Scandal in the Regency Ballroom: No Place For a Lady / Not Quite a Lady

Scandal in the Regency Ballroom: No Place For a Lady / Not Quite a Lady
Louise Allen

No Place for a LadyMiss Bree Mallory hopes no one in Society will discover that she once drove the stage from London to Newbury…or that she returned unchaperoned with the rakishly attractive Max Dysart, Earl of Penrith! Yet, while beautiful Bree has no interest in marriage, Max’s kisses are powerfully persuasive…Not Quite a LadyThe wealthy and exquisite heiress Miss Lily France is determined to trade her vulgar new money for marriage to a man with a respected title. Then she meets the untitled and unsuitable Jack Lovell. His calm strength and deep grey eyes are an irresistible combination–but he is the one man she cannot buy!

About the Author

LOUISE ALLEN has been immersing herself in history, real and fictional, for as long as she can remember. She finds landscapes and places evoke powerful images of the past—Venice, Burgundy and the Greek islands are favourite atmospheric destinations. Louise lives on the North Norfolk coast, where she shares the cottage they have renovated with her husband. She spends her spare time gardening, researching family history or travelling in the UK and abroad in search of inspiration. Please visit Louise’s website, www.louiseallenregency.co.uk, for the latest news, or find her on Twitter, @LouiseRegency, and on Facebook.

Scandal in the Regency Ballroom

No Place for a Lady

Not Quite a Lady

Louise Allen

www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)

In The Regency Ballroom Collection

Scandal in the Regency Ballroom

April 2013

Innocent in the Regency Ballroom

May 2013

Wicked in the Regency Ballroom

June 2013

Cinderella in the Regency Ballroom

July 2013

Rogue in the Regency Ballroom

August 2013

Debutante in the Regency Ballroom

September 2013

Rumours in the Regency Ballroom

October 2013

Scoundrel in the Regency Ballroom

November 2013

Mistress in the Regency Ballroom

December 2013

Courtship in the Regency Ballroom

January 2014

Rake in the Regency Ballroom

February 2014

Secrets in the Regency Ballroom

March 2014

No Place for a Lady

Chapter One

Almost 1:00 a.m. on the Bath Road outside Hounslow—September 1814

We are going to crash. The thought went through Max’s brain with almost fatalistic calm. There was not enough room, even if the stage pulled over, even if it were broad daylight—even if he were driving and not his young cousin.

‘Rein in, damn it, it’s too narrow here!’ He had to shout over the wind whipping past them and the thunder of hooves. The stage held the crown of the road, as well it might. At this time of night it was the safest place to be—unless you had a private drag bearing down upon you, driven at full gallop by an over-excited eighteen-year-old racing for a wager.

The coach was lit with side lanterns, as they were, and the moon was high and full, bathing the road and the surrounding heath in silver light, but Max did not need it to judge the road—he knew it like the back of his hand.

‘I can make it!’ Nevill looped the off-lead rein and the team, obedient to the lightest touch, moved out to the right ready to overtake, and they were committed.

Snatching the reins would not help; they were going too fast—the big Hanoverian bays, full of oats and more than a match for any stagecoach team, especially night-run horses, were too powerful to stop in this distance. And somewhere behind them, moving just as fast, was Brice Latymer, out for blood, and behind him, Viscount Lansdowne.

Max raised the yard-long horn to his lips and blew, more in hope than expectation. If they were lucky, if the driver of the stage was alert, strong and experienced, they might get away with a sideways collision and at least the horses would not plough straight into the back of the stage. Unlucky, and there would be a four-coach pile-up and carnage.

And the miracle happened. The stage, scarcely checking its speed, drew tight to the left, the whipping branches of the hedgerow trees lashing the side, forcing the rooftop passengers to throw themselves to the right. It was lurching, its nearside wheels riding the rim of the ditch, but if Nevill could keep his head they might just make it through.

‘Go, damn it!’ he thundered. Nevill dropped his hands and the bays went through the gap like a cavalry charge. The drag tilted to the right, bounced, branches scored down the length of the black lacquer sides and then they were neck and neck with the stage.

Now he had created the space the other driver was slowing, fighting his team to keep the vehicle steady and out of the ditch it was teetering on. Max looked across, wanting to send a silent message of apology, and found himself looking into an oval face, white in the moonlight, the eyes huge, dark and furious, the mouth lush. A woman’s face?

Then they were past. Max shook himself—he was mistaken, or in the confusion of the moment he had seen the face of one of the rooftop passengers, not the driver.

He glanced to the side. Nevill was visibly shaken now the crisis had passed, his hand lax on the reins. ‘Here, take them. I’m going to be sick.’ He thrust the reins towards Max, making the bays jib at the confusing signals.

‘No, you are not—drive! This is your bet, your responsibility, and I just hope to hell the others were far enough back to miss that.’

The Bell was perhaps three minutes ahead. The end of the race. If the stage didn’t come through in five minutes it would be in the ditch and he would have to go back and see what he could do to help.