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The rebel and the rake
Lady Helen never thought sneaking out of her family’s London abode to attend an after-dark suffragette meeting would be easy. But, although her ill-fitting trousers are almost as uncomfortable as wearing her corset, so far she’s masterfully avoided every creaking floorboard completely unnoticed. Except, that is, by her neighbour, the devilishly handsome, Arthur Crawley. It seems that Helena is the only London’s heiress not to have accompanied Arthur to this season’s soirees – and at this moment in time Arthur isn’t quite sure how he’s allowed that to happen. Those men’s trousers, cinched in with a silk ribbon, are hugging her curves in a most tantalizing way… Threatened with imprisonment for her courageous actions, Arthur steps in to protect Helena in the only way he knows how – strip away her disguise and seduce her, right there in the middle of the street. After all, a lady standing on the street in her flimsy nightwear is the last person to be suspected as a suffragette! And however much Helena fights the infuriating flares of desire, it seems the rake could very well become this rebel’s undoing…
A Lady’s Undoing
Lorelai Ryan
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
LORELAI RYAN lives in her head most of the time, or in a book or in a mad frenzy. The rest of the time she lives in the North East of England with her handsome hero husband and two dream-come-true daughters. She has a diploma in Creative Writing and Literature but currently works in IT. In her spare time she daydreams (a lot), reads a wide variety of books and attempts to learn to crochet. She spends weekends thinking of fun things to do with her family and sharing the love of reading with them too. I’d like to dedicate this book to all my wonderful family. Especially to my husband who supports me every time I choose writing over ironing (which is often) and my daughters who cuddle me whenever my writing isn’t going to plan. I couldn’t do any of this without all of their smiles and love to keep me going. I’d also like to thank all the eyes that have read this story and given me invaluable feedback to get it where it is today (they know who they are). And also a massive thanks to Carina UK for taking a chance on me and my book. October 1912, London Helena pulled and tugged at her trousers. How men wore these every day she would never know. Baggy in some places, riding up in others, they hadn’t been well thought out at all. It was worse than squeezing one’s bust into a too tight corset. That at least looked attractive. She tucked her night gown into the waist band, threaded a ribbon through the belt loops and cinched them in tight to her middle. Her father’s midriff was substantially bigger than her own but she didn’t have much other choice. For what her night entailed she needed a suitable disguise. She pulled on his thick winter coat to hide her nightwear and stuffed his flat cap into her pocket. She crept on tiptoes out of the house and pulled the front door silently shut behind her. Now she needed a minute to breathe. Sneaking out and masterfully avoiding every creaking floorboard had just about exhausted her every breath. ‘Don’t do it Helena!’ a deep voice startled her. My giddy goodness! Helena crouched to her knees in shock, her hand still clutching the brass door knob. ‘Arthur!’ she scolded, squinting into the pitch black of the street and struggling to hide her shock at seeing the one man who did make trousers look attractive. ‘How dare you jump out on me like that? My heart was nearly in my petticoat there.’ ‘Don’t you mean in your trousers?’ he mocked, taking all three porch steps in one long stride and holding out his hand to help her up. No one was supposed to see her like this – most definitely not Arthur. He was many things, most of which she admired, but supportive of the suffragettes was one thing he was not. If he’d seen how much women like her mother suffer at the hands of power-hungry men, maybe he would share her enthusiasm. Helena scrunched up her face, pushed away his hand and straightened herself up. She brushed down her trousers and felt his deep, gorgeous blue eyes and dimples teasing her. ‘What are you doing here at this time of night Arthur? Shouldn’t you be out wining and dining with the latest Lady?’ It seemed Helena wasn’t the only girl to find her neighbour attractive. Most of London had been seen accompanying him to soirees and the rest were as envious as she was. ‘I was bored,’ he said, shrugging his broad shoulders. ‘Watching you sneaking around seemed like a lot more fun. And you know there is still one Lady that I haven’t had the pleasure of wining and dining.’ He raised his right eyebrow suggestively. ‘This Lady has certain standards,’ Helena said, pulling on her fine leather gloves and pretending not to pay him any attention. She’d been there too many times, daydreaming about the handsome neighbour, imagining saying I do and passionately consummating their marriage, only to realise that he would never settle down. It had all become irrelevant because now neither would she. ‘This very ‘Lady’ who’s dressed as a man?’ Helena’s cheeks felt as red as radishes. She wanted to scream but forced herself to whisper. ‘There are more important things in life than looking beautiful just to be admired by men you know? You have to be a man to get anywhere. Look at you.’ Arthur was the very picture of a successful man but he hadn’t always been. Yet even his middle class, fatherless upbringing as little more than a local rascal in a big house hadn’t affected his prospects. Arthur Crawley had already proved himself as a Sheriff of London and now was almost certain to be chosen as the next Lord Mayor. Helena on the other hand was well bred and well educated but she couldn’t get into any of the universities she wanted to and worse, she was expected to roll over and
