Louise Allen - Regency Rumours

Married to a Stranger‘Allen delivers a lovely, sweet story, demonstrating how strangers can build a relationship based on lost love. The gentle yet powerful emotions of a grieving brother are sure to touch readers, as will the budding romance between him and a shy but emotionally strong woman. Allen reaches into readers’ hearts.’ —RT Book Reviews

Seduced by the Scoundrel‘Allen takes a shipwreck spying adventure with lots of sensuality and spins it into a page-turner. The strong characters and sexy relationship will definitely satisfy readers.’ —RT Book Reviews

Ravished by the Rake‘Allen illuminates a unique side of the Regency by setting her latest adventure in India…’ —RT Book Reviews

Practical Widow to Passionate Mistress‘With the first in her new trilogy, Allen hooks readers with her charming and well-portrayed characters, especially the secondary cast. You’ll cheer on the hero and the strong-willed heroine to the very end of this highly enjoyable and addictive read.’ —RT Book Reviews

‘I would give a year of my life for one night in your arms.’

His voice was muffled against her skin as she lifted her hand to touch his hair.

Isobel gasped. It was all her fantasies about Giles, all her wicked longings, offered to her to take. All she needed was the courage to reach out.

Almost as soon as he said it, she felt him hear his own words. The enchanted bubble that surrounded them shattered like thin glass. Giles’s body tensed under her hands, then he released her and stepped back.

‘I am sorry. I should never have spoken, never touched you.’ His face was tight with a kind of pain that his physical injuries had not caused. ‘I did not mean—Isobel, forgive me. I would not hurt you for the world.’

He turned on his heel and walked away without looking back, up the gallery and into the book room that led to the library.

She stared after him, still shaking a little from the intensity of that kiss, unable to speak.

LOUISE ALLENhas been immersing herself in history, real and fictional, for as long as she can remember. She finds landscapes and places evoke powerful images of the past—Venice, Burgundy and the Greek islands are favourite atmospheric destinations. Louise lives on the North Norfolk coast, where she shares the cottage they have renovated with her husband. She spends her spare time gardening, researching family history or travelling in the UK and abroad in search of inspiration. Please visit Louise’s website—www.louiseallenregency.co.uk—for the latest news, or find her on Twitter @LouiseRegency and on Facebook.

Previous novels by the same author:

THE DANGEROUS MR RYDER *

THE OUTRAGEOUS LADY FELSHAM *

THE SHOCKING LORD STANDON *

THE DISGRACEFUL MR RAVENHURST *

THE NOTORIOUS MR HURST *

THE PIRATICAL MISS RAVENHURST *

PRACTICAL WIDOW TO PASSIONATE MISTRESS **

VICAR’S DAUGHTER TO VISCOUNT’S LADY **

INNOCENT COURTESAN TO ADVENTURER’S

BRIDE **

RAVISHED BY THE RAKE ***

SEDUCED BY THE SCOUNDREL ***

MARRIED TO A STRANGER ***

FORBIDDEN JEWEL OF INDIA

TARNISHED AMONGST THE TON

THE LORD AND THE WAYWARD LADY ****

THE OFFICER AND THE PROPER LADY ****

* Those Scandalous Ravenhursts

** The Transformation of the Shelley Sisters

*** Danger & Desire

**** Silk & Scandal

Mills & Boon ®Historical Undone! eBooks:

DISROBED AND DISHONOURED

AUCTIONED VIRGIN TO SEDUCED BRIDE **

www.millsandboon.co.uk

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For the staff at Wimpole who were a mine of information and who were so patient with my endless questions

To be asked to write about a place I know well and love is a rare privilege and I did not have to think twice when it was suggested that I set a novel amongst the real inhabitants of Wimpole Hall, a magnificent National Trust property in Cambridgeshire.

Everything I read about the Yorke family, who lived at Wimpole at the beginning of the nineteenth century, convinced me they must have been delightful people and I knew my hero and heroine would relish their company, too. I hope you enjoy exploring Wimpole Hall and its lovely park alongside Isobel and Giles as they fall in love. It is a love that seems doomed, but then, as now, Wimpole Hall has a certain magic and things may not be as black as they seem!

February 2nd, 1801—the Old North Road , Cambridgeshire

THE CHAISE RATTLED and lurched. It was an almost welcome distraction from the stream of bright and cheerful chatter Isobel’s maid had kept up ever since they left London. ‘It isn’t exile really, now is it, my lady? Your mama said you were going to rusticate in the country for your health.’

‘Dorothy, I know you mean to raise my spirits, but exile is precisely the word for it.’ Lady Isobel Jervis regarded the plump young woman with scarce-concealed exasperation. ‘To call it rustication is to draw a polite veil over the truth. Gentlemen rusticate when they have to escape from London to avoid their creditors.

‘I have been banished, in disgrace, and that is exile. If this was a sensation novel the fact that it is completely undeserved and unjust would cast a romantic glow over the situation. But this is not a novel.’ She stared out through the drizzle at the gently undulating farmland rolling past the post-chaise window. In reality the injustice only increased her anger and misery.

She had taken refuge in the country once before, but that had been justified, essential and entirely her own doing. This, on the other hand, was none of those things.

‘That was the sign to Cambridge we’ve just passed,’ Dorothy observed brightly. She had been this infuriatingly jolly ever since the scandal broke. Isobel was convinced that she had not listened to a word she had said to her.

‘In that case we cannot be far from Wimpole Hall.’ Isobel removed her hands from under the fur-lined rug and took the carriage clock from its travelling case on the hook. ‘It is almost two o’clock. We left Berkeley Street at just before eight, spent an hour over luncheon and changing horses, so we have made good time.’

‘And the rain has eased,’ Dorothy said, bent on finding yet another reason for joy.

‘Indeed. We will arrive in daylight and in the dry.’ The chaise slowed, then swung in through imposing gateposts. From her seat on the left-hand side Isobel glimpsed the bulk of a large brick inn and a swinging sign. ‘The Hardwicke Arms—we are in the right place, at least.’