Kasey Michaels - An Improper Arrangement

Praise for USA TODAY bestselling author

KASEY MICHAELS

‘Kasey Michaels aims for the heart and never misses.’

—New York Times bestselling author Nora Roberts

‘Michaels holds the reader in her clutches and doesn’t let go.’

—RT Book Reviews on What a Gentleman Desires , 4½ stars, Top Pick

‘Michaels’ beloved Regency romances are witty and smart and the second volume in her Redgrave series is no different. The lively banter, intriguing plot, fascinating twists and turns…sheer delight.’

—RT Book Reviews on What a Lady Needs , 4½ stars

‘A multi-layered tale…Here is a novel that holds attention because of the intricate story, engaging characters and wonderful writing.’

—RT Book Reviews on What an Earl Wants , 4½ stars, Top Pick

‘A poignant and highly satisfying read…filled with simmering sensuality, subtle touches of repartee, a hero out for revenge and a heroine ripe for adventure. You’ll enjoy the ride.’

—RT Book Reviews on How to Tame a Lady

‘Michaels’ new Regency series is a joy…You will laugh and even shed a tear over this touching romance.’

—RT Book Reviews on How to Tempt a Duke

‘Michaels has done it again. Witty dialogue peppers a plot full of delectable details exposing the foibles and follies of the age.’

—Publishers Weekly on The Butler Did It (starred review)

Sometimes authors play with facts to better suit their stories—although I dare anyone to fudge the dates of the Battle of Waterloo—and this may or may not be one of those instances. Opinions vary on what is best known as London’s Little Season, usually slotted from the beginning of September and lasting through November.

Both smaller and shorter than the spring Season, the Little Season is thought of by many as a remnant of bygone years when Parliament met earlier in the winter, and not all that popular during the Regency era, only to come back into play in the Victorian era.

Me? I don’t care, frankly. I’m not fudging with historical accuracy that actually matters all that much. I settled on the Little Season because one, the time span better fit my story, and two, word has it that many used the Little Season for, shall we say, their not-quite-ready-for-primetime daughters, so they could get in a little practice in flirting and simpering before making their Big Entrance on the marriage mart the following spring. A sort of dress rehearsal.

Now that little titbit really got my imagination going! I hope you enjoy An Improper Arrangement.

Happy reading,

Kasey

KASEY MICHAELSis the New York Times and USA TODAY bestselling author of more than sixty books. She has won the Romance Writers of America RITA ®Award and the Romance Times Career Achievement Award for her historical romances set in the Regency era.

www.millsandboon.co.uk

Before you start reading, why not sign up?

Thank you for downloading this Mills & Boon book. If you want to hear about exclusive discounts, special offers and competitions, sign up to our email newsletter today!

SIGN ME UP!

Or simply visit

signup.millsandboon.co.uk

Mills & Boon emails are completely free to receive and you can unsubscribe at any time via the link in any email we send you.

To everything pink

Cover

Praise for USA TODAY bestselling author

Dear Reader

About the Author

Title Page

Dedication

PROLOGUE

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

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

CHAPTER NINETEEN

EPILOGUE

Endpage

Copyright

Battle of Champaubert 10 February 1814

GABRIEL SINCLAIR HAD talked his friends into many a wild start or dubious enterprise over the years, but the objectives always had been entertainment, adventure and, often, since they’d grown into manhood, willing women.

Which didn’t explain why they’d followed him this time, as the only things certain were they’d be cold, bored and forced to miss their noon meal, not that the last could be considered much of a sacrifice.

There wouldn’t be any more large battles, everyone said so, especially after the Allied Army’s thorough trouncing of Napoleon’s troops at La Rothière. Any day now, Boney would present an offer of abdication, hand back his crown and they could all go home.

“Tell me again why we’re up here, Gabe, risking frostbite to our most treasured appendages,” his friend Cooper Townsend said, wrapping his greatcoat more tightly around himself. “Our Russian friend camped us in the wrong spot?”

“I think we’ve already agreed on that. They’re all acting as if the war’s already over,” Gabriel muttered as he studied the crude map he’d drawn a day earlier, while out reconnoitering on his own. It wasn’t that he didn’t trust England’s ally; he merely trusted himself more. He was also partial to giving orders, not taking them, and hadn’t been best pleased to be ordered to join with the Russians. “Look at this, Rigby,” he demanded, shoving the map under Jeremiah Rigby’s nose. “Five thousand men, all but deserted by Blücher and stretched thin like pulled taffy. Our affable host, the dear General Olssufiev, has yet to set out half the needed sentries, and the few he did do nothing but hide in the bushes and snore their heads off.”

“Not the ones we kicked awake when we first got up here,” Cooper said, grinning. “Only real enjoyment I’ve had in days.”

Gabriel ignored him and continued making his point. “One sharp bite on the taffy and the French are through our lines, and with nothing at our backs but a half-frozen river.”

“Yes, yes, very pretty. You’re quite the artist with words, Gabe. Not that I can decipher the thing.” Jeremiah Rigby pushed the offending map away. “Worse, now I’m hungry for taffy.” He winked at Cooper. “Wouldn’t mind a rabbit, either, come to think of it. Since we’ve seen no French, what say you we scrap this ridiculous patrol you bludgeoned us all into, Gabe, and turn it into a hunting party?”

“Not yet, boys. Our doomsday prophet might yet be right. Shame, if true, but odd things happen all the time.”

They all turned to Darby Travers, who, for lack of anything else to do, had been lazily scanning the horizon with a spyglass.

“Give me that—it’s mine. See? It’s got my name inscribed right there, below my grandfather’s. It was a gift to him when he represented England in the court of Russia’s own Empress Elizabeth. We lived there for several years, and that’s how Papa managed to—Well, I didn’t give you permission to touch it.”