Nicola Cornick
December 2010
HQN Books
ISBN-10: 0373774885
ISBN-13: 978-0373774883
August 2011
Mira Books
Mistress by Midnight
Book 3 in the Scandalous Women
of the Ton series
Lady Merryn Fenner is on a mission to ruin the Duke of Farne. A beautiful bluestocking with a penchant for justice, Merryn has waited twelve years to satisfy her revenge against Garrick Farne. Her family name had been tarnished at his hands, her life destroyed.
For twelve years Garrick, Duke of Farne has kept the secret of what really happened on the night that he killed his best friend, Stephen Fenner, in a duel. Now Stephen’s sister is intent on discovering the truth and putting at risk all those secrets Garrick has protected.
When a disaster traps Merryn and Garrick together, white-hot desire stirs between the two sworn enemies. Merryn's reputation is utterly compromised and she is forced to do the one thing she cannot bear; accept the scandalous marriage proposal of the man she has vowed to ruin.
Beware of scandalous women...
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Prologue (below) and Chapter Five.
London, July 1813
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Merryn was happy to oblige. Her work for the enquiry agent, Tom Bradshaw, took her from libraries to lectures to ballrooms across London and beyond, hunting for everything from lost documents to stolen jewellery. Merryn was small and made sure that she was unobtrusive. She had passed as a servant on occasion, ensuring that no one paid her the slightest attention other than to bark orders at her, which she could then ignore. Sometimes she even wore clothes cut from curtain material so that she could blend into her surroundings more easily. Camouflage came easily to her. As a child she had hidden away in order to read. As an adult she disguised herself in order to live a life unfettered by the conventions of society.
Merryn had spent her evening sipping one glass of champagne whilst the Countess Kodaly downed at least a half dozen. The Hungarian beauty had had a busy evening, flirting with various masked gentlemen who seemed eager to advance the acquaintance. Now she was dancing with a tall, dark gentleman in a green domino and black mask. Merryn stood in the entrance to the ballroom, behind a three-foot-high blue and white oriental pot, and made covert observations. Watching, watching, always watching, always the observer, always the hunter, never the quarry…
Tonight was different.
The skin on the back of her neck prickled sending shivers cascading down her spine. She had developed a finely honed sense of danger over the years and now it was warning her.
Someone was watching her. She, the hunter, was being hunted.
She did not move. It was always a mistake to react quickly, without thinking. She opened her reticule and began to rummage, pretending to be searching for her handkerchief. The manoeuvre allowed her to turn a degree or two to the right and out of the corner of her eye…
There he was.
A tall man; very tall, topping her mere five feet and no inches by at least another foot, broad too, powerful in his black domino. A black mask hid his features but in the candlelight his hair was as dark red and rumpled as the pelt of a fox. The eyes, behind the mask, were fixed on her face. No one ever watched her. No one even saw her. Merryn prided herself on it and now she felt irritated to have been caught out. For some reason her wallflower act had failed her this evening. Perhaps the gentleman in question had spotted her slip into the library to write a few notes. Perhaps he had realised that she never danced, seldom spoke to anyone and spent her time lurking behind potted palms observing everyone else. Perhaps that had aroused his curiosity.
Still, it was nothing. She would lose herself amongst the crowd. She drew more deeply into the shadow of the enormous urn, preparing to slip away.
He was moving towards her, already half way across the checkerboard floor of the hall. He moved swiftly for a large man, silently too. Hell and damnation. She felt the beginnings of panic rise in her throat. If he caught her she would have to assume the role of Lady de Villon and flirt as though she knew what she was doing.
Swift as a flash Merryn turned, dived through the ballroom door, spun between the dancers and into the refreshment room, through the long windows and out onto the terrace. She paused, one hand against the rough stone of the balustrade, drawing breath, checking behind her. No one had followed her. She felt a surge of relief. It had been a close run thing.
