Jane Lark - The Reckless Love of an Heir - An epic historical romance perfect for fans of period drama Victoria

‘Jane Lark has an incredible talent to draw the reader in from the first page onwards’

Cosmochicklitan Book Reviews

‘Any description that I give you would not only spoil the story but could not give this book a tenth of the justice that it deserves. Wonderful!’

Candy Coated Book Blog

‘This book held me captive after the first 2 pages. If I could crawl inside and live in there with the characters I would’

A Reading Nurse Blogspot

‘The book swings from truly swoon-worthy, tense and heart wrenching, highly erotic and everything else in between’

BestChickLit.com

‘I love Ms. Lark’s style—beautifully descriptive, emotional and can I say, just plain delicious reading? This is the kind of mixer upper I’ve been looking for in romance lately’

Devastating Reads BlogSpot

A division of HarperCollins Publishers

www.harpercollins.co.uk

Harper Impulse an imprint of

HarperCollins Publishers

1 London Bridge Street

London SE1 9GF

www.harpercollins.co.uk

First published in Great Britain by Harper Impulse 2016

Copyright © Jane Lark 2016

Cover images © Shutterstock.com

Cover layout design © HarperCollins Publishers 2016

Cover design by Holly Macdonald

Jane Lark asserts the moral right to

be identified as the author of this work

A catalogue record for this book

is available from the British Library

This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.

All rights reserved under International

and Pan-American Copyright Conventions.

By payment of the required fees, you have been granted

the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access

and read the text of this e-book on screen.

No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted,

downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or

stored in or introduced into any information storage and

retrieval system, in any form or by any means,

whether electronic or mechanical, now known or

hereinafter invented, without the express

written permission of HarperCollins.

Ebook Edition © July 2016 ISBN: 9780008139834

Version 2016-07-05

Table of Contents

Cover

Praise for Jane Lark

Title Page

Copyright

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

Chapter Twenty-Four

Chapter Twenty-Five

Chapter Twenty-Six

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Chapter Twenty-Eight

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Chapter Thirty

Chapter Thirty-One

Chapter Thirty-Two

Epilogue

Author Note

Also by Jane Lark

Jane Lark

About HarperImpulse

About the Publisher

The carriage passed between the large stone lions that held the shields engraved with the Barrington coat of arms and entered the Farnborough Estate through the open wrought iron gates. Henry sighed heavily and removed his foot from the opposite seat of his father’s carriage. The carriage had been sent to town to collect him, on his request.

Pain shot from his right shoulder down to the elbow that was held bent within a sling. His left hand lifted and braced the shoulder.

The damn thing killed. He would be glad to get out of this carriage. Each rut in the road had jolted his arm.

He’d dislocated the shoulder in a fall from his curricle and sprained his wrist besides acquiring several bruises and the bloody thing made it impossible to dress or shave himself and he was equally unable ride a horse, or drive his curricle.

He’d been told by the surgeon in London that he must wear the sling for a month while his shoulder healed, and so he had chosen to come home; where at least he would have his father’s valet and his mother and sisters to look after him.

He picked up his hat from the far seat, using his good hand, and put it on as the carriage passed the gate house then began its journey along the snaking avenue, with its tall horse-chestnut trees either side. The trees were covered in pillars of white spring blossom.

Henry looked towards the distance, between the trees, trying to catch the first glimpse of the house.

Home. He felt a pull from it, a tug at the far end of what had once been a leading rein. The land and property that would one day be his had a place in his chest that inspired pride and affection. Yet, he was equally happy to be away from it. Since he’d resided in London life had opened doors and windows he’d not seen through before. He did not regret moving there at all. It would have been hideous here, once he’d finished at Oxford. The restrictions his father and mother would have set over his life if he’d returned to Farnborough would have been unbearable, he would have become their coddled child again. In London he could do as he wished, without judgement.

There.

He saw the house.

Farnborough was caught in a ray of sunlight that had broken through the clouds, the clouds that had been hovering over the carriage throughout his journey.

The modernised medieval property had a particular charm, and it did tug at his heart, regardless of his lack of regret over leaving it, and the childhood he’d known here, behind.

That small tug became an overwhelming sense of coming home when the carriage passed beneath the archway of the oldest part of the house underneath the ancient portcullis of the original castle. The emotion was spurred by the sound of the horses’ hooves and iron rimmed carriage wheels ringing on the cobble and sending metallic echoes bouncing back from the walls of the house around the courtyard.