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       Mrs Silver gave the women only a few minutes’ warning before showing the group of four gentlemen into the room.

      Arabella felt the wave of panic go through her. Her stomach revolted and she felt physically sick at the prospect of what she was about to do with one of these men—and for money. For one moment the desire to flee was overwhelming. She wanted so much just to run away. But then she remembered why she had to do this. And the memory resolved every trembling nerve in Arabella’s body and lent her the strength that she needed. She stilled, took a deep breath, and raised her eyes to face the men.

      It felt to Arabella as if she had just stepped off the edge of a cliff. The breath froze in her throat and she gripped tight to the back of the sofa, oblivious to the fact that her fingernails were digging into the expensive ivory material.

      It cannot be. The thought was loud in her mind.

      ‘It cannot be.’ The words were barely a whisper upon her lips.

      She stared all the harder, sure that she must be mistaken. But there was no mistake. She would have known the tall dark-haired man anywhere, even though she had not seen him in almost six long years.

      About the Author

      MARGARET MCPHEE loves to use her imagination—an essential requirement for a trained 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 ideas down on paper. She has since left her scientific life behind, retaining only the romance—her husband, whom she met in a laboratory. In summer, Margaret enjoys cycling along the coastline overlooking the Firth of Clyde in Scotland, where she lives. In winter, tea, cakes and a good book suffice.

       Previous novels by the same author:

      THE CAPTAIN’S LADY

      MISTAKEN MISTRESS

      THE WICKED EARL

      UNTOUCHED MISTRESS

      A SMUGGLER’S TALE

      (part of Regency Christmas Weddings)

      THE CAPTAIN’S FORBIDDEN MISS

      UNLACING THE INNOCENT MISS

      (part of Regency Silk & Scandal mini-series)

       Gentlemen of Disrepute continues next month with Hunter’s story in

       A DARK AND BROODING GENTLEMAN

       Available October 2011

      AUTHOR NOTE

      This story was not the one I planned to write.

      Indeed, I was writing a different tale altogether when Arabella popped into my head. And once she was there she wouldn’t give me peace until I had written her story. So here it is, a little more spicy than my usual, but you can blame that on Arabella.

      I really do hope that you enjoy reading about Arabella and how she comes to find her ‘happy ever after’ with Dominic.

      For Patricia—

      I hope that it’s not too saucy for you!

      Unmasking

      The Duke’s Mistress

      Margaret McPhee

       www.millsandboon.co.uk

       Chapter One

       April 1809

      Within the large and tastefully decorated drawing room of Mrs Silver’s House of Rainbow Pleasures in the St James’s district of London, Arabella Marlbrook paced and tried to ignore the feeling of dread that coiled deep in the pit of her stomach.

      The black silk dress she was wearing had been made for a thinner woman and clung in an indecent fashion to the curves of her hips and breasts and she was all too aware that she was wearing neither petticoats nor stays. Her skin was like ice to touch, yet she could feel the smear of clamminess upon her palms. And she worried that the black feathers of the mask across her eyes did not obscure her identity well enough.

      There were five other women artfully arranged around the drawing room, each one in a different colour and all in attires that made Arabella look positively overdressed.

      ‘Do sit down, Arabella,’ Miss Rouge said from where she reclined in her scarlet underwear and stockings upon one of the sofas. ‘You are making me quite dizzy. You would do better to save your strength for there’ll be gentlemen aplenty and eager tonight. And some of what they’ll ask for will be demanding, to say the least.’ She gave a sly smile and from behind the bright red feathers of her facemask her eyes looked almost black.

      ‘Leave her be, Alice. Think how you felt on your first night. It is only natural that she is nervous,’ said pale pink Miss Rose who was leaning against the mantelpiece so that the flicker of the flames illuminated her legs through the pale pink silk as if she were not wearing a skirt at all. Then she looked across at Arabella. ‘You’ll be fine, girl. Don’t you worry.’

      Arabella shot Miss Rose a grateful look, before turning to Miss Rouge, ‘Please do not address me by my given name. I thought we were supposed to use the names Mrs Silver told us.’ Arabella had no wish for the man she must lie with this night—her stomach turned over again at the thought—to know her true identity. It was vital that not the slightest hint of her shame attach itself to those that she loved.

      ‘It’s only a name, Miss Noir, keep your skirt in place!’ snapped Miss Rouge.

      ‘Leastways till she gets her gent upstairs!’ quipped the small blonde in the armchair who was all in blue. She cackled at the joke and all of the other women, except for Arabella, joined in.

      Arabella turned away from them so that they would not see the degree of her humiliation, and moved to stand before the bookcase as if she were perusing the titles upon the shelf. Only when her expression was quite composed did she face the room once more.

      Alice, Miss Rouge, was buffing her nails. Ellen, Miss Vert, yawned and closed her eyes to nap upon the day bed. Lizzie, Miss Bleu, and Louisa, Miss Jaune, were engaged in a quiet conversation and Tilly, Miss Rose, was reading a romantic novel.

      Arabella studied the décor of the room in an attempt to distract her mind from the prospect of what lay ahead. It was a fine room, she noted, perhaps one of the finest she had seen. The floorboards were polished oak, and covered with a large gold-and-blue-and-ivory Turkey carpet. The walls were a pale duck-egg blue that lent the room a peaceful ambience. In the centre of the ornate plasterwork ceiling was a double-layered crystal-drop chandelier and around the room several matching wall sconces sat against large, elegant looking-glasses so that the light of the candle flames was magnified in glittering excellence. The furniture was mainly oak, all of it finely turned, understated and tasteful.

      There were five armchairs, two sofas and a daybed, some of which were upholstered in ivory and duck-egg blue stripes, some in plain ivory and others in a pale gold material that seemed to shimmer beneath the candlelight. On a table in the corner of the room was a vase filled with fresh flowers, the blooms all whites and creams and shades of yellow.

      It might have been a drawing room in any respectable wealthy house in London. Arabella marvelled at the contrast between the calm elegance of the décor and the crude reality of what went on within these walls … and was faced once more with the stark truth of what she was here to do.

      She dreaded the moment when some gentleman would arrive and buy her ‘services.’ Indeed, she had to fight every minute not just to walk out the door and keep on walking all the way home.

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