A Lady for Lord Randall

  In a time of war…

  Mary Endacott has no intention of ever surrendering to a man, especially when she meets stubborn yet infuriatingly handsome Lord Randall! But with a major battle fast approaching, normal rules dissolve, and Mary gives herself to him.

  …can true love survive?

  Justin is renowned for his authority on the battlefield, but Mary is a challenge of a whole new kind! He’s determined to seize every moment of happiness while he can, but when the fighting commences, will the promise of Mary’s kiss be enough to keep him safe?

  Brides of Waterloo

  Love forged on the battlefield

  Meet Mary Endacott, a radical schoolmistress; Sarah Latymor, a darling of the ton; and Catherine “Rose” Tatton, a society lady with no memories of her past. Three very different women united in a fight for their lives, their reputations and the men they love.

  With war raging around them, the biggest battle these women face is protecting their hearts from three notorious soldiers…

  Will Mary be able to resist Colonel Lord Randall? Find out in

  A Lady for Lord Randall

  by

  Sarah Mallory

  Discover how pampered Lady Sarah

  handles rakish Major Bartlett in

  A Mistress for Major Bartlett

  by

  Annie Burrows

  What will happen when Major Flint

  helps Lady Catherine “Rose” Tatton

  discover her past? Find out in

  A Rose for Major Flint

  by

  Louise Allen

  Author Note

  Why settle for one hero when you could have a whole bunch? That was the idea behind Randall’s Rogues, a crack artillery unit with brilliant but maverick officers (all handsome devils, of course) brought together by one very special leader—Justin Latymor, Colonel Lord Randall. And so, the Brides of Waterloo miniseries was born! A Lady for Lord Randall is the first of three romantic adventures commemorating the Battle of Waterloo, which took place on 18 June 1815.

  Randall is a professional soldier with no time for romance, until he meets the fiercely independent Mary Endacott. Against all rational judgment they are drawn together in the heady days before Waterloo, but can they ever find lasting happiness when their lives, their outlook and even their principles are so very different?

  The summer of 1815 was a momentous time. Napoleon was set to dominate Europe; Britain and the Allies were making one final stand against him. It would be nice to think, if Randall’s Rogues had ever existed, that they would have played their part in helping the Allies to victory on that day.

  Working on this trilogy with Annie Burrows and Louise Allen has been immensely enjoyable, and I learned even more about my craft, so thank you, ladies. Thanks also to Jos van Loo for his Belgian insider knowledge. Finally, I am indebted to Trevor Rutter, whose battlefield tour of Waterloo was such an inspiration. Trevor was also extremely generous with his advice and encouragement while I was writing this book. However, if there are any errors in the battle scenes then they are entirely my own.

  I hope you enjoy reading this book—do contact me to let me know. You can find me at sarahmallory.com.

  Sarah Mallory

  A Lady

  for Lord Randall

  Sarah Mallory was born in the West Country but now lives on the beautiful Yorkshire moors. She has been writing for more than three decades, mainly historicals set in the Georgian and Regency period. She has won several awards for her writing, most recently the Romantic Novelists’ Association RoNA Rose Award in 2012 (The Dangerous Lord Darrington) and 2013 (Beneath the Major’s Scars).

  Books by Sarah Mallory

  Harlequin Historical

  and Harlequin Historical Undone! ebook

  Brides of Waterloo

  A Lady for Lord Randall

  The Notorious Coale Brothers

  Beneath the Major’s Scars

  Behind the Rake’s Wicked Wager

  The Tantalizing Miss Coale (Undone!)

  Linked by Character

  Lady Beneath the Veil

  At the Highwayman’s Pleasure

  Wicked Captain, Wayward Wife

  The Dangerous Lord Darrington

  Stand-Alone Novels

  The Earl’s Runaway Bride

  To Catch a Husband…

  Bought for Revenge

  The Scarlet Gown

  Never Trust a Rebel

  Castonbury Park Regency miniseries

  The Illegitimate Montague

  Visit the Author Profile page at Harlequin.com for more titles.

  Peter O’Toole (1932–2013)

  An inspiration for many romantic heroes, including Randall, my very own rogue male.

  Contents

  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

  Excerpt

  Chapter One

  Randall glanced at the clock. Had it only been an hour since they had arrived at the Bentincks’? It felt longer. He was not naturally sociable, preferring the company of a few close friends to parties such as this where the room was crowded with strangers, but he knew he must try to make himself agreeable, for his sister Hattie’s sake. The Bentincks were a cheerful couple whose children had flown the nest and who now liked to fill their time and their house with interesting young people. The problem was, their idea of interesting was not Randall’s. Hattie had explained that the Bentincks’ house would be full of intellectuals, artists and atheists.

  ‘And tradesmen, too, no doubt,’ he had retorted.

  ‘They are invited because of their intelligence, not their rank,’ she told him and gave a little trill of laughter when Randall grimaced at the idea. ‘You must come, they will be quite delighted to have an earl, a real live peer of the realm in their midst. And a soldier, to boot.’

