Wicked Captain, Wayward Wife. Sarah Mallory

       ‘I wonder where my bedchamber can be. Perhaps the landlord can show me the way.’

      The corridor was very busy, and through the doorway opposite she could see that the taproom was packed with men enjoying ale and tobacco while they sheltered from the rain. Of the landlord there was no sign.

      Undeterred, Evelina made her way quickly through the coffee room, trying to ignore the inquisitive stares of its patrons. She kept her eyes fixed upon the door, putting out her hand as she approached. It opened easily, but in her haste she did not see the slight step down and found herself hurtling through the doorway, off balance. She cannoned into the man nearest the door.

      ‘Oh, I beg your pardon,’ she gasped as strong arms shot out to steady her. ‘I—’Her words died away as she looked up and found herself staring up into the all-too-familiar face of Nick Wylder.

      Evelina’s breath caught in her throat, and for an instant she thought she might faint. The look of surprise on Nick’s face gave way to one of wry humour. The corners of his mouth lifted.

      ‘Oh, Lord,’ he murmured. ‘This was not meant to happen.’

      Praise for Sarah Mallory

      ‘Sarah Mallory’s name is set to become a favourite with readers of historical romantic fiction the world over!’

       —Cataromance

      ‘MORE THAN A GOVERNESS is a richly woven tale of passion, intrigue and suspense that deserves a place on your keeper shelf!’

       —Cataromance

      Wicked Captain, Wayward Wife

      Sarah Mallory

      MILLS & BOON®

       www.millsandboon.co.uk

      Sarah Mallory was born in Bristol, and now lives in an old farmhouse on the edge of the Pennines with her husband and family. She left grammar school at sixteen, to work in companies as varied as stockbrokers, marine engineers, insurance brokers, biscuit manufacturers and even a quarrying company. Her first book was published shortly after the birth of her daughter. She has published more than a dozen books under the pen-name of Melinda Hammond, winning the Reviewers’ Choice Award in 2005 from Singletitles.com for DANCE FOR A DIAMOND, and the Historical Novel Society’s Editors’ Choice in November 2006 for GENTLEMEN IN QUESTION.

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       Previous novels by the same author:

      MORE THAN A GOVERNESS THE WICKED BARON

      To the Romantic Novelists’ Association, for the unstinting friendship and support I have found there.

       Chapter One

       Makerham Court, Surrey—July 1783

      ‘Ouch!’

      Evelina jumped as the rose thorn pricked her finger. How timely, she thought, staring at the tiny bead of blood. She had just been thinking that this was the most dangerous activity she undertook; cutting flowers. She sighed. These sheltered ornamental gardens at Makerham summed up her life; ordered, secure, protected. She wiped the blood from her finger and firmly suppressed the vague feeling of dissatisfaction. She had become more aware of it recently, this impression of being stifled. But she was happy, wasn’t she, keeping house for her grandfather? He had promised to take care of her, to provide for her. She need not worry about anything.

      Evelina picked up her basket of summer flowers and was walking back to the house when she heard the sound of hoofbeats on the drive. She looked up to see a rider approaching on a rangy black horse. At the stone bridge that gave access to the ancient, moated house she stopped, her head tilted enquiringly as he rode up. The man drew rein and jumped down. He was very tall, she noted. Strong, too, judging by the width of shoulder beneath his dark riding jacket and the powerful legs encased in buckskins and gleaming top boots. His black hair was caught back with a ribbon and there was a rakish look in his laughing blue eyes. He looked like an adventurer, she thought. Tall and dark and…

      ‘You must be Evelina.’ His voice was rich and warm as honey. ‘How do you do?’

      Without waiting for her reply he reached out, pulled her into his arms and kissed her. Eve was so shocked she dropped her basket. She made no effort to pull away; with his arms holding her so firmly it would have been impossible to do so, even if she had wanted to. She had never been kissed by a man before and the sensation was surprisingly pleasant, jolting her senses alive so that she was aware of the scent of his skin, the mingled smell of soap and spices and horses and…she did not know what. Man, she supposed.

      He raised his head and gave her a rueful smile, although Eve thought the glint in his deep blue eyes positively wicked.

      ‘Oh Lord,’ he said, stepping back from her. ‘That was not meant to happen.’

      Eve stared up at him, shaken, and wondered what a well-bred young lady should do in this situation. With some deliberation she brought her hand up and dealt him a ringing slap across the face.

      He flinched a little, but continued to smile down at her, mischief glinting in his blue eyes. ‘I suppose I deserved that.’

      It took an effort for Eve to look away from that hypnotic gaze. Her basket was lying on the floor, roses, irises and common daisies tossed on to the drive. With shaking hands she began to gather them up. The man dropped onto one knee beside her, unsettling her with his nearness.

      ‘You do not seem very pleased to see me,’ he remarked.

      She concentrated on collecting up the flowers and putting them back into the basket. She said stiffly. ‘I do not know you sir.’

      ‘Oh, did your grandfather not tell you?’ Laughter trembled in his voice. ‘I am Nick Wylder.’ He picked up a rose and held it out to her. ‘I am the man you are going to marry.’

      Eve jumped to her feet. The man rose in one agile movement and looked down at her with pure amusement in his eyes. A devil-may-care man, she thought. His lean, handsome face was too attractive. Dangerous. Instinctively she drew away from him.

      ‘Your jest lacks humour, sir.’

      Those mobile black brows drew together slightly. ‘Has your grandfather not told you? Then my apologies, Miss Shawcross.’

      She regarded his flashing smile with suspicion. ‘I see no remorse in you sir. I do not believe you know how to apologise.’

      He stepped back, his smile softening into something gentler as he said contritely, ‘I have truly offended you. Pray, ma’am, forgive me. I did not mean to do that.’

      She was not proof against his beguiling look and found herself weakening. She made an effort to maintain her scornful attitude. ‘It seems to me, sir, that there is much you do not mean to do!’

      He treated her again to his devastating smile