The moonlit garden was, however, already occupied. Mr Cummings, all too visible in a bright blue domino, was enthusiastically celebrating his impending marriage to an heiress by fornicating with a footman. Merryn drew back with a shocked gasp. There had been whispers for years about Cummings’s sexual tastes but the man was vastly rich and high in government favour as a result. No one would ever denounce him publicly. He had divorced his first wife for adultery, a piece of hypocrisy unmatched in Merryn’s experience. Not that she wished to have first hand experience of Cummings’s proclivities. She could feel her face burning with embarrassment as she retreated soft-footed into the shadows of the pretty little conservatory.
And here at last it seemed that fate was about to reward her. The door opened abruptly and silhouetted in the light was the Countess Kodaly, as frail and bright as a butterfly in her golden domino. Her head was turned towards the ballroom and she was touching the tip of her fan with a finger.
I wish to speak with you.
The Countess’s silk skirts brushed against the little miniature rows of orange trees that lined the walk. She withdrew into the corner furthest from the light of the china lanterns and waited. Merryn held her breath and waited too. There was a step; the Countess’s fan flickered again, in front of her face.
Follow me.
Then a man’s voice:
“
Nuala? I thought that it was you! What the devil are you doing here?”And in the same moment someone caught Merryn about the waist and drew her back hard against his body, one hand over her mouth.
It was a delicate moment. Merryn knew that if she struggled, screamed and tried to escape she would miss whatever the Countess was about to say to her mystery companion and therefore miss the entire purpose of her attendance at the masquerade ball. She would alert everyone to her presence in the conservatory and become highly visible. Questions would be asked and she could not afford them.
But if she did not…
Even as she was thinking, quickly, desperately, the man holding her leaned forward and his breath stirred the ribbons of her mask and tickled her ear.
“I won’t hurt you. Just keep quiet.”
His voice was low, soft and authoritative. It touched something inside her like the string of violin. Merryn had always had a weakness for beautiful voices, much preferring them to handsome faces.
She stood rigid, not moving a muscle. Her mind, clear and cold, seemed spilt. Half was listening to the conversation between the Countess and her companion but the other – possibly more than half – was intently focussed on the man who held her, on the strength and warning conveyed by his hands, on the brush of his body against her back, on his breathing, slow and deep, beneath the slip and slide of the silken dominos, on the curious awareness of herself his touch engendered. She had never experienced anything quite like it and she loved analysing new experiences. It always gave her a thrill.
His hand grazed the underside of her breast and a shiver ran through her that was not in the least intellectual and entirely physical. For a moment her mind, always supremely rational, went frighteningly blank and she was at the mercy of some unknown sensation that sent a spike of heat through her, rippling to her core like a minor earthquake. Now she could feel even more acutely as though each of her senses was intensely alive; she felt the warmth of his hands on her burning through the silk of her gown and smelled the scent of his skin mingled with citrus cologne. Her head felt light, her knees quite weak. She leaned back against his body and heard his breath catch.
The Countess and her companion were arguing. “What are you doing here?” The man was saying furiously. “You’ll ruin everything!”
“I could say the same for you, darling.” As Merryn had suspected the Countess’s accent was very far from Hungarian. There was an Irish lilt to it. “I don’t want to spoil your sport,” the Countess said, “just so long as you do not spoil mine.”
“But don’t you see how dangerous this is-” The man broke off. “Damnation, Nuala, we can’t talk here! I’ll send word to you if you give me your direction…” Their voices faded as he took her arm and drew her away. The air stirred, the shadows shifted, silence crept in.
Merryn’s captor released her gently but kept a hand on her wrist as though he thought she might run.
“My apologies, madam.” There was no trace of regret in his tone. “I did not intend to manhandle you.”
“Indeed?” Merryn said. Her heart fluttered, a strange sensation that seemed to make breathing very difficult. Her skin tingled beneath his fingers. “It felt as though that was precisely what you intended,” she said.
He smiled. She saw it in his eyes behind the mask. He was standing foursquare in front of her now like a rather intimidating wall. There was nowhere to run or to hide. She was trapped.
“My apologies again,” he murmured. “I had a most particular desire to hear what our companions were saying, as I believe you did too.”
