The Regency Season: Gentleman Rogues: The Gentleman Rogue / The Lost Gentleman
Rebels with no rulesThe Gentleman RogueIn the middle of a Mayfair ballroom two apparent strangers stand in amazement. Ned Stratham and Emma Northcote never thought they would see one another again – this rogue’s charm once captivated her but now she’s a different woman. Their pasts are full of secrets and Ned realises he can’t rekindle their romance because, if Emma discovers how deep their connection is, it could ruin everything…The Lost Gentleman Kate Medhurst’s days on the high seas are numbered as she’s ruthlessly chased by the fearsome Captain North! Once captured Kate knows she should fight him, hate him and challenge him – but she cannot. This Captain is no longer a gentleman and when he confronts Kate, North realises his lost honour is a small price to pay to save the woman he loves…
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MARGARET McPHEE loves to use her imagination — an essential requirement for a scientist. However, when she realised that her imagination was inspired more by the historical romances she loves to read rather than by her experiments, she decided to put the stories down on paper. She has since left her scientific life behind and enjoys cycling in the Scottish countryside, tea and cakes.
Table of Contents
Margaret McPhee
INESCAPABLE, UNDENIABLE AND IMPOSSIBLE TO RESIST!
In a Mayfair ballroom, beautiful Emma Northcote stands in amazement. For gazing at her, with eyes she’d know anywhere, is Ned Stratham—a man whose roguish charm once held her captivated.
But that was another life in another part of London.
With their past mired in secrets and betrayal, and their true identities now at last revealed, Ned realizes they can never rekindle their affair. For only he knows that they share a deeper connection—one that could make Emma hate him if she ever discovered the truth….
“It’s witty, wicked and wonderful!” —RT Book Reviews on Mistress to the Marquis
For Gran & Grandadand For Agnes & JohnWith love
London—August 1811
Emma de Lisle watched the man covertly from the corner of her eye. He was sitting at his usual table, over at the other side of the room, his back to the wall, a clear view of the door. On the table before him sat his pint of porter, his almost-finished plate of lamb chops and, beside it, his faded leather hat.
He moved the small ivory disc over the back of his hand, just as he always did, the trick making the disc look like it was magically tumbling one way over his fingers and then all the way back, forward and back, forward and back in that slow easy rhythm. He sipped from the tankard and seemed comfortable just sitting there on his own, eating, drinking, watching—a part of the bustle of the taproom of the Red Lion Chop-House, and yet not a part.
‘All right?’ A short brown-toothed man muttered as he passed, giving a sullen nod of his head in the man’s direction.
The man gave a nod in return and the little disc disappeared from his fingers into his jacket. Emma had noticed him before. Just as she noticed him now. Because of the way he ran the small ivory circle over his fingers. Because a slice of one dark-blond eyebrow was missing, a tiny scar cutting in a straight line clear through it, and because the eyes beneath those brows were the colour of a clear summer sky. But most of all, she noticed him because he intrigued her.
The faded brown-leather jacket he wore was cracked with age. Beneath the table she knew he wore scuffed boots that matched the jacket. His hat was leather, too, worn smooth, smoky-brown, dark beside his hair. Clothes that had lasted a lifetime, ageing with the man that wore them. Yet beneath his jacket was a shirt that, in contrast to most others she saw in here, was good quality, white and freshly laundered, and his fingernails were clean and trimmed. He kept to himself and was always on his own. And there was something about him, something of self-containment and strength, of intelligence and power. But all of it understated, quiet, kept beneath the surface. He did not seem to care what others thought of him. Unlike the other men in Whitechapel he did not make any effort to either intimidate or impress. Never tried to make conversation, just kept his thoughts to himself. He was clean-shaven, handsome too in a rugged sort of way, although handsome men should have been the last thing on Emma’s mind.
‘Three mixed-grill platters!’ Tom, the cook, yelled, jolting her from her speculation.
‘Coming, Tom.’ Emma dragged her eyes away from the man, her moment of respite gone. She hurried up to the kitchen hatch, and, using the cloth dangling from the belt around her waist, quickly shifted the scalding plates on to her large wooden tray. In a much-practised move, she hefted the whole tray up to balance it on her shoulder, before bustling across the room to make her delivery.
‘Here we are, gentlemen. Three of our very best mixed-grills.’ She presented each of the three men round the table with an enormous platter.
On the way back to the bar she cleared two tables, took two orders for more beers, and noticed a new party of men arriving to be fed.
‘I’ll see to the new boys, Em,’ Paulette, the Red Lion’s other serving wench, said as she passed Emma.
‘Four pints of ale ready over here, Emma!’ Nancy, the landlady, called, setting the last of the pints down on the bar with a thud that sent the froth of their heads cascading in a creamy waterfall down the outsides of the pewter tankards.