  ‘And does the Bishop approve of you and Graveney attending these parties?’ he had asked her, thinking of her husband, the rural dean.

  Hattie’s eyes had twinkled merrily at that.

  ‘Not at all, but Theo loves to go there, he approaches these evenings with all the zeal of a missionary. As he says, what is the point of always preaching to the converted?’

  Observing his brother-in-law across the Bentincks’ drawing room, Randall could well believe it. Theo Graveney was involved in a lively discussion with a group of gentlemen in loose coats and untidy hair. Arms were flying and voices were raised as the debate grew ever more heated.

  Randall’s gaze moved on. Most of the guests were writers or scholars, he guessed, his eyes dwelling on one or two shabbily dressed men with ink stains on their fingers. There were no military men present, save himself, the rest of the party being made up of tradesmen, artists and even a couple of French émigrés. They were all gathered in little groups, engaged in animated conversation. There was a smattering of women amongst the crowd, some of them pretty, in a blowsy sort of way, and all giving their opinions as decidedly as the men.

  Randall disliked such loud, overbearing society and he had retreated as soon as he could to a quiet corner. He had
known how it would be and he should have remained at Somervil. Oh, Mrs Bentinck had greeted him warmly enough, but her first comment had warned him just what to expect from the evening:

  ‘We are very informal here, my lord, and stand on no ceremony. I shall make no introductions, you must take your chances like the rest of the guests.’

  She had carried Hattie away then, leaving Randall to mingle as he wished. But Randall did not wish. With Bonaparte even now marching through France and the country on the verge of war again, he was not to be distracted with idle conversation. His sister came up and handed him a glass of wine.

  ‘Well, Randall, what do you think of our little gathering?’

  ‘Little gathering, Hattie? Such a number would be considered a crush even in the Latymor town house.’

  ‘They travel from far and wide to attend the Bentincks’ soirées,’ she said proudly.

  ‘That may be so, but it is not to my taste,’ muttered Randall. ‘I am a soldier, plain and simple.’ A shout from the far corner caught their attention and he glanced to where a group of young men were now arguing noisily. ‘I have no patience with artistic tantrums.’

  ‘Pray do not be tiresome, Justin, there are more than just artists here, and plenty to entertain, if you are not too high in the instep.’ Hattie patted his arm, murmuring as she prepared to move away, ‘You should relax and enjoy yourself, dear brother. You are a man of the world, so I trust you not be shocked by the company we keep.’

  * * *

  Randall knew he could not stay in one spot all evening and he began to stroll around the room, listening to the conversations, but joining in with very few of them. He had not worn his uniform, but began to think he would have been more at home if he had done so. At least then it would have been plain what his role was and he would not have been asked for his opinion on so-and-so’s latest stanzas, or if he had read some new and profound religious tract. He was wondering how soon he could possibly retire without giving offence when a soft, musical voice sounded at his elbow.

  ‘You look a little lost, sir.’

  He turned, vexed to find himself addressed by a woman he did not know. But he should not be surprised at such brazen behaviour, given the company gathered here tonight. He could not recall seeing her before amongst the crowd, for there was certainly nothing blowsy about her. She was neatly dressed in a gown of cream muslin with her dark hair swept up on her head, unrelieved by ribbons or flowers. She carried herself with an assurance that seemed odd in one so young—she looked about two-and-twenty, the same age as his sister Sarah. The woman was regarding him with a humorous twinkle in her green eyes and he found himself wanting to respond with a smile. Impossible, of course. One did not encourage such persons. Still, he replied more politely that he was wont to do.

  ‘Not lost. Merely daydreaming.’

  ‘I have not seen you here before. I am Mary Endacott, I am presently staying here. Mrs Bentinck is my cousin.’

  She waited, clearly expecting him to introduce himself.

  ‘I’m Randall,’ he said shortly, rather taken aback by such forwardness.

  Her brows went up. ‘The earl, Harriett’s brother?’

  ‘You are surprised, ma’am?’

  His cold tone should have depressed any pretension, but Mary Endacott merely laughed at him.

  ‘Well, yes, I am. I would not have seen this as your normal milieu. The company is a little...radical.’

  ‘I arrived at short notice today.’

  ‘Ah, so you had no choice but to attend.’

  He said carefully, ‘I am very happy to be here.’

  ‘But you would rather not socialise with us. I have been watching you, my lord, and you do not look to be enjoying yourself.’

  ‘That is because my mind is occupied elsewhere.’

  ‘On the forthcoming confrontation with Napoleon, perhaps?’

  ‘Amongst other things.’

  She nodded. ‘It does seem rather frivolous to be discussing art and philosophy when the fate of Europe hangs in the balance.’

  ‘Just so.’ He glanced at her fingers, which were holding her closed fan. The right hand was folded over the left so he could not see any ring, but she had such poise and confidence that he guessed she was a married woman. He glanced about the room. ‘Which of these gentlemen is your husband?’