That was direct. This man played no games. Merryn wanted to ask him the nature of his interest in the Countess and her companion but that would be to admit that she too had a reason for spying on them, and she could not afford to give herself away.
“You are mistaken, sir.” Pleading ignorance was always worth a try. Not that she had ever been caught before. “I merely stepped out here for a breath of cooler air.”
“My mistake.” His tone said he knew she lied. “I had seen you watching Countess Kodaly earlier,” he continued, “and so I assumed that you had a particular interest in her for some reason…” There was a faint note of interrogation in his tone. Merryn chose not to hear it.
“If you will excuse me-” She said.
“In a moment.” His hand on her arm precluded a dash to safety. It would be mortifying to make a bolt for it and be caught, for caught she surely would be. He was too quick and too strong to elude.
“Who are you?” He asked abruptly.
“I am…” Damnation. She had forgotten she was supposed to be a French lady of dubious virtue. Her accent had been unmistakeably English and of the upper orders.
“I am incognito,” she said.
He laughed. “Aren’t we all?” His tone changed, slid towards an intimacy that made her quiver. “Did you then come out here for an assignation? If so I apologise for scaring away your lover.”
“It is of no consequence.”
“I could perhaps make up for it by stepping into the breach?”
A thread of breeze set the lanterns swinging and the wind chimes tumbling. The night was warm and the shadows very soft. Temptation laced the air.
“I think not.” Merryn was not sure why she was trembling. “I barely know you,” she said.
“Which is half the charm of an assignation at a masquerade ball. However,” he stepped back and she breathed again, “I never force my attentions on an unwilling lady, least of all one who sounds more debutante than sophisticate. May I then escort you back to the ballroom – and beg one dance?”Damnation again. Merryn bit her lip hard. Truly her flirting technique did require practise if she sounded like a debutante. How very lowering.
“Thank you,” she managed. “I believe they are tuning up for a waltz.”
“Too racy for you?” He slanted a look down at her. The smile was there again, behind his eyes. “I promise to hold you with absolute decorum.”
Somehow his voiced seemed to promise a great deal more than that.
“Your decorum, or lack of it, does not concern me, sir.” Merryn struggled to regain some level of sophistication. “My lack of technique, however, does. I was the despair of my dancing master.”
“Ah.” He laughed. “Well, have no fears. I am remarkably resilient.”
“You are also remarkably tall. I am not sure that this will work.”
“I assure you we shall fit together perfectly.” His hand was already on her waist, steering her through the empty refreshment room, where the servants were starting to clear the tables. The music caught them as they reached the doorway to the ballroom and swirled them into the dance.
It felt like flying. Maybe her feet really were not touching the ground, for Merryn was aware of nothing but his arm about her, her hand in his, the music unrolling around them, the room spinning. She saw her reflection in the long pier glass lining the wall. Her cheeks burned, her eyes glowed and her mouth, beneath the jewelled mask was curved into a smile of sheer abandoned delight. It was like looking at a stranger. It shocked her. Normally she never danced. Leaving aside her lack of skill, to dance was to draw attention. And she had always considered herself too practical by nature to enjoy the more sensual pleasures. Now she had a taste of what she had been missing.
“You said that you had a particular interest in the Countess Kodaly?” She tried to keep her voice casual but she could not resist fishing for information.
He slanted a look down at her. “And you said that you did not…” He spoke smoothly. His shoulders moved in a shrug. “So why do you ask?”
Damnation again. She would have to try harder. She suspected he was a very accomplished player, whatever game he chose.
“The gentleman with the Countess was known to me. That at least was true. She and Tom had been interested in Lord Lansdale for some time, suspecting him of selling military secrets. “I was curious as to his business with the Countess.”“Were you? Why?” Her companion’s tone was one of polite disbelief. “You are scarcely his nursemaid, are you?” He arched a brow behind the mask. “Or his lover. You would long have lost that air of innocence if you were.”
“I am not-” Merryn stopped.
