Lucy Ashford - The Major and the Pickpocket

Praise for

Lucy Ashford

writing as Elizabeth Redfern:

THE MUSIC OF THE SPHERES

‘Unputdownable…[a] remarkable debut…a glittering

tale of London in 1795, full of science, intrigue, war,

revolution, and obsessive passion.’

— Guardian

‘An engrossing read and a rich,

pungent evocation of the period.’

— The Observer

‘…brilliantly handled to keep the reader guessing

right to the end.’

— Charles Palliser

‘Striking and original…a star is born.’— Literary Review

‘Quite wonderful…It is Redfern’s ability to

bring each scene, each character alive

that makes this such toothsome reading.’

— USA TODAY

AURIEL RISING

‘Intelligent.’— The New York Times

‘Richly atmospheric…Redfern’s strength

is in recreating a morally corrupt world…’

— Publishers Weekly

‘You do have qualities in which I am interested,’ Marcus said.

‘There is a man in London on whom I wish, very badly, to be revenged. He has several weaknesses, and I intend to attack accordingly. Firstly he is a gambler, who cannot resist a challenge when the stakes are high. And secondly he has a marked liking for pretty women who are skilled at card play.’

‘So I’m ruled out for certain, surely, if you are looking for someone pretty? Since you make it quite clear that I am nothing of the kind!’

She saw a half-smile flicker across his strong mouth—a dangerous, all-male smile. ‘Those weren’t my precise words, minx,’ he said softly. ‘I think, in fact, that you could be very, very pretty.’

Tassie felt the colour rising in her cheeks. ‘You jest with me.’

‘I assure you, this is not jest.’ No, indeed. His voice, his expression told her he was in deadly earnest. ‘To put it briefly, Tassie, you and I could help each other out quite considerably.’

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, but this is her first 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.

This is Lucy Ashford’s debut novel for Mills & Boon® Historical Romance.

I’ve always adored historical romances. I grew up daydreaming about King Arthur’s knights, Rosemary Sutcliff’s Roman heroes, the Scarlet Pimpernel and, of course, Georgette Heyer’s Regency rakes.

So you can imagine that, although I’d had some success writing historical thrillers, I was really longing to create a romance set in a bygone age. And who else to approach but Mills & Boon?

After a lot of fun dreaming up my plot and characters, and with a great deal of help from skilled and sympathetic editors, I finally became a Mills & Boon author with THE MAJOR AND THE PICKPOCKET. The story is set in 1780, at a time when gambling fever was really starting to take the nation in its grip. Great lords and ladies would lose and win mighty fortunes in all-night sittings. My feisty heroine, Tassie, is as skilled as any of them at tricking her way out of trouble at the turn of a card—that is, until the wounded war hero Major Marcus Forrester calls her bluff!

So here it is—my first Mills & Boon® Historical Romance. I do hope you enjoy the story of how the Major and the mischievous pickpocket Tassie discover true love together.

www.millsandboon.co.uk

Cover Page

Praise Praise for Lucy Ashford writing as Elizabeth Redfern: THE MUSIC OF THE SPHERES ‘Unputdownable…[a] remarkable debut…a glittering tale of London in 1795, full of science, intrigue, war, revolution, and obsessive passion.’ — Guardian ‘An engrossing read and a rich, pungent evocation of the period.’ — The Observer ‘…brilliantly handled to keep the reader guessing right to the end.’ — Charles Palliser ‘Striking and original…a star is born.’— Literary Review ‘Quite wonderful…It is Redfern’s ability to bring each scene, each character alive that makes this such toothsome reading.’ — USA TODAY AURIEL RISING ‘Intelligent.’— The New York Times ‘Richly atmospheric…Redfern’s strength is in recreating a morally corrupt world…’ — Publishers Weekly

Excerpt ‘You do have qualities in which I am interested,’ Marcus said. ‘There is a man in London on whom I wish, very badly, to be revenged. He has several weaknesses, and I intend to attack accordingly. Firstly he is a gambler, who cannot resist a challenge when the stakes are high. And secondly he has a marked liking for pretty women who are skilled at card play.’ ‘So I’m ruled out for certain, surely, if you are looking for someone pretty? Since you make it quite clear that I am nothing of the kind!’ She saw a half-smile flicker across his strong mouth—a dangerous, all-male smile. ‘Those weren’t my precise words, minx,’ he said softly. ‘I think, in fact, that you could be very, very pretty.’ Tassie felt the colour rising in her cheeks. ‘You jest with me.’ ‘I assure you, this is not jest.’ No, indeed. His voice, his expression told her he was in deadly earnest. ‘To put it briefly, Tassie, you and I could help each other out quite considerably.’

