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      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. She loves to hear from readers.

       Previous novels by this author:

      THE RAKE’S INHERITED COURTESAN

      WICKED RAKE, DEFIANT MISTRESS

       and in Mills & Boon® Historical Undone eBooks:

      THE RAKE’S INTIMATE ENCOUNTER

      I dedicate this book to my dad, who was known all his life as Peter, though it was not his given name. He introduced me to the writings of Georgette Heyer when I was very young, for which I can’t thank him enough. He always encouraged me to reach for the stars, no matter how hard the journey. I would like to thank Joanne Grant and her team at Harlequin Mills & Boon for making this a better book, my agent Scott Eagan, and my fabulous critique partners, Maureen, Molly, Sinead, Mary, Jude and Teresa, who show unfailing patience with every rewrite.

      Chapter One

       Off Lisbon—June 1814

      Repairing a gash in a man’s brawny forearm on a ship’s deck bore not the slightest resemblance to mending a rip in a petticoat, Alice Fulton decided. She dabbed at the dried blood around the wound with a cloth moistened in seawater.

      The prospect of causing pain gave it a wholly different aspect. The ship’s pitch and yaw added a further challenge. Fortunately, clear skies and a light breeze kept the motion to a minimum and the awning above their heads protected them from the midday heat.

      Roped in as an unwilling assistant, her fellow passenger and best friend, Lady Selina Albright, stared grimly out to sea as if her life depended on it.

      Perched in front of her on a barrel, with a three-inch gash in his sun-bronzed skin, her patient, Perkin, seemed remarkably unperturbed. But then she hadn’t told the sullen fellow staring at the planks at his feet that this was the first wound she’d actually stitched herself. No sense in scaring him.

      Not that much would scare this strapping sailor. Even with his head respectfully lowered and his bearded face hidden by the tangle of dark-brown hair falling around his shoulders, he had a swagger.

      ‘When did you do this?’ she asked.

      ‘The night afore I came aboard,’ he muttered, not looking up. ‘I told you, miss, it ain’t nothing. I’ll take care of it.’

      She’d caught him bandaging it one-handed when she passed the galley. On this merchant ship, the cook doubled as surgeon and he could hardly sew himself. ‘It needs sutures.’

      He glanced up, giving her a brief impression of a face younger than she’d first thought and handsome in a harsh, unkempt sort of way. His cheeks above the black-bearded jaw had been tanned to the colour of light mahogany. Deep creases radiated from the corners of eyes the strangest shade of turquoise rimmed with grey. Right now they held a distinctly resentful gleam. Or even anger? He lowered his head before she could be sure.

      A feeling of unease disturbed her normally calm stomach. He’d been making her nervous since he had joined their ship in Lisbon, replacing their original cook who had disappeared amid the stews on the wharf. They’d certainly lost in the exchange. What Perkin knew about cooking he must have learned from a tanner. She stared at the large, strong, well-shaped hand resting on a formidably muscled thigh. At least his fingernails were clean.

      No matter how bad his food or his attitude, this wound needed sewing.

      ‘Ugh.’ Selina gave a delicate shudder. ‘You should let the sailmaker do it as Captain Dareth ordered,’ she said in her naturally breathy voice.

      Perkin nodded agreement, his strange eyes warming as they roved over Selina’s