ANNIE BURROWS - An Escapade and an Engagement

‘Lady Jayne, I have given my word I will not say anything about tonight. And I would never go back on my word. But you must see that I cannot just let the matter rest. You have said yourself you are not behaving as you ought.’

She looked mutinous as she said, ‘And just what do you mean to do about it?’

He only wished he knew. For now, the best thing would be to make a strategic withdrawal so that he could regroup.

‘I shall call upon you this afternoon, to take you for a drive in Hyde Park. That is when I shall tell you what action I plan to take.’ Once he’d decided what it would be.

‘I shall be ready,’ she said, lifting her chin in a fashion that told him she was preparing to fight him every inch of the way. ‘This is it,’ she said, waving her hand at the frontage of an imposing mansion.

Having shown him where she lived, she ducked down a passage that led to the mews at the back. Then she turned round and stood quite still, staring up at him for a minute, with her head on one side as though trying to work him out.

‘You have surprised me,’ she said at last. ‘I would never have imagined you could be so … decent.’

AUTHOR NOTE

The Earl of Caxton has two granddaughters.

You may have read about Miss Aimée Peters in CAPTAIN CORCORAN’S HOYDEN BRIDE. Having grown up in exile, Aimée was desperate to find security and put down roots. To that end, she travelled to Yorkshire to become a governess—only to find that her employer was not what she’d expected …

In AN ESCAPADE AND AN ENGAGEMENT you will meet her cousin, Lady Jayne Chilcott. People think she is her grandfather’s pampered darling. But she feels suffocated by the propriety of her lifestyle and longs for the kind of adventure she is sure Aimée must have had. The product of a bitterly unhappy arranged marriage, Lady Jayne vows she will only marry for love. But where is she ever going to find a man who will inspire anything more than mild contempt when her grandfather guards her so zealously she never meets anyone new, let alone exciting?

That is until she clashes with the grim-faced Lord Ledbury, an ex-soldier who has come to London to find a suitable woman to become his bride. Lady Jayne has the right pedigree. But does he really want to get tangled up with a girl who is never happier than when up to her neck in mischief?

ANNIE BURROWShas been making up stories for her own amusement since she first went to school. As soon as she got the hang of using a pencil she began to write them down. Her love of books meant she had to do a degree in English literature. And her love of writing meant she could never take on a job where she didn’t have time to jot down notes when inspiration for a new plot struck her. She still wants the heroines of her stories to wear beautiful floaty dresses and triumph over all that life can throw at them. But when she got married she discovered that finding a hero is an essential ingredient to arriving at ‘happy ever after’.

Previous novels by Annie Burrows:

HIS CINDERELLA BRIDE

MY LADY INNOCENT

THE EARL’S UNTOUCHED BRIDE

CAPTAIN FAWLEY’S INNOCENT BRIDE

THE RAKE’S SECRET SON

(part of Regency Candlelit Christmas anthology) DEVILISH LORD, MYSTERIOUS MISS A COUNTESS BY CHRISTMAS CAPTAIN CORCORAN’S HOYDEN BRIDE

Also available in eBook format in Mills & Boon ®Historical Undone :

NOTORIOUS LORD, COMPROMISED MISS

Do you know that these books are available as eBooks? Visit www.millsandboon.co.uk

An Escapade and

an Engagement

Annie Burrows

www.millsandboon.co.uk

To Carol Townend,

author of the ‘Wessex Weddings’—

whose hospitality is legendary, and whose

insightful and experienced advice has been of

enormous help to me in the completion of this book.

Lord Ledbury glared up at the ruched silk canopy of the bed he’d inherited from his brother, wide awake now, when not an hour since he’d felt so drained he was sure he could have slept for a week.

He hated this bed. He hated its soft feather mattress and the mounds of bedding that felt as though they were suffocating him. He hated the valet whom … no, that was going too far. He could not hate Jenkins for doing a job to the best of his limited ability. It was just that he was not Fred.

He could have talked to Fred as he’d undressed and prepared to go to bed. Probably managed to laugh off the more ludicrous aspects of the evening’s sortie behind what felt like enemy lines—as they’d done time without number during the preceding six years of active service. No matter what deprivations they’d had to endure because of the damn fool orders some pompous ass higher up the chain of command had issued.

But he’d been obliged to leave Fred behind when he’d taken up residence in Lavenham House. And though he’d never experienced such luxury, never had so many servants in his life since coming to live here, he’d never felt so alone or so ill at ease. A spy must feel like this, he reflected bitterly, kicking off his covers and turning onto his side to glare at the fire glowing smugly in its ornate marble fireplace. Without benefit of his uniform to vouch for his identity. Cut off from his regiment, his comrades. Entrusted with orders that he alone could carry out.

Dammit, he was more likely to get some sleep outside on a park bench wrapped up in his old army greatcoat than he was in here, suffocated by all the trappings deemed necessary to coddle a lord. When he thought of all the times he’d slept out of doors, with conditions so harsh he would wake in the morning with his blanket frozen to the ground …

He sat bolt upright. At the end of this street there was a small park, with benches dotted about in it. And in spite of Jenkins’ ill-concealed disgust, his army greatcoat still hung in the armoire….

He just had to get out of Mortimer’s house for a while, and away from Mortimer’s servants, even if there was no escaping the obligations Mortimer’s sudden and unexpected death had foisted upon him.

Muttering imprecations under his breath, he got out of bed and pulled on a random selection of clothing by guesswork in the flickering shadows cast by the fire, making sure only of his army greatcoat. He sighed as he shrugged himself into it, feeling as though he was being taken into the arms of a friend. As though there was a part of him that was still Major Cathcart, even though everyone was suddenly calling him Lord Ledbury now.

He rubbed his hand briskly over the crown of his head to tidy his bed-rumpled light brown hair in the way that had become second nature to him on campaign as he left the bedroom, wishing it was as easy to smooth down his ragged temper.

His mouth flattened into a grim line as he limped down the stairs. He had not quite recovered from the interview with the Earl of Lavenham, that was half the trouble. He’d been braced to hear something unpleasant. Nothing less than a dire emergency would have induced his grandfather to summon him to Courtlands. And what he’d learned about his younger brother during that interview had certainly been a shock. But what still left him with a nasty taste in his mouth had been the confirmation that if only Charlie had been the sort who could have concealed his preference for men he might have returned to his regiment, been killed or maimed, and nobody would have given a damn.