The Many Sins Of Cris De Feaux. Louise Allen

      

       Lords of Disgrace

       Bachelors for life!

      Friends since school, brothers in arms, bachelors for life!

      At least that’s what The Four Disgraces—

      Alex Tempest, Grant Rivers, Cris de Feaux and Gabriel Stone—believe. But when they meet four feisty women who are more than a match for their wild ways these Lords are tempted to renounce bachelordom for good.

      Don’t miss this dazzling new quartet by

       Louise Allen

       His Housekeeper’s Christmas Wish

      Already available

       His Christmas Countess

      Already available

       The Many Sins of Cris de Feaux

      Available now!

      And don’t miss

       The Unexpected Marriage of Gabriel Stone

      Coming next month!

       Author Note

      When I started to tell Cris and Tamsyn’s story I had a very clear image of how it would begin and also just where it would be set—on the wild and rugged coast where North Devon and North Cornwall meet. I have known and loved this coastline, with its towering cliffs, secret coves and tales of smugglers, since I was a child.

      All of the towns mentioned are real—as is Hartland Quay, where Cris’s adventure begins—but the villages are imaginary, although based on the places where I spent many happy hours. I also borrowed Hawker’s Hut on the cliffs at Morwenstow—possibly the National Trust’s smallest and most charming property—for Tamsyn’s secret hideaway. If you search online for images, they will give you a vivid picture of this lovely setting.

      I do hope you will enjoy the story of how Cris de Feaux, the least likely of the Lords of Disgrace to lose his head and his heart, meets his match in one very independent Devon lady with a scandalous past.

      The Many Sins

      of Cris de Feaux

      Louise Allen

       www.millsandboon.co.uk

      LOUISE ALLEN loves immersing herself in history. She finds landscapes and places evoke the past powerfully. Venice, Burgundy and the Greek islands are favourite destinations. Louise lives on the Norfolk coast and spends her spare time gardening, researching family history or travelling in search of inspiration. Visit her at louiseallenregency.co.uk, @LouiseRegency and janeaustenslondon.com

      For the Quayistas, in memory of a very cheerful week’s research.

      Contents

       Cover

      Lords of Disgrace

      Author Note

       Title Page

       About the Author

       Dedication

      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

       Chapter Sixteen

       Chapter Seventeen

       Chapter Eighteen

       Chapter Nineteen

       Chapter Twenty

       Chapter Twenty-One

       Chapter Twenty-Two

       Chapter Twenty-Three

       Extract

       Copyright

       Chapter One

      Cris de Feaux was drowning. And he was angry. The realisation of both came with the slap of a wave of icy salt water in the face and he shook it out of his eyes, cursing, while he came to terms with the fact that he had swum out from the little cove without thinking, without stopping to do anything but shed his clothes on the rocks and plunge into the breakers.

      It had felt good to cut through the surf out into deep water, to push his body hard while his mind became mercifully blank of anything except the co-ordination of arms and legs, the stretch of muscles, the power of a kick. It had felt good, for once in his life, not to consider consequences, not to plan with care and forethought. And now that indulgence was going to kill him.

      Was that what he had wanted? Eyes wide with shock, Cris went under, into a watery blue-green world, and kicked up to the surface, spitting and furious. He had fallen in love, unsuitably, impossibly, against all sense and honour. He knew it could never be, he had walked away before any more damage could be done and now his aimless wanderings across England had brought him here, to the edge of North Devon and the ocean.

      Which was about to kill him, unless he was very lucky indeed. No, he did not want to die, however much he ached for what could never be, but he had swum too far, beyond the limits of his strength and what he could ask of his hard-exercised horseman’s body.

      Use your head, he snarled at himself. You got yourself into this mess, now get yourself out of it. You will not give up. I am not killing myself for love.

      He studied the shore between sore, salt-crusted lids. High cliffs, toothed at their base with jagged surf-lashed rocks, mocked him, dared him to try to land and be dashed to bloody death. But there were little coves between the headlands, he knew that. The current was carrying him south-west along the line of the shore so he would go with it, conserve his strength until he saw a point to aim at. Even in those few minutes as he hung in the water it had already carried him onwards, but he dared not risk just lying there, a passive piece of flotsam