Scandalous Regency Secrets Collection

The command, issued in guttural French, warned the seemingly endless line of prisoners to stumble into the slush and mud at either side of the roadway as yet another equipage rolled by.

Gabriel looked up in time to see the Russian general and several of his senior staff being driven past the long line of marching prisoners in a horse-drawn wagon. Rank had its privileges, even in defeat.

“Where’s Broxley’s brat?” he shouted, knowing the man couldn’t understand a word of English but not really caring at the moment. He chased after the wagon, hauling Cooper along with him.

“I can’t go on, Gabe,” Cooper gasped out as exhaustion stopped their pursuit. “Did you see him? I didn’t see him.”

“I saw him. Perched right up next to Olssufiev. Somebody stuck him in a Russian officer’s uniform.”

“So now he’s under the general’s protection. Politics, that’s all it is, Gabe. Money and politics. Let it go.”

But Gabriel was incensed, nearly out of his mind with rage and with no clear direction to focus it. Coop could be dying. Darby had probably lost vision in at least one of his eyes. Many of their men were still sprawled on the muddy ground, left there for their bodies to rot as the French stripped them of boots and weapons, food and ammunition, before abandoning the battlefield.

“When you see your papa,” he shouted as the wagon kept moving, “tell him I damn his eyes for what happened here today—and damn you for a bloody coward!”

He didn’t feel the butt of the French rifle slam into the side of his head, although when he woke, lying half in an icy puddle, it was with a headache that would come back to plague him for nearly a year.

* * *

NOT QUITE TWO months after what would be his last real victory, Napoleon was finally forced to abdicate, and at last everyone could go home. Indeed, Gabriel Sinclair and his friends Jeremiah Rigby and Cooper Townsend were relaxing at White’s, sipping wine and shelling walnuts when the last of their quartet, Darby Travers, arrived to join them. He tossed a folded newspaper onto the table before dropping into a chair, his face dark with disgust.

“Read that, my friends. Myles Neville has just been honored by the Russians for indispensable services to General Olssufiev, Mother Russia and all God’s fair creatures, I imagine. It says there that they gave him a party and a bloody medal in Paris. Can you believe it? Not content to get his son back alive, that damned Earl of Broxley has somehow managed to turn piss-pants into a hero.”

Copyright © 2015 by Kathryn Seidick

Those Scandalous Ravenhursts

The Notorious Mr Hurst

Disrobed and Dishonored

The Piratical Miss Ravenhurst

Louise Allen

www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)

The Notorious Mr Hurst (#u25973cb7-38b6-5eee-b0b0-28ad01a1b954)

Louise Allen

LOUISE ALLEN loves immersing herself in history. She finds landscapes and places evoke the past powerfully. Venice, Burgundy and the Greek islands are favourite destinations. Louise lives on the Norfolk coast and spends her spare time gardening, researching family history or travelling in search of inspiration. Visit her at louiseallenregency.co.uk (#u25973cb7-38b6-5eee-b0b0-28ad01a1b954), @LouiseRegency and janeaustenslondon.com (http://www.janeaustenslondon.com)

Author Note (#u25973cb7-38b6-5eee-b0b0-28ad01a1b954)

Lady Maude Templeton believes in love, as I discovered during the course of THE SHOCKING LORD STANDON, when she refused to marry the hero on the grounds that she just knew the right man was out there waiting for her somewhere.

And then she found him and fell in love instantly with Mr Eden Hurst, who is not only resoundingly ineligible for the daughter of an earl, but as a man who most definitely does not believe in love.

Maude sets out to convince Eden not only that love exists but that she is the woman he needs in his life. It seems a hopeless task, but Maude can be quite as shocking as any of her Ravenhurst friends when she puts her mind to it and Eden Hurst soon finds that doing the right thing is harder than he can ever have imagined. If only he can work out what the right thing is…

Chapter One (#u25973cb7-38b6-5eee-b0b0-28ad01a1b954)

February 1817

‘And so, my false love—I die!’ The maiden sank to the ground, a dagger in her bosom, her white arm outflung.

The audience went wild. They applauded, whistled, stamped and, those members of it who were not weeping into their handkerchiefs, leapt to their feet with cries of ‘More! More!’

The dark-haired lady in the expensive box close to the stage gripped the velvet-upholstered rim and held her breath. For the audience who had flocked to see the final performance of The Sicilian Seducer, or InnocenceBetrayed, the tension was over and they could relax into their appreciation of the melodrama. For Lady Maude Templeton, the climax of the evening was about to occur and, she was determined, it would change her life for ever.

‘You would never guess it, but she must be forty if she’s a day,’ Lady Standon remarked, lowering her opera glass from a careful study of the corpse who was just being helped to her feet by her leading man.

‘One is given to understand that La Belle Marguerite never mentions anything so sordid as age, Jessica.’ Her husband turned from making an observation to Lord Pangbourne.

