The Lord and the Wayward Lady

      Louise Allen

       Paying the Virgin’s Price

      Christine Merrill

       The Smuggler and the Society Bride

      Julia Justiss

       Claiming the Forbidden Bride

      Gayle Wilson

       The Viscount and the Virgin

      Annie Burrows

       Unlacing the Innocent Miss

      Margaret McPhee

       The Officer and the Proper Lady

      Louise Allen

       Taken by the Wicked Rake

      Christine Merrill

      Regency Silk & Scandal

      The Lord and the Wayward Lady

      by

      About the Author

      LOUISE ALLEN has been immersing herself in history, real and fictional, for as long as she can remember and finds landscapes and places evoke powerful images of the past. Louise divides her time between Bedfordshire and the north Norfolk coast, where she spends as much time as possible with her husband at the cottage they are renovating. With any excuse she’ll take a research trip abroad – Venice, Burgundy and the Greek islands are favourite atmospheric destinations. Please visit Louise’s website – www.louiseallenregency.co.uk – for the latest news!

      For my fellow Continuistas—Annie, Christine, Gayle, Julia and Margaret—with love. What a wonderful way to meet!

      Chapter One

       January 5, 1814. London

      ‘Just look at that blue sky, guv’nor. Mornin’ like this, all’s right with the world and no mistake.’

      ‘You must be in love, Dan.’ Marcus Carlow, Viscount Stanegate, observed as he looped his reins and took the corner from Piccadilly into Albemarle Street at a brisk trot.

      A waft of onions from behind him accompanied an indignant snort from his tiger. ‘You won’t find me shut up in parson’s pound, guv’nor. Nah, just look at it: all crisp and sunny and fresh. A perfect day—proper lifts the spirits. Nuffin’ could go wrong on a day like this.’

      ‘After a remark like that, a superstitious man would take to his bed, order the doors to be bolted and expect disaster.’ Marcus grinned, steadying the pair as they took exception to a large party proceeding along the pavement in a flurry of bandboxes and fluttering scarves.

      It was a damned good day, Dan was right. The sun shone, the air was crisp, the fog had lifted and the intriguing Mrs Perdita Jensen was showing unmis-takeable signs of a willingness to accept his carte blanche.

      Yes, if one disregarded a father whose poor health was wearing down his mother’s spirits, one sister whose aim in life appeared to bring him to an early grave with worry, another whose sweet innocence was equally conducive to anxiety, and a brother who, when he was not putting life and limb at risk on the battlefield, was set on becoming the wildest rake in town, then one might, indeed, believe that nothing on earth could go wrong.

      Marcus contemplated the day ahead. Luncheon with the family, a meeting with Brocket, the estate manager, up from Hertfordshire with a bulging portfolio of estate business, dinner at his club and then a visit to Mrs Jensen’s discreet apartments to agree terms. Calm, ordered, satisfactory and predictable, just for once.

      ‘Take the curricle round to the mews, Dan. I won’t be—’ The door of the double-fronted town house burst open as a footman emerged at the run. ‘Peters?’

      ‘My lord.’ The man pulled himself up at the foot of the steps. ‘Lord Narborough—it looks like another heart stroke, my lord. Mr Wellow said I was to take a hack and fetch the doctor, urgently.’