“You are not - what?” He was smiling again. “Innocent? Then you give the best impersonation of it that I have seen this side of the stage. Or on the stage, for that matter.” His gaze was moving over her slowly, thoughtfully. Merryn wondered what he was seeing. A small girl in a brown domino; there was nothing remarkable there. Her golden hair was plaited and hidden under the hood. Her mask was plain brown velvet with no jewels. It shadowed her blue eyes and hid her expression. She should have been anonymous. She did not understand why he had noticed her. Yet he had.
“There are some things,” he said slowly, “that cannot be counterfeit.” His hand, which had been resting in the small of her back, came up briefly to touch the curve of her cheek beneath the line of the mask. She felt the caress like the brush of a cobweb yet it echoed through her whole body. She felt confused, misled by her body and it’s strange responses. Or was that led astray? She had a glimpse, like the crack of a door opening, into another world that promised vivid sensuality and endless bliss. Her eyes opened wide and she saw the answering flash of some expression in his own eyes, something hot and dark that made her burn.
Then the spell broke. There was a clatter of noise in the ballroom doorway and a splash of red uniforms. Candlelight struck metal. Pistols. Someone screamed. The music faded, discordant, and died away. There was a silence with an odd quality of tension to it.
“We have come to arrest the parole breaker, Ethan Ryder.” The captain had stepped forward. “We have information that he is here.”
Merryn felt her companion turn sharply, the tension in him as fierce as a lightning strike. The crowd gasped with a mixture of fear and excitement, rippling like corn in a storm.
“Ridiculous!” Gregory Cummins had re-entered the ballroom and was now ripping off his mask and advancing on the posse of soldiers. “Ryder, here? How dare you disrupt my ball on such a foolish basis, sir!”
Merryn could see a woman in a scarlet domino tugging surreptitiously on the hand of a tall man in black. She took a breath and immediately her companion’s arm tightened warningly about her. They were still standing in the figure of the waltz, frozen where they had been when the music stopped, and she could feel how tightly wound he was, taut as a bowstring.
“Please…” His words were a mere breath. “Not a word…”
So polite, and yet an absolute order. His hand on her arm was imperative and she fell obediently silent.
But it was too late. People had spotted the scarlet domino and her companion. The captain broke off his apologies and explanations to shout an order. Soldiers were running everywhere, guests diving for cover. Merryn’s partner bundled her through the door into the refreshment room. One of the soldiers was taking aim at the fleeing couple. Merryn grabbed her companion’s arm and pointed, and he nodded swiftly and stumbled heavily against the marksman just as the man was about to take the shot. It flew wide, smashing a bust of Gregory Cummings himself on a marble side table.
“Frightfully sorry, old chap.” Merryn’s partner was all apologies, blocking the soldier’s path. Merryn smothered a smile, her gloved hand pressed to her lips.
The fleeing couple disappeared through another door and Merryn’s companion pulled her back out of the melee, his hand in hers, until the soldiers had all piled after the fugitives.
“Thank you,” he said.
“Is that really Ethan Ryder?” Merryn said, staring. She had heard of Ryder, renegade and Irish adventurer. Everyone had heard of Ethan Ryder. “I thought he was no more than a legend,” she said.
“Oh, Ethan is real enough,” her companion said dryly. “Come on.”
“Where are we going?” Merryn asked, as he drew her after him across the refreshment room. The place was in the most dreadful mess, silver dishes rolling to clatter against the wall, food splattered all over the priceless carpets. Somewhere, a housemaid was wailing.
“The stables,” her companion said. He checked the clock on the mantel. “I give him five minutes.”
The house was in uproar. There were soldiers everywhere, mingling with the fleeing guests who cluttered the hall and staircase. There was the sound of a shot from the floor above, then another. Someone screamed. Merryn saw a flicker of expression cross her companion’s face. “God damn it, Ethan,” he muttered, “be careful.”
Merryn could see Countess Kodaly across the hall, taking advantage of the mayhem to slip some very fine silver snuffboxes under her copious domino. She gave an exclamation and her companion followed her gaze and gave her a rueful smile.
