Compromised By The Prince’s Touch

Rake Most Likely to Thrill

Rake Most Likely to Seduce

Rake Most Likely to Sin

Rakes of the Caribbean

Playing the Rake’s GameBreaking the Rake’s RulesCraving the Rake’s Touch (Undone!)

Visit the Author Profile page at millsandboon.co.uk (http://millsandboon.co.uk) for more titles.

For Joe and Alexis and the staff at Aleron,

who have all made us feel so welcome

in our daughter’s horse world.

Contents

Cover (#u67a6e45b-d4ed-5282-8051-d49a5065f776)

Back Cover Text (#u69dec08d-fac9-5c8c-b265-239cf2f928f6)

Introduction (#ud2cb310b-ea8a-50a1-b333-df539f494c06)

Author Note (#ub6e318a9-b188-52de-a22c-aefe698464cc)

Title Page (#u1fbe9e03-4d43-5d22-9812-d5a3bbd7b2fb)

About the Author (#uf4264c45-e509-5b36-888d-f3a6e2d84a46)

Dedication (#uaa9dfa8d-90c3-5092-9425-c3b171d80919)

Chapter One (#u2a0fdcd8-005f-5701-b769-0b9d442a9ccd)

Chapter Two (#u1ef8ad1c-6759-51f6-ad7e-33aa1b529763)

Chapter Three (#uef3e528d-9d98-5c65-84d5-9acbe5a327fc)

Chapter Four (#ue8b382c2-ab79-571b-9aed-cd2418c28040)

Chapter Five (#ub13fb5e8-01b3-52ce-9458-3313448a5621)

Chapter Six (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Seven (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Eleven (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Twelve (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Thirteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Fourteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Fifteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Sixteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Seventeen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Eighteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Nineteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Twenty (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Twenty-One (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Twenty-Two (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Twenty-Three (#litres_trial_promo)

Epilogue (#litres_trial_promo)

Extract (#litres_trial_promo)

Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter One (#u7405a933-5e61-5f68-8002-ed28beb8567b)

London—late winter, 1823

St John the Divine was entirely wrong about the end of the world. Prince Nikolay Baklanov had, in the last hour, arrived at a revelation of his own: the four horsemen of the Apocalypse weren’t men armed with swords at all, but, in fact, four young ladies, armed with formidable matchmaking mamas who would give those swords a run for sharpness. He was quite convinced, as he barked at Miss Ransome for the third time to get deep into the corners on her turns, that the world as he knew it would not be done in by widespread warfare and pestilence, but by the trampling to death of his patience over the course of several Thursday afternoons as the girls sawed on their horses’ mouths and disregarded his oft-repeated instructions.

‘Heels down, Miss Edgars, or you’ll come off your mount’s back at the slightest jolt! Miss Kenmore, remember the left-shoulder rule, unless you want a collision with Miss Ransome!’ He shouted orders from the centre of Fozard’s arena, home to one of London’s elite riding schools. But there was nothing elite about the skill of the four young misses trotting around him.

Make that three.

‘Miss Calhoun, why in heaven’s name have you stopped?’

‘My horse stopped, not I.’ The spoiled chit tossed glossy curls from beneath an expensive stovepipe hat and gave him a pout that had no doubt been practised far longer than her riding skills.