Author 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, but this is her first 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. This is Lucy Ashford’s debut novel for Mills & Boon® Historical Romance.

Author Note AUTHOR NOTE I’ve always adored historical romances. I grew up daydreaming about King Arthur’s knights, Rosemary Sutcliff’s Roman heroes, the Scarlet Pimpernel and, of course, Georgette Heyer’s Regency rakes. So you can imagine that, although I’d had some success writing historical thrillers, I was really longing to create a romance set in a bygone age. And who else to approach but Mills & Boon? After a lot of fun dreaming up my plot and characters, and with a great deal of help from skilled and sympathetic editors, I finally became a Mills & Boon author with THE MAJOR AND THE PICKPOCKET. The story is set in 1780, at a time when gambling fever was really starting to take the nation in its grip. Great lords and ladies would lose and win mighty fortunes in all-night sittings. My feisty heroine, Tassie, is as skilled as any of them at tricking her way out of trouble at the turn of a card—that is, until the wounded war hero Major Marcus Forrester calls her bluff! So here it is—my first Mills & Boon® Historical Romance. I do hope you enjoy the story of how the Major and the mischievous pickpocket Tassie discover true love together.

Title Page The Major and the Pickpocket Lucy Ashford www.millsandboon.co.uk

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Copyright

London — February 1780

Heavy rain that night meant the streets were almost deserted, and so it was even more startling for the few pedestrians in the vicinity of Pall Mall to see a big chestnut mare being pulled up in a frenzy of sparking hooves outside the porticoed entrance of one of London’s most discerning clubs. The mare had been ridden hard. Its glossy flanks were heaving, and its eyes rolled whitely in the gleam of the yellow lamplight. Swiftly the horse’s rider dismounted, thrusting the reins and a few coins towards a hovering groom before swinging round to face a footman who watched him uncertainly from the shelter of the imposing doorway. At this time of night, and in this sort of foul February weather, club members usually arrived by carriage or sedan, not like some whirlwind from hell on horseback.

But before the footman could issue a challenge, the dark-haired rider, his mouth set in a grim line, was already striding up the wide steps. It was noticeable now that he had a slight limp, but it didn’t seem to slow him in the least. His long riding coat, glistening with rain, whirled out behind him as he crashed open the door, and his whip was still clutched in his hand. As the gust of cold air he’d let in billowed through the lofty reception hall, all the candles were set a-flicker, and a number of disdainful faces turned to stare. A plump butler started busily towards the intruder, but found himself brushed aside, like a moth.

‘I’m looking for Sebastian Corbridge,’ announced the man. ‘Lord Sebastian Corbridge.’ His voice was calm, but the menacing gleam in his eyes was like sparks struck from flint.

He looked as if he had been riding hard all day, to judge by the mud on his boots, and the way his dark, unpowdered hair fell in disordered waves to his collar. He was not old, perhaps no more than twenty-five or twenty-six, but the taut lines of fatigue that ran from his nose to his strong jaw made him look older. The butler backed away warily, because he could see that this tall stranger with the limp wore a sword beneath his loose riding coat. And unlike most of the primped, scented men of leisure who frequented this club, he looked as if he would know how to use it.

By now the man’s abrupt intrusion had registered even in the furthest recesses of the reception hall. Murmured conversations died away; startled faces, adorned in many cases with powder and patches, turned one after the other towards the doorway. Even the sombre portraits hanging from the oak-panelled walls seemed to gaze disapprovingly at the abrasive stranger whose clothing continued to drip water on the fine parquet floor, creating little puddles around his leather riding boots.

‘Lord Sebastian Corbridge. I want him,’ the intruder repeated softly, his hand flicking his whip against his booted leg in unspoken warning.

Someone rose languidly from a deep leather chair in a shadowed alcove. He was about the same age as the intruder, but his appearance could not have been more different, for his elegantly curled cadogan wig was immaculately powdered; his blue satin frock coat, with its discreet ruffles of lace at cuff and throat, was quite exquisitely fitted to his slender body. And his haughty, finely bred face expressed utter scorn as he gazed at the man who spoke his name.