“Well,” he said, “you knew she was not want she seemed.” He paused. “I should leave you here to go safely home. This is dangerous work. Would that I could take you safely home.” But he did not move, as though he were waiting for her to decide whether to stay or whether to go.
It was so odd, Merryn thought, to be standing in the centre of all that noise and madness and yet feel as though nothing mattered but him; her hand clasped in his, his intent dark gaze fixed on her face.
“I’m coming with you,” she whispered, and he flashed her a smile that was pure wickedness and made her heart sing. She felt lighter than a feather, full of excitement and energy. She felt alive as she had never felt before.
Then they were running again, through the noise and the chaos, dodging between the soldiers and the last of Gregory Cumming’s scandalised guests, down the servants’ stair to the kitchens and out into the mews stables where the night air set Merryn shivering. A soldier came running from one of the stalls, his rifle pointing directly at Merryn, and even as she drew breath for a scream her companion spun around and felled the man with one cool, scientific blow. It was so fast and so fierce she could do nothing but blink.
“Goodness,” she said blankly, staring down at the soldier’s prone body.
There was no time for more. Another soldier came dashing towards them and was despatched with similar efficiency, then a third. Her companion sighed resignedly as he dusted down his sleeves and looked around for the next opponent. But the last soldier had seen the fate of his friends and had turned tail and fled.
“Sensible,” Merryn said.
A closed carriage swept into the mews, the coachman jumping down onto the cobbles beside them.
“We’re ready, my lord.”
Merryn’s companion nodded. “Thank you, Squires.”
My lord. Well, Merryn thought, she might have guessed that.
There was a crash from the kitchen behind them. In the faint lamplight Merryn saw the man smile. “Right on time,” he said. He turned back to the doorway and then he was ushering a couple out towards the carriage. The man was very tall and dark and he had a rapier in his hand. The woman was the one Merryn had seen in the scarlet domino. She looked directly at Merryn and gave a little start of surprise. Merryn drew back into the shadows. She had no wish to be recognised.
It was Lottie Cummings, Gregory’s disgraced, divorced wife and former best friend to Merryn’s sister Joanna. Merryn could see Lottie clearly for she was unmasked now, her eyes glittering with the same excitement that Merryn felt coursing through her blood, her long brown hair streaming out beneath her domino. The dark man put an arm about her waist and lifted her bodily into the carriage. Lucky Lottie, Merryn thought involuntarily.
“Give me your papers,” she heard her companion say. He held out his hand. “I’ll sort this out for you.”
The dark man shook his hand. “Thank you.”
“God speed.”
The door slammed, Squires jumped up on to the box and the coach sped away leaving the night still trembling with the force of their passing. Merryn stepped out into the moonlight.
“That,” she said, “was masterly. I see you have some considerable experience in helping malefactors escape justice.”
Her companion ripped off his mask at last and stood before her. The moonlight skipped across the planes and hollows of his face, the high cheekbones and the strong line of the jaw. The darkness turned his tawny hair black and the moon speckled it with silver shards. He was smiling, his dark eyes enigmatic.
“Justice is in the eye of the beholder,” he said. He sketched a bow. “Thank you for your help. I am Northesk. Tell me your name.”
Northesk.
It was as though the night stood still.
The Marquis of Northesk is back.
Merryn took a step away from him. She almost stumbled and he put out a hand to steady her but she evaded him. Her heart was hammering and there was a sickness rising in her throat. The wind tickled shivers down her neck. In her mind’s eyes she could see her reflection in the pier glass of the ballroom, dancing in this man’s arms, swept up by the passion and excitement of the night, a heartbeat away from surrendering to some mysterious seductive force that overrode all her rationality and commonsense. She remembered his touch, the strength in him as he had held her, the scent of his skin.
Her brother’s murderer…
“I must go.” She was not even sure how she forced the words out past the weight in her chest.
She saw his eyes narrow in puzzlement. He took an instinctive step towards her. “Wait…”
She ran. And she did not look back.
