Regency Seduction: The Captain's Courtesan / The Outrageous Belle Marchmain
The Captain’s CourtesanDetermined to seek out the villain who destroyed her family, Rosalie Rowland masquerades as a courtesan at London’s infamous Temple of Beauty. But when she revels in her alter-ego a little too willingly, Captain Alec Stewart’s potent masculinity proves impossible to resist…Alec is as much a stranger to the brothel as he is to the feelings that Rosalie incites within. The passion between them may be unquestionably real, but having met under the guise of secrets and seductions how can they be sure where the lies end and truths begin…?The Outrageous Belle MarchmainAgreeing to a fake betrothal should suit both society dressmaker Belle Marchmain and landowner Adam Davenant fittingly – clearing Belle’s debts and keeping Adam’s husband -hunters at bay. Even if blue-blooded Belle, with her extravagant clothes and razor-sharp tongue, despises the very air that nouveau riche Adam breathes!If Adam wants a wife who’s agreeable he has his work cut out. Yet when his demanding mouth caresses Belle’s, for the first time ever she’s lost for words. Maybe Adam’s found the one way to tame the only woman who’s ever stood up to him…and make her say ‘I do’…
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Regency Seduction
The Captain’s Courtesan
The Outrageous Belle Marchmain
Lucy Ashford
LUCY ASHFORD studied English with history at Nottingham University, and the Regency is her favourite period. She lives with her husband in an old stone cottage in the Derbyshire Peak District, close to beautiful Chatsworth House, and she loves to walk in the surrounding hills while letting her imagination go to work on her latest story.
You can contact Lucy via her website: www.lucyashford.com.
Table of Contents
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Lucy Ashford
Spitalfields, London—February 1816, 8 p.m.
‘The Temple of Beauty?’ echoed Captain Alec Stewart, lifting his dark eyebrows as he eased his foil into the nearby sword rack. ‘How old are you, Harry—twenty? And still wet around the ears, my young pup. The Temple of Beauty is nothing but a den of harlots, take my word on it.’
For the last half an hour, this dusty old hall at the heart of the east London mansion known as Two Crows Castle had echoed to the click of gleaming blades, to the muttered curses of Lord Harry Nugent, and the curt admonitions of his tutor. Now the fencing lesson was over and Harry collapsed on a bench to mop the sweat from his brow and make his plea once more.
‘Oh, Alec, do please say you’ll come! It’s my birthday after all. And the girls are as sweet a bunch as you’ll find in London!’
Alec laughed aloud. ‘Trust me, they’re whores.’ Pouring out two brandies, he handed one to his pupil. ‘I’m not coming. But—happy birthday all the same.’
Harry Nugent, inordinately rich and a truly hopeless fencer, sighed and sipped just a little of his brandy, which was rough. He let his gaze rove with a certain amount of trepidation around this lofty hall, where the chill February wind rattling at cobwebbed windows sent shadows from the candles leaping across the smokestained rafters. Then he glanced at his fencing master, who, tall and loose-limbed, looked as though the exertions of the past half-hour had affected him not one jot.
Harry took a deep breath. ‘Alec!’
‘Hmmm?’
‘It’s really not right, you know, Alec, that you should live in a wreck like this and make your living by running a sword school. You’re a war hero, man!’
Alec shrugged. ‘War hero or not, I’ve scarcely sixpence to scratch with, Harry. Anyway, I quite like it here.’
Harry watched as his fencing tutor idly pulled another fine rapier from the rack and tested its balance. Alec was one of the best swordsmen in London and used to hold an enviable reputation as a captain in the Light Dragoons. Once, they said, he was light-hearted, never serious, even on the night before battle. London’s ladies used to adore him; he’d had his pick of the ton’s heiresses, and for a brief while was betrothed to one. But now … Now, he was a stranger to London’s social scene and his once-merry brown eyes were etched with cynicism.
‘Even so, to live like this!’ Harry couldn’t stop himself blurting it out. ‘You should take up the matter with your father, you really should! Everyone says so!’
Alec made a gentle feint with his rapier. ‘Do they indeed say that?’ he asked softly. ‘Do you have fun discussing me with your friends around London’s clubs and watering-holes, Harry?’
‘No!’ protested Harry Nugent, rather flustered. ‘Well, we say nothing we wouldn’t say to your face, Alec!’ He spread out his hands in entreaty. ‘You needn’t actually—you know, do anything with any of the girls tonight. Just join us at the Temple for a bit of fun! And perhaps,’ Harry went on innocently, ‘a night away from this place would do you good. Your brother said—’
Alec’s well-shaped, flexible fingers suddenly went very still around the hilt of his rapier. If Lord Harry Nugent had fought at his side at Waterloo, he’d have known to be wary of that look.
‘When, exactly,’ said Alec in a deceptively soft drawl, ‘did you see my esteemed brother?’
‘Why, it was mere chance, at Tellworth’s tables in St James’s last night!’
Still in London, then. ‘And what in particular did he say?’
‘He said …’ Harry hesitated ‘… he said you are a little too fond, like all former soldiers, of the brandy bottle—which we all know is a lie!—and that is why, he says, you tend to avoid decent company.’
‘Decent company, eh? And will my delightful brother be at Tellworth’s again tonight, do you think, my fresh-faced, intriguingly honest Harry?’
