The Notorious Lord
The sight of Cory, Lord Newlyn, rising naked from the Midwinter river, is enough to send ripples of shock through Rachel Odell's carefully ordered life.He has always been a friend, although now she's aware of him as a man–an exceedingly handsome man. But she can't possibly entertain romantic ideas about this adventure seeker…and rogue.It does appear that Cory is waging a deliberate campaign to seduce her. What is his true intent? Can he simply wish to claim his best friend as his bride…?
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>*Bluestocking Brides
âRachel!â Coryâs voice carried easily to her, for by now he was a mere twenty yards away.
âI had been thinking recently,â he continued, âhow nice it would be to see more of you.â
âI can see almost all of you at present, and it is a deal too much! What are you doing? Where are your clothes? Go away and get dressed at once!â
But far from retreating modestly behind his curtain of willow, Cory appeared to be intending to approach her directly, sauntering up the bank for all the world as though he were entering a London drawing room rather than strolling naked through the Suffolk countryside.
Rachel gave him a severe look. âYou may be my friend, but I am a young lady of unimpeachable reputation and I do not intend to compromise that through being seen in conversation with a rake wrapped in a blanket!â
Coryâs shoulders shook slightly. âA rake wrapped in a blanket! You make me sound like some sort of delicate gardening tool.â
âGo away, please, Cory,â she said. âYou are improper.â
Cory laughed. âI am. But you have always known that and you still like me.â
The Notorious Lord
Harlequin Historical
Dear Reader,
It is 1803, and along the coast of Suffolk the threat of French invasion is at its highest. Smugglers, pirates, treasure seekers and spies are all drawn to the quiet Midwinter villages, where the comfortable surface of village life conceals treason and danger as well as romance and excitementâ¦.
This is the world that I have inhabited for the past year whilst I wrote the BLUESTOCKING BRIDES trilogy. It has been a wonderful experience. I have always loved the county of Suffolk for its remoteness, the peace of the woods, the wind in the reeds at the waterâs edge and the sunset over the sea. It is one of the most atmospheric and inspiring places for a storyteller.
About a year ago I was reading a book about âThe Great Terror,â the years between 1801 and 1805, when Britain was permanently on the alert against the threat of Napoleonic invasion. It made me wonder what life would have been like in the coastal villages of Britain, where there was always the chance that the business of everyday living would conceal something more dangerous. I thought about a group of gentlemen dedicated to hunting down a spyâgentlemen for whom romance was no part of the plan, but who found that the ladies of Midwinter were more than a match for them! And so the idea of the BLUESTOCKING BRIDES trilogy was bornâ¦.
I hope that you enjoy these stories of love and romance in the Midwinter villages! It has been a real pleasure to write this trilogy.
Nicola Cornick
The NOTORIOUS LORD
Contents
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
Epilogue
Chapter One
June 1803
She had taken too much cider for breakfast.
Miss Rachel Odell could think of no other explanation for the sudden and wholly unexpected sight of a naked man, who emerged from the thicket of willows some fifty yards down the riverbank and started to stroll towards her with all the aplomb of a gentleman entering a dowagerâs drawing room.
Rachel blinked, stared, and looked down at the earthenware flask in her hand. She had known that drinking alcohol was dangerous, particularly at breakfast, but she had not wanted to offend the cook, who had pressed the bottle into her hands with the remark that apple juice was just what was needed on a hot morning. Rachel had no head for drink and Mrs Goodfellowâs cider was outrageously strong, so she had only taken two sips. Was it possible to have delusions on the basis of only a thimbleful of alcohol? She thought not. Therefore, logically, the naked man must be real.
She looked up. He was.
The sun was cutting through the trees now and fell on his body in bars of dazzling, dancing golden light. He seemed oblivious to her presence, for he was standing quite still, his head tilted towards the sky as though he were drinking in the morning air. He was tall and perfectly proportioned and he moved with unhurried precision and grace. The bright white sunlight slid over his body and sparkled on the tiny droplets of water that were cascading from his naked skin. He put his hands up to his head and smoothed the tawny hair back so that it was as sleek and wet as an otterâs pelt. Then he stretched. To Rachelâs eyes he looked like a pagan god who had sprung directly out of the earth.
As the daughter of the most renowned antiquaries in the country, Rachel knew all about the worship of pagan gods. Her parents had dug up relics of many cultures from Egypt to the Rhine, and from Greece to Alexandria. Rachel had learned about Greek mythology and Roman deities in her earliest youth, but she had never seen a man who resembled these creatures of legend. Never before now.
For one long, riveting moment she stared at himâat the powerful set of his shoulders, at his broad chest tapering to a hard, flat stomach, at the sheen of his brown skin and the elemental strength and intensity of him. Suddenly the worship of pagan deities did not seem as far-fetched as Rachel had always imagined it. Her mouth went dry, her heart started to race and she felt a prickly sort of heat break out over her entire body.