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He could see that she had absolutely no desire to speak with him. The stiffness
with which she held herself and her furtive glances towards the nearest exit told
him she wanted nothing more than to flee. That was understandable. And this was
not, perhaps, the best place to force a confrontation, in the august surroundings
of the King’s library, with the King’s librarian and his assistants
watching avidly from behind a stack of books. But that was too bad. He could not
risk her running out on him again.
Her scent, that elusive fragrance of bluebells, wrapped about him and made his body clench with longing. Even without Hammond’s information Garrick thought that he would have known at once that she was the woman he had found in his bedroom, the woman who had slept in his bed, an intimacy that had haunted his thoughts ever since. He could picture Merryn between his sheets all too easily, her slight, lissom body lying where his had lain, her hair spread across his pillow, and her bare skin against the cool linen. He felt as though she had somehow imprinted herself on him and he could not break free.
She was looking at him with impatience and disdain, as though he was some importunate suitor or writer of particularly bad sonnets.
“I wanted to apologise,” he said easily, “in case I was the cause of your distraction this morning.”
He saw her bite her lip and knew that she was caught between the desire to give him a set down for his presumption and the equally strong desire to cut him dead and run away. The latter urge won out.
“I am sorry,” she said, “that it is quite impossible for me to talk to a gentleman to whom I have not been formally introduced. Excuse me.”
She made to pass him but Garrick put a hand on her arm. He lowered his voice and spoke softly in her ear. “Some might say that our informal introduction – in my bedroom two nights ago – would suffice as a basis for our acquaintance.”
He saw that she was a little shocked at his direct approach. No doubt she had not expected him to be quite so blunt. Gentlemen, generally, did not speak so frankly to a lady. Her body stiffened, her blue gaze narrowed. Her perfect bow of a mouth pursed in a way that made Garrick want to kiss her. The urge hit him hard, squarely in the stomach. He felt as though the breath had been knocked from his lungs, felt a hot pull of desire that went straight to his head and also lower down as well.
Something of his feelings must have shown in his face for he saw the blue of Merryn’s eyes heat and intensify for a moment as though responding to his need. Her lips parted on a tiny, startled gasp. He took a step forward, narrowing the distance between them to nothing. But already she was retreating, slipping away, the shimmer of desire in her eyes banished by cold disdain.
“I beg your pardon,” she said, “but I think you mistake me for quite another lady.” There was the slightest emphasis on the word “lady.” “I am not the sort of woman to be found in any man’s bedchamber. That would be most inappropriate.”
She turned towards the door again and Garrick leaned one hand against the jamb to bar her way. “You ran away last time,” he said. “You are not going to do so now.”
Her blue eyes flashed ice. “I do not take direction from you, your grace.”
“So you do at least know who I am,” Garrick said gently. “I thought you were claiming that we had never met?”
She looked irritated to have been caught out. “I heard Sir Frederick mention your name, that is all.”
Garrick smiled. “How disappointing to discover that you did not deliberately seek to learn my identity,” he murmured.
She flicked him a look of polite scorn. “I am sure that your grace’s self-confidence will survive the blow.”
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Book News···
• Mistress By Midnight has been nominated by TRR reviewers for Best in Historical Romance for 2010 at The Romance Reviews. Click over to The Romance Reviews website to cast your vote! (posted March 2011)
5 stars
“The wonderful combination of star-crossed lovers, hidden secrets, life-threatening danger and delightful touches of humour make it an unforgettable read”
— Rakes & Rascals • Read the full review (posted November 2012)
“There was some wonderful tension between the characters, especially Merryn struggling with her feelings was wonderful and real and I really, really enjoyed this book”
— Between the pages • Read the full review (posted December 2011)
An almost perfect historical romance
“I'm a big fan of Nicola Cornick's writing and once again she didn't disappoint. This book is very amusing, with lively dialogues and interesting characters.”
— Enlessly bookish • Read the full review (posted November 2011)
The sparks ignite right from the start
“I love the witty banter between the two main characters, I found myself laughing out loud!”
— Forever Book Lover • Read the full review (posted November 2011)
“the sensuality and chemistry between the Merryn and Garrick was absolutely wonderful!”
