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The Outrageous Belle Marchmain. Lucy Ashford
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Автор произведения Lucy Ashford
Издательство HarperCollins
Praise for Lucy Ashford writing as Elizabeth Redfern:
AURIEL RISING
‘Intelligent.’
—New York Times
‘Richly atmospheric … Redfern’s strength is in recreating a morally corrupt world.’
—Publishers Weekly
THE MUSIC OF THE SPHERES
‘Quite wonderful … It is Redfern’s ability to bring each scene, each character alive that makes this such toothsome reading.’
—USA TODAY
‘Unputdownable … [a] remarkable debut … a glittering tale of London in 1795, full of science, intrigue, war, revolution and obsessive passion.’
—Guardian
He knew he ought to take his hands off her—now. But he wanted her. He wanted her with an urgency he couldn’t ever remember feeling in his entire life, and that big bed was too damned close …
He forced himself away. ‘Damn it, Belle, tell me to stop now. For I swear if we carry on much longer I will not be able to do so.’
‘You mean—this is real?’ she breathed. ‘You actually find me desirable?’
What was she talking about? He gave a harsh, incredulous laugh.
‘Adam—we agreed there would be no intimacy!’
There was an edge of panic to her voice that made him freeze. Cupping her face with his hands, he gazed down at her. His blood was pounding, his loins thudding just from her being near, this beautiful woman whose full, tremulous lips he longed to kiss again.
‘Belle,’ he said quietly. ‘You loved your husband very much. I realise that—’
He broke off, feeling her tremble in his arms.
‘But it’s five years since he died,’ he went on, ‘and I want to kiss you, Belle. I want to do more than kiss you—I think you want it, too. And if you don’t want me to take this further, then say so now. Say, Adam, I want you to leave.’
About the Author
LUCY ASHFORD, an English Studies lecturer, has always loved literature and history, and from childhood one of her favourite occupations has been to immerse herself in historical romances. She studied English with history at Nottingham University, and the Regency is her favourite period.
Lucy has written several historical novels, and this is her third for Mills & Boon. She lives with her husband in an old stone cottage in the Peak District, near to beautiful Chatsworth House and Haddon Hall, all of which give her a taste of the magic of life in a bygone age. Her garden enjoys spectacular views over the Derbyshire hills, where she loves to roam and let her imagination go to work on her latest story.
You can contact Lucy via her website—www.lucyashford.com
Previous novels from Lucy Ashford:
THE MAJOR AND THE PICKPOCKET
THE RETURN OF LORD CONISTONE THE CAPTAIN’S COURTESAN
And in M&B:
THE PROBLEM WITH JOSEPHINE
(part of Royal Weddings Through the Ages)
Did you know that some of these novels are also available as eBooks? Visit www.millsandboon.co.uk
AUTHOR NOTE
For this story I’ve moved a little later into the Regency period—1819, when the long Napoleonic wars were fading from most people’s memories and a new world dominated by invention and industry was bringing changes aplenty to Society’s elite.
I wanted to explore how a man of wealth and willpower—Adam Davenant—would cope with the barriers still put up by England’s aristocracy against someone like him. The ton likes to mutter that he’s a jumped-up quarry-owner; it’s just Adam’s luck that he collides with lovely Belle Marchmain, who’s well-born, a widow, and absolutely penniless. Adam offers her an answer to her temporary problems, but soon, thanks to her growing feelings for the ruthless Mr Davenant, she’s faced with more dilemmas than ever!
I really enjoyed exploring the clashes between old money and new, and how the rigid rules of class were having to be broken down rather swiftly in the closing years of this decade. I love the way Adam is prepared to knuckle down and help his quarry workers when needs must, and I love the way the defiant, often outrageous Belle gradually has to admit that she’s actually found the man of her dreams.
Here is their story.
The Outrageous Belle Marchmain
Lucy Ashford
Chapter One
Sawle Down, Somerset—March 1819
It was the kind of spring afternoon that touched these green Somerset hills with magic—or so the locals, whose heads were filled with old folk tales, would say. Adam, a hard-headed businessman, had no time for superstitious nonsense, but he found himself doing exactly what an old quarryman would do. He let his long, lean fingers rest on the great slab of honey-coloured stone that had just been hewn from the ground—then he tapped it, once, twice, thrice.
For luck.
May there be three hundred, three thousand times this wealth in the earth below me.
His big roan Goliath was tethered nearby, unconcerned by the noise of the quarry workers and their equipment as they toiled at the excavations in the heat. Adam turned to the man at his side with just the hint of a smile curving his strong mouth.
‘So it’s going well, Jacob?’ he asked softly.
Old Jacob, in his dusty quarryman’s garb, clearly couldn’t wait to tell him just how well. ‘Like a dream, Master Adam! Me and the lads, we were resigned to this quarry being worked out for good. Some of them never thought to get a job like this again.’ The old quarryman could scarcely conceal his glee. ‘But then you came last month and told us there was fancy folks in London interested in our stone.’
‘More than interested, Jacob. Believe me, builders are clamouring for it.’
‘And so they should be!’ Jacob gestured towards the fresh-hewn blocks and rapped one with his callused knuckles, just as Adam had done. ‘Rings true as porcelain, do you hear, sir? No faults inside her!’
Jacob followed as Adam headed across the uneven ground to speak to a group of bare-chested workers who’d been vigorously plying their pickaxes at the rock face. Clouds of dust rose and clung to their sweating backs, but they put their picks aside and grinned when they saw who was there.
Adam had slung his dark riding coat over one shoulder and moved easily amongst them asking questions, offering words of quiet praise. He was owner of this quarry and much else besides, but the rumour ran that the master had been known to wield a pickaxe himself when the going got tough and had vowed he’d never be too grand to stand shoulder to shoulder with his men.
Jacob Mallin kept close to his side, beaming with pride. ‘You promised the lads you’d get this quarry