  ‘Oh, I am not married.’ She chuckled. ‘Actually, that applies to a number of the women here tonight, but in my case I am not in a union with anyone, either. Many here are opposed to the concept of marriage,’ she explained. ‘No church ceremony can bind a man and woman together, only love can do that. Love, and a commonality of intellectual interests, of course.’

  Her eyes were fixed on his face and he had the impression she was trying to shock him.

  ‘And is that your conviction, too?’

  He had the satisfaction of seeing that his blunt question had discomposed her, but then he was a little sorry when she looked away from him.

  ‘It is what I was brought up to believe.’

  He said, ‘It would require a great deal of trust on the woman’s part, I think, to enter into such a union without the blessing of the church. She would not have the protection of the man’s name.’

  ‘She would not become his property, either. The current law is a scandalous state of affairs and has serious disadvantages for a woman.’

  He inclined his head.

  ‘Very true, Miss Endacott.’

  A female of decided opinions. Not his type at all.

  ‘Ah, Mary, so you have met my brother.’

  He had not seen Harriett come up, but now she linked arms with Miss Endacott.

  ‘We introduced ourselves,’ he said shortly.

  ‘I would not have thought that necessary,’ said Harriett. ‘Did you not recognise the nose, Mary? All the Latymors have it, and any number of villagers, too, thanks to Papa. At home one could never walk through Chalfont Magna without encountering at least two of his by-blows. Oh, there is no need for you to look daggers at me, Randall, Mary knows all about our father’s dissolute ways. We are very old friends, you see. We were at Miss Burchell’s Academy together.’

  He relaxed, just a little. So the forward Miss Endacott was one of Harriett’s free-thinking school friends.

  ‘That explains a great deal,’ he murmured.

  Harriett’s eyes twinkled. ‘Has Mary outraged you with her radical ideas? Her parents were great admirers of Mrs Godwin—Mary Wollstonecraft—hence her name.’

  Miss Endacott chuckled, a soft, warm sound that was very pleasing to the ear.

  ‘I certainly tried to be outrageous, Hattie, but your brother would not rise to the bait.’

  ‘Well, you know he is a soldier, and commands a company of rogues, so he is most likely unshockable.’

  With two pairs of eyes fixed upon him, two laughing faces turned up to his, Randall felt ill at ease. He gave a little nod and left them. By God, he would prefer to face a charge by French cavalry than these teasing women! He passed Theo, who was at the centre of a group of clerics and rather surprisingly arguing for Catholic emancipation, and moved on to a group of young men who were discussing the Lake poets, but he was thankful when Mr Bentinck came up and carried him away.

  ‘You do not look to be enjoying yourself, my lord.’

  ‘I confess I have little in common with your guests,’ replied Randall carefully ‘I came to please my sister.’

  ‘Ah, yes. Mrs Graveney.’ His host nodded. ‘She may prefer not to be known as Lady Harriett these days but she is very proud of you, you know. She likes the fact that you followed your grandfather into the artillery rather than buying a commission. Well, sir, there are fellows over here whose conversation might be more to your taste.’

  Bentinck took him across to a cluster of tradesmen
who were eager for news of Bonaparte. Randall stayed for a while, discussing the latest situation and how it might affect their business, before moving on.

  The good dinner his sister had provided at Somervil, plus the Bentincks’ excellent wines, were having an effect. Randall felt more relaxed, more able to participate in the conversations, but even as he did so, he found his eyes straying to Mary Endacott as she moved around the room. Her figure was very good and she had a natural grace. He liked the way the swing of her hips set the thin skirts of her muslin gown fluttering in the most alluring fashion as she walked. When she passed close to him he stepped away from the group he was with to talk to her.

  ‘You are not enamoured of any of the discussions, Miss Endacott?’

  ‘On the contrary, I find them all fascinating, but a heated debate on theology with Mr Graveney has left me sadly thirsty.’

  ‘Allow me.’ He accompanied her to the table at the side of the room, where an array of jugs and decanters were set out. He filled two wine glasses and held one out to her.

  ‘Thank you,’ she said. ‘I am sure you are more used to raising a finger and having a servant wait upon you.’

  ‘Trying to put me to the blush, Miss Endacott? You will not succeed.’ He followed her to a vacant sofa and sat down beside her. ‘I am a soldier and accustomed to much rougher conditions than these.’

  She laughed.

  ‘Of course you are. Hattie has told me all about Randall’s Rogues, the raff and scaff of the military gathered into one troop. Men it is impossible to place elsewhere. If you had not taken them most would have been hanged by now.’ She sipped at the wine. ‘I do not approve of war, but your efforts in this case are admirable; you have turned them into a formidable unit. From the despatches I read in the newspapers they acquitted themselves well in the Peninsula.’

  ‘They are all good artillerymen.’

  ‘Perhaps they have a good colonel.’

  Randall shrugged.

  ‘I demand only two things, Miss Endacott, unquestioning obedience and loyalty.’

  She shook her head at him.