The Unmasking of Lady Loveless. Nicola Cornick

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       Elsewhere in Peacock Oak, there’s marriage…murder…and mayhem! To be found in Nicola Cornick’s novel UNMASKED Available March 2009

       Coming Soon from Mills & Boon

       a scandalous new trilogy BRIDES OF FORTUNE

       where the rules of engagement are never what they seem!

       The Confessions of a Duchess The Scandals of an Innocent The Undoing of a Lady

      Nicola Cornick became fascinated by history when she was a child and spent hours poring over historical novels and watching costume drama. She still does! She has worked in a variety of jobs, from serving refreshments on a steam train to arranging university graduation ceremonies. When she is not writing she enjoys walking in the English countryside, taking her husband, dog and even her cats with her. Nicola loves to hear from readers and can be contacted via her website at www.nicolacornick.co.uk

      The Unmasking of Lady Loveless

      Nicola Cornick

       www.millsandboon.co.uk

      For Sarah Morgan and Kate Hardy

       with thanks for their advice on the many uses of the

       quill pen.

      Chapter 1

      London, December 1806—three weeks before Christmas

      When Lord Alexander Beaumont entered Whites that night the entire room fell silent. No man would meet his eyes; their gazes slid away to study the pattern on the carpet or the brandy in their glasses. Throats were cleared, cuffs inspected with startling intensity.

      “Gentlemen?” He raised one quizzical dark brow. “Would anyone care to enlighten me as to what is wrong?”

      There was silence.

      “Charles?” he prompted.

      “Devil take it, Alex,” his friend Charles Wheeler complained, “I knew you would ask me.”

      “That’s what friends are for, Charles,” Alex said smoothly. “Well?”

      Charles stood up. He loosened his neck cloth, palpably ill at ease. “Don’t know where to start, old fellow.”

      “Try the beginning,” Alex advised.

      “Good luck, Charlie,” someone said sotto voce.

      “It’s Lady Melicent,” Wheeler blurted out. “Your wife.”

      His wife.

      No one ever spoke to Lord Alexander Robert Jon Beaumont about his wife.

      “Thank you, Charles,” Alex said. “We may have been apart for a couple of years now, but I am still aware who Melicent is.”

      Wheeler winced. Several men drew in their breath in sympathy.

      “She’s… She’s written a book,” Wheeler said. “Several books. This is the most recent.” He grabbed a slim tome from the hands of a man at a nearby table and handed it to Alex.

      “Steady on, Charlie,” the man protested. “I was enjoying that!”

      “Bentley…” Wheeler said in a warning tone. The man’s eyes flickered to Alex’s hard face and he fell silent.

      “‘The Adventures of a Woman of Pleasure by Lady Loveless.’” Alex read the gold lettering aloud. He flicked open the book.

      “‘Being naked and laid open to him kindled so great a rapture in her that she lay in wanton pleasure waiting for him to plunge his huge—’”

      A great harrumphing and clearing of throats followed. Alex closed the book softly and looked at his friend. “You are claiming that Melicent, my wife, is this Lady…Loveless?”

      “Yes! Don’t call me out,” Wheeler added as Alex took a purposeful step toward him, murder in his eyes. “Bentley bribed the publisher and found out that the manuscripts are sent from someone called Mrs. Durham, from Peacock Oak in Yorkshire.…” He made a pleading gesture. “You know that was Lady Melicent’s maiden name and that she resides there now.” He shook his head. “She has to be stopped, Alex. She bases the characters in her books on members of the Ton and they are too accurately portrayed for comfort.” He gestured to Bentley again. “Will’s betrothal to Miss Flynn was ruined because there is a scene in the book where a character called Bill Gentley ravishes an actress in a box at the theater during a performance!”

      “We all know that happened,” Alex said dryly.

      “That isn’t the point!” Bentley piped up.

      “Bentley lost an heiress worth sixty thousand,” Wheeler said. “Lady Loveless’s sources are impeccable. Which is why she has to be stopped.”

      Alex tapped the book thoughtfully against the palm of his hand. “She will be.”

      “What are you going to do?” Wheeler asked.

      “I am going to Yorkshire,” Alex said. He smiled at the look of horror on his friend’s face. “No need to fear, Charles—it is the north of England, not the North Pole.”

      “Yorkshire in winter,” Wheeler spluttered.

      “Yes,” Alex said, “and I will take this with me.” He raised the book, and the candlelight gleamed on the gold-lettered name, Lady Loveless, on the cover. “It will prove useful…for research purposes.”

      “Devil take it, Alex,” Bentley called, “I was reading that!” But he spoke to thin air.

      Lady Loveless indeed.

      How very apt for his estranged wife.

      Out in the street it was snowing, tiny flakes on the edge of a cold east wind. Alex turned up the collar of his coat, refused the offer of either a hackney carriage or a sedan chair, and set off down the dark streets toward Cavendish Square. Almost he relished the idea of a run-in with a pickpocket or thief. It would at least relieve some of his anger and frustration.

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