— The Romanceaholic • Read the full review (posted November 2011)
“Another wonderful historical romance from Ms Cornick. Mistress By Midnight is a fabulous read.”
— Book Chick City • Read the full review (posted September 2011)
“A beguiling, compelling and immensely absorbing romance. Written with characteristic flair, awe-inspiring attention to detail and wicked sense of fun, Mistress by Midnight is a stellar Regency!”
— SingleTitles • Read the full review (posted August 2011)
Keeper Shelf!
“Fast-paced and oh-so-sexy, Mistress By Midnight is destined to become a romance classic.”
— iReadRomance • Read the full review (posted February 2011)
“A wonderful historical romance. This is a must read series!”
— My Book Addiction and More • Read the full review (posted January 2011)
“Ms. Cornick has a triumph on her hands!”
— Fresh Fiction • Read the full review (posted January 2011)
“Nicola Cornick's writing is strong, thoughtful and unabashedly straightforward with characters that are both memorable and sympathetic. If you have the chance, pick up a copy of MISTRESS BY MIDNIGHT especially if you've never read a novel by Nicola Cornick before. I promise, you will want to read more.”
— The Romance Reviews • Read the full review (posted January 2011)
“Mistress by Midnight reminded me of the good, old historical romance novels that just left you with a warm, fuzzy feeling when you turned to the last page knowing that love truly healed the characters.”
— Joyfully Reviewed • Read the full review (posted December 2010)
“I thoroughly enjoyed every minute of this story and found myself reluctant to put it down even for a few minutes. I cannot wait to see what Nicola Cornick offers her readers next. I am sure that it will be as much of a joy to read as this one was.”
— Historical Romance Writers • Read the full review (posted December 2010)
“(The) writing is seamless, suspenseful and always well paced. In Mistress by Midnight the author pulls you in immediately. (She) tantalises her readers taste buds with humour, tragedy, and ultimately a hard won HEA. A winner on all fronts.”
— Long and Short of It Reviews • Read the full review (posted December 2010)
“Nicola Cornick is a wonderful writer. I was so involved in the story that I was completely unaware of the world around me. I have read many good authors in my time, but few engross me in their story the way that this author does. I have to give this book my highest rating. I was completely taken aback at what this author has produced. This book is due out Nov 30. Get in line ladies!”
— Sugarbeatsbooks • Read the full review (posted December 2010)
“A fast-paced historical full of secrets, past hurt and romance. I loved these characters! Mistress by Midnight is a great conclusion to this trilogy.”
— The Season • Read the full review (posted November 2010)
“Splendid and awe-inspiring. Historical Romance at its very best is written by Nicola Cornick.”
— Mary Gramlich, the Reading Reviewer (posted November 2010)
“'(An) emotionally charged romance and a powerful love story.'”
— Romantic Times (posted October 2010)
Sometimes the most extraordinary snippets of history can spark a story idea and so it was with Mistress By Midnight.
The manor house at Toten Hall, one of the buildings damaged by the London Beer Flood of 1814.
I had wanted to write Lady Merryn Fenner’s story for a while. Merryn had featured in her sister Joanna’s book, Whisper of Scandal, when it appeared that she was a shy bluestocking who lived secluded from the world. But I knew that Merryn had a secret life – it was just a question of what form this took. Two ideas informed Merryn’s character. One was the fact that her brother had died in a duel when she had been young and she had never really come to terms with the tragedy. On that basis it seemed likely that she have a burning desire to work for justice and truth. The second was that Merryn was an intelligent woman in a society that preferred women to be pretty rather than clever, so her academic pursuits would be very important to her.
Into this mix I threw the London Beer Flood of 1814, an event that occurred when the vats on top of the brewery in Tottenham Court Road exploded, flooding the nearby streets with a tidal wave of beer and claiming seven lives. Merryn, caught up in her quest for justice for her brother, is trapped in the flood along with Garrick Farne, the man she blames for her brother’s death. How they both survive and what happens to their relationship is at the heart of Mistress By Midnight.