Louise Allen - The Outrageous Lady Felsham

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Louise Allen

as she explores the tangled love lives of

THOSE SCANDALOUS RAVENHURSTS

First you traveled across war-torn Europe with

The Dangerous Mr. Ryder

Now you can accompany Mr. Ryder’s sister,

The Outrageous Lady Felsham,

on her quest for a hero.

Coming soon

The Shocking Lord Standon

The Disgraceful Mr. Ravenhurst

The Notorious Mr. Hurst

The Piratical Miss Ravenhurst

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My exploration of the lives and loves of THOSE SCANDALOUS RAVENHURST cousins began with the story of Jack Ryder and his Grand Duchess, Eva, in The Dangerous Mr. Ryder.

At one point Jack’s sister Bel intervened in their romance—with almost disastrous results—so I thought it was time for Bel to have her own story. As the widow of a man known as the most boring member of the ton, Lady Belinda Felsham knows something has been missing from her life—specifically an exciting, handsome lover. And she knows, too, that she is far too well behaved ever to go out and find one.

But then Major Ashe Reynard, Viscount Dereham, arrives on her hearthrug at one in the morning, and Bel realizes she has found the man of her fantasies. Ashe is only too ready to oblige—for, after all, neither of them wants more than a commitment-free affaire. Or do they?

I had a great deal of fun, and some heartache, following Bel and Ashe through their tangled path to true love, hindered on the way by a polar bear, a bathing machine and a formidable aunt. I hope you enjoy the journey, too.

Coming next will be The Shocking Lord Standon—not that Gareth Morant, Earl of Standon, wants to be shocking. But sometimes a gentleman just has to make a sacrifice for the ladies in his life.

For the wonderful Terry and Peter at the equally wonderful Margate Museum, with grateful thanks for all their kind and generous help and all the information anyone could ever hope to find on the subject of bathing machines.

Louise Allen

THE OUTRAGEOUS LADY FELSHAM

The Earl’s Intended Wife #793

The Society Catch #809

Moonlight and Mistletoe #830

A Most Unconventional Courtship #849

Virgin Slave, Barbarian King #877

No Place for a Lady #892

* The Dangerous Mr. Ryder #903

* The Outrageous Lady Felsham #907

Other works include

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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

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Late July 1815

Iwant a hero. The words stared blackly off the page into her tired eyes. ‘So do I, Lord Byron, so do I.’ Bel sighed, pushed her tumbled brown hair back off her face and resumed her reading of the first stanza of Don Juan. She and the poet did not want heroes for the same reason, of course. The poet was despairing of finding a suitable hero for his tale; Belinda, Lady Felsham, simply yearned for romance.

No, that was not true either. Bel marked her place with one fingertip and stared into space, brooding. If she could not be honest in her own head, where could she be? Her yearnings were not simple, they were not pure and they certainly were not about knights errant or romance.

Bel rolled over on to her back on the white fur rug and tossed the book aside, narrowly missing one of the candelabra which sat on the hearth and lit her reading. It was well past two in the morning and the candles were beginning to gutter; in a few minutes she would have to get up and tend to them or go to bed and try to sleep.

She stretched out a bare foot, ruffling the silken flounces around the hem of her nightgown, and with her toes stroked the ears of the polar bear whose head snarled towards the door of her bedchamber. ‘That’s not what I want, Horace,’ she informed him. ‘I do not yearn for moonlight and soft music and lingering glances. I want a gorgeous, exciting man who will be thrilling in bed. I want a lover. A really good one.’

Horace, unshockable, did not respond, but then he never had, not to any of the confidences that had been poured into his battered and yellowing ears over the years. At the age of nine she had fallen in love with him, wheedled him out of her godfather’s study and moved him into her bedchamber. He had stayed with her ever since.

Her late husband—Henry, Viscount Felsham—had protested faintly at the presence of a vast and motheaten bearskin on his wife’s chamber floor, but Bel, otherwise biddable and compliant with every stricture and requirement of her new husband, had stuck her heels in and Horace had stayed. Henry had always ostentatiously made a point of sighing heavily and walking around him whenever he made his twice-weekly visitation to her room. Perhaps he sensed that conversation with Horace was more exciting for his young wife than his bedroom attentions had proved.

Bel sat up, braced her arms behind her, and looked round the room with satisfaction. Her bedchamber was just right, even if she was occupying it alone without the lover of her dreams. In fact, she congratulated herself, somewhat smugly, the whole house was perfect. It was a little gem in Half Moon Street, recently acquired as part of her campaign to emerge from eighteen months of mourning and enjoy herself.

It was still a very masculine house, reflecting the tastes of its last owner. But that was not a problem; it simply gave her another project to work on, and one that was possible to achieve, unlike the acquisition of a suitable lover, which was, as she very well knew, complete fantasy.