clutching the bridle. A woman in a black riding habit. Walking alone? Bloody hell. She must be in trouble.
He wrenched open the carriage door, leapt down and started forwards with an offer of help on his lips. The sight of a pair of long-barrelled pistols in her hands, one aimed at his forehead and the other at his servants, stopped him short.
Cold moonlight revealed a black mask covering all but her mouth, while a point-edge cocked hat adorned a curled and powdered peruke. Black lace frothed at her wrists and throat.
‘Good God.’ The exclamation exploded from his lips as recognition struck. Lady Moonlight, the daring cavalier’s lady from Cromwell’s time, forced to take to the High Toby to feed her family. Her exploits were legendary in this part of Sussex as were the sightings of her spirit after she’d hanged.
‘Stand and deliver!’ Her husky voice, tinged with the accent of the dregs of London, echoed off the overarching trees. The grey minced sideways and she checked it with a low murmur.
No ghost this. Merely a common criminal.
Garrick glanced up at the box where Johnson and Dan sat wide-eyed and motionless, apparently taken in by the clever ruse.
‘Hand over yer valuables or the boy is dead meat,’ she called out.
There was a desperate edge to the coarse voice he didn’t like, but the pistols remained steady enough and both were cocked and ready. Damnation, but he wasn’t in the mood for this tonight. A rush of anger roared through his veins, a red haze blurring his vision, his fingers curling into fists.
He inhaled long and slowly.
Control. Anything else and someone less innocent than he would die. Behind her mask her eyes glittered. Courage or fear? Would she shoot an unarmed man?
Dan, fear bleaching his cheeks, rose in his seat. One pistol tracked his movement.
‘Curse it, lad,’ the thief said. ‘Yer want to die?’
Nom d’un nom. Garrick might be prepared to take a chance with his own life, but he would not risk the boy. He, more than anyone, deserved better. ‘Sit down, Dan,’ he ordered.
Scared eyes found Garrick’s face. He nodded encouragement. The boy subsided on to his seat beside the rigid Johnson. Garrick shook his head. ‘Be still, both of you.’
Clearly realising Garrick’s dilemma, the little witch kept one pistol fixed on Dan as she slipped the other into a saddle-holster beside a cunningly wrought sword sling. The intricate hilt protruding from the scabbard fitted her costume well enough. His lip curled. He’d like to see her try to best him with a sword.
She tossed her hat on the ground near his feet. ‘Throw yer trinkets in there.’
A shimmer of light surrounded her face and body as she moved. A ghostly light. Was he going mad? Then he saw the sequins. They covered her mask and reflected moonlight from her coat and waistcoat. The little wretch looked like a reveller at a masquerade, and for such a deadly purpose.