‘Fine figure of a woman,’ the earl grunted. He was still applauding enthusiastically. ‘Not surprising that she was such a sensation on the Continent.’

‘And so much of that figure on display,’ Jessica murmured to Maude, who broke her concentration on the shadowy wings long enough to smile at her friend’s sly remark. The loss of focus lasted only a moment. Tonight was the night, she knew it. With the excitement that surrounded a last night at the Unicorn she had her best opportunity to slip backstage. And once she was there, to make what she could of the situation.

Then her breath caught in her throat and her heart beat harder, just as it always did when she glimpsed him. Eden Hurst, proprietor of the Unicorn theatre, strode on to the stage and held up both hands for silence. And by some miracle—or sheer charisma—he got it, the tumult subsiding enough that his powerful voice could be heard.

‘My lords, ladies, gentlemen. We thank you. On behalf of Madame Marguerite and the Company of the Unicorn, I thank you. Tonight was the last performance of TheSicilian Seducer for this, our first full Season.’ He paused while exaggerated groans and shouts of ‘shame!’ resounded through the stalls and up into the gods. ‘But we are already looking forward to Her Precious Honour to open in six weeks’time and I can assure her many admirers that Madame Marguerite will take the leading role in this dramatic tale of love triumphant over adversity. Good night to you all and I hope to welcome you next week for our revival of that old favourite, How to Tease and How toPlease, with the celebrated Mrs Furlow in the leading role.’

‘Damn good comedy that,’ Lord Pangbourne pronounced, getting to his feet. ‘I recall it when it first came out. In ’09, was it? Or the year after?’

Maude did not hear her father. Down below in the glare of the new gas lights stood the man she desired, the man she knew she could love, the man she had wanted ever since she had first seen him a year before.

Since then she had existed on the glimpses she had caught of him. In his theatre she sat imprisoned, in a box so close she could have almost reached down and touched him. On the rare occasions he had attended a social function where she had been present he had been frustratingly aloof from the unmarried ladies, disappearing into the card rooms to talk to male acquaintances or flirting with the fast young widows and matrons. And even she, bold as she was, could not hunt down a man to whom she had not been introduced and accost him. Not in the midst of a society ball and not a man of shady origins who had arrived in England trailing a tantalising reputation for ruthless business dealing and shocking amours.

And last Season he had closed the Unicorn for renovations and returned to the Continent for a tour with his leading lady only months after they had arrived in England.

Standing there, he dominated the stage by sheer presence. Tall, broad-shouldered, with an intense masculine elegance in his dark coat and tight pantaloons, yet somehow flamboyant and dramatic. Maude caught the sharp glitter of diamonds at his throat and from the heavy ring on his left hand and recognised that his clothes had been cut with an edge of exaggeration that would be out of place in a polite drawing room. He was a showman, demanding and receiving attention just as much as the most histrionic actor.

‘Maude.’ Jessica nudged her. ‘One of these evenings your papa is going to notice that you dream through the performances and only wake up when Mr Hurst is on stage.’

‘I don’t dream,’ she contradicted, finally getting to her feet as Eden Hurst walked off stage to loud applause. ‘I am watching and I am listening. I have to learn how this place works.’

She had never managed to speak to him. The only words he had spoken in her presence had been to a shopkeeper while she, the bright, lively, witty Lady Maude had stood in Mr Todmorton’s perfume shop, struck dumb by the sheer beauty of the man. But three days ago, thanks to an overheard conversation at Lady Robert’s otherwise dull reception, she had discovered that Mr Hurst had been making discreet approaches to potential investors. And that, she realised, gave her the perfect excuse.

Now she must have her wits about her as she followed her father and the Standons down to the main lobby of the Unicorn. Parties were gathering and chattering beneath the famous clock that hung from the neck of the one-horned beast charging out of the wall like a ship’s figurehead. As she had hoped, Jessica stopped to speak to a friend. Gareth, her husband, waited patiently beside her while Maude slid through the crowd to her father’s side.

‘Papa, Jessica invited me to drive home with her and to spend the night,’ she said as he clicked his fingers at the attendant for their cloaks. It was quite true, Jessica had done just that and Maude had thanked her nicely and explained that she thought her papa would expect her home tonight.

Which was also true, so very gratifyingly she had told no actual untruths. And she was, after all, a lady o f resource with money in her reticule who was perfectly capable of finding herself a hackney carriage. Eventually.

‘Very well, my dear.’ Lord Pangbourne craned to see the Standons in the crush. ‘I’ll see you at dinner tomorrow. Say all that is right to Lady Standon for me, won’t you? I can’t fight my way through this like you slender young things.’

‘Yes, Papa.’ Maude watched until he was outside and then slipped through the door to one side of the entrance. She was not certain where it went, other than backstage. But that was enough for her purposes.