A Rose for Major Flint. Louise Allen
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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
The opening scene of this book has been with me for some time—as has a mental picture of Adam Flint. But I was not sure exactly who he was or why the girl he rescued was on the battlefield. When I began to explore the world of Brides of Waterloo with authors Sarah Mallory and Annie Burrows I knew immediately that Flint would fit perfectly with the other two Randall’s Rogues to make a perfect trio of hellraisers, and so I set out with him to find out who ‘Rose’ was.
Working with fellow authors is always a wonderful opportunity to create an even deeper and richer world than is possible with just one book. Each of the Brides of Waterloo novels stands alone, but if you read them together you’ll catch glimpses of all our heroes and heroines in each book.
The realisation of who Rose is presents a challenge to Flint’s honour, but also to the heart he does not believe he possesses. I hope you enjoy discovering how one hard, scarred, self-sufficient man finds happiness with a woman who is prepared to risk everything she is, everything she has, for love.
A Rose for Major Flint
Louise Allen
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
To Sarah Mallory and Annie Burrows. It was such a pleasure exploring the Rogues and their world with you both.
Contents
AUTHOR NOTE
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
Epilogue
19th June 1815—the battlefield of Waterloo
The briar rose caught at her with grasping, thorny tentacles as she backed away. The pain was real, so this must all be real. The screaming inside her head made it difficult to think, but it hadn’t stopped, not since she had found Gerald. What was left of Gerald. He had seemed untouched until she had grasped his shoulder and turned him over.
The noise in her head hurt so much. She lifted her hands to try and clutch at it, squeeze it out, make it stop. Then she could think, then she would know what to do about...them. Her arms wouldn’t move. She looked down to the imprisoning briars, then up at what was coming towards her across the muddy, shell-ripped ruin of the spinney. This was real and this was hell and so those were demons. They laughed as they came, four of them, blood-soaked and mud-smeared, wild-eyed and ragged, baying like hounds on the hunt. She knew what they wanted, what they would do to her, even if she knew nothing else. Not her name, not how she had lived before this nightmare had begun, not how she had come to be here.
She opened her mouth to scream, but nothing happened. Go away. Help me, someone. Help me! Nothing. Only the sound of her heartbeat racing. Only the sound of their laughter and the words that made no sense as they hit her like fistfuls of slime.
And then he came. He pushed aside the shattered, wilting branches, strode through the mud and the nameless, stinking filth. The Devil himself. He was big and dirty, bare-headed, stubble-jawed, blood-soaked. He had a sword in one hand and a pistol in the other and a smile like death on his blackened face. He roared at the demons and they turned, snarling, towards him. He shot the first and came on, stepped over the body and waited, waited until they were on him and then...
She closed her eyes, stayed in the darkness with the screaming in her head, the screaming from the demons, the Devil’s roars. She would be next. She had sinned and this was hell.
* * *
‘Open your eyes. Look at me. You are safe, they have gone.’ Gone to a much worse place, the