About the Author
MARGARET McPHEE loves to use her imagination—an essential requirement for a trained scientist. However, when she realised that her imagination was inspired more by the historical romances she loves to read rather than by her experiments, she decided to put the ideas down on paper. She has since left her scientific life behind, retaining only the romance—her husband, whom she met in a laboratory. In summer, Margaret enjoys cycling along the coastline overlooking the Firth of Clyde in Scotland, where she lives. In winter, tea, cakes and a good book suffice.
Wicked
in the
Regency Ballroom
The Wicked Earl
Untouched Mistress
Margaret McPhee
In The Regency Ballroom Collection
Scandal in the Regency Ballroom April 2013
Innocent in the Regency Ballroom May 2013
Wicked in the Regency Ballroom June 2013
Cinderella in the Regency Ballroom July 2013
Rogue in the Regency Ballroom August 2013
Debutante in the Regency Ballroom September 2013
Rumours in the Regency Ballroom October 2013
Scoundrel in the Regency Ballroom November 2013
Mistress in the Regency Ballroom December 2013
Courtship in the Regency Ballroom January 2014
Rake in the Regency Ballroom February 2014
Secrets in the Regency Ballroom March 2014
Chapter One
London—February 1814
‘Sit up straight, Madeline. And can you not at least attempt to look as if you’re enjoying the play?’
‘Yes, Mama.’ Madeline Langley straightened her back. ‘The actors are very good, and the play is indeed interesting. It’s just Lord Farquharson …’ She dropped her voice to an even lower whisper. ‘He keeps leaning too close and—’
‘The noise in here is fit to raise the roof. It’s little wonder that Lord Farquharson is having trouble hearing what you have to say,’ said Mrs Langley.
‘But, Mama, it is not his hearing that is at fault.’ Madeline looked at her mama. ‘He makes me feel uncomfortable.’
Mrs Langley wrinkled her nose. ‘Do not be so tiresome, child. Lord Farquharson is expressing an interest in you and we must encourage him as best we can. He will never offer for you if you keep casting him such black looks. Look at Angelina—can you not try to be a little more like her? No scowls mar her face.’ Mrs Langley bestowed upon her younger, and by far prettier, daughter, a radiant smile.
Angelina threw her sister a long-suffering expression.
‘That is because Angelina does not have to sit beside Lord Farquharson,’ muttered Madeline beneath her breath.
Angelina gave a giggle.
Fortunately Mrs Langley did not hear Madeline’s comment. ‘Shh, girls, he’s coming back,’ she whispered excitedly. Amelia Langley straightened and smiled most encouragingly at the gentleman who was entering the theatre box with a tray containing three drinks glasses balanced between his hands.
‘Oh, Lord Farquharson, how very kind you are to think of my girls.’ She fluttered her eyelashes unbecomingly.
‘And of you too, of course, my dear Mrs Langley.’ He passed her a glass of lemonade. ‘I wouldn’t want you, or your lovely daughters, becoming thirsty, and it is so very hot in here.’
Mrs Langley tittered. ‘La, Lord Farquharson. It could never be too hot in such a superior and well-positioned theatre box. How thoughtful of you to invite us here. My girls do so love the theatre. They have such an appreciation of the arts, you know, just like their mama.’
Lord Farquharson revealed his teeth to Miss Angelina Langley in the vestige of a smile. ‘I’m sure that’s not the only attribute that they share with their mama.’ The smile intensified as he pressed the glass into Angelina’s hand.
‘So good of you, my lord, to fight your way through the crowd to fetch us our lemonades,’ Mrs Langley cooed.
‘For such fair damsels I would face much worse,’ said Lord Farquharson in a heroic tone.
Mrs Langley simpered at his words.
Madeline and Angelina exchanged a look.
Lord Farquharson’s fingers stumbled over Madeline’s in the act of transferring the lemonade. The glass was smooth and cool beneath her touch. Lord Farquharson’s skin was warm and moist. ‘Last, but certainly not least,’ he said and gazed meaningfully into Madeline’s eyes.
Madeline suppressed a shudder. ‘Thank you, my lord,’ she said and practically wrenched her hand free from his.
Lord Farquharson smiled at her response and sat down.
Madeline turned to face the stage again and tried to ignore Cyril Farquharson’s presence by her side. It was not an easy matter, especially as he leaned in close to enquire, ‘Is the lemonade to your taste, Miss Langley?’
‘It is delicious, thank you, my lord.’ The brandy on his breath vied with the strange, heavy, spicy smell that hung about him. He was so close that she could feel heat emanating from his lithe frame.
‘Delicious,’ he said, and it seemed to Madeline that a slight hiss hung about the word as he touched her hand again in an overly familiar manner.
Madeline suddenly discovered that drinking lemonade was a rather tricky task and required both of her hands to be engaged in the process.
Thankfully the lights dimmed and the music set up again to announce the resumption of Coriolanus. Mr Kemble returned to the stage to uproarious applause and shouts from the pit.
‘He’s a splendid actor, is he not?’ said Lord Farquharson in a silky tone to Mrs Langley. ‘They say that Friday is to see his last performance.’
‘Oh, indeed, Lord Farquharson.
