Tempted
Authors: Pamela Britton
If you purchase this book without a cover you should be aware that this book may have been stolen property and reported as “unsold and destroyed” to the publisher. In such case neither the author nor the publisher has received any payment for this “stripped book.”
WARNER BOOKS EDITION
Copyright © 2004 by Pamela Britton-Baer
Excerpt from
Scandal
copyright © 2004 by Pamela Britton-Baer All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without permission in writing from the publisher, except by a reviewer who may quote brief passages in a review.
Cover design by Diane Luger
Cover art by Franco Accornero
Hand lettering by David Gatti
Book design by Giorgetta Bell McRee
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First eBook Edition: July 2007
ISBN: 978-0-446-50632-8
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Contents
ACCLAIM FOR PAMELA BRITTON’S PREVIOUS NOVEL,
SEDUCED
“Four-and-a-half stars! Very sensual…great fun…. Sharp and often bawdy repartee only adds to the fire and sexual tension that Britton builds so well…. Pamela Britton is well on her way to stardom!”
—Romantic Times
“
Seduced
has everything readers crave in historical romance and more. This one is headed for your keeper shelf.”
—Amanda Quick, author of
Slightly Shady
“Britton’s plucky characters keep the story fresh…. This delightful tale outshines many romances of its ilk, and the protagonists’ spry wit and comic antics will have readers on the floor in stitches…. A suspenseful finale.”
—Publishers Weekly
“Seductive…. This story line hooks the audience.”
—Midwest Book Review
“It isn’t easy to write a tale that makes the reader laugh and cry, but Britton succeeds, thanks to her great characters…. A romance of self-acceptance, suspense, and humor, this book will be a hit with fans of Amanda Quick, Lisa Kleypas, and Karen Robards.”
—Booklist
(starred review)
“What a wickedly amusing and sexy narrative Pamela Britton has woven in her spectacular
Seduced
! It is non-stop entertainment from the most unusual first line to the surprising ending…. A hilarious…remarkable book…. Hats off to Pamela Britton for an irresistible story!”
—BookLoons. com
“I raced through
Seduced
. Sexy, quick-paged, and fun…a superlative read with an ending that is as well set up as it is surprising and left me with tears in my eyes. I eagerly look forward to Ms. Britton’s next offering.”
—ScribesWorld.com
“A terrific, and surprisingly humorous, romance…well-written…a joy to read. Ms. Britton’s special blend of sensuality and humor are sure to win her a loyal following.”
—RoadtoRomance.dhs.org
“Well-written dialogue…. I really enjoyed this story…. Ms. Britton is truly a wonderful writer. Do yourself a favor and become
Seduced
!”
—ARomanceReview.com
Seduced
For the one hundred Breyer model horses.
For getting me the real thing when the time came.
For never making me sell my horse when I landed atop
a fence instead of on the other side of one.
For letting me drive the Lancia during high school.
For saying all that mattered was that I was OK
when I totaled it.
For always being Pam’s Pop and P.J.’s Mom.
For the best Christmases in the world.
For making Codi’s Christmases just as special.
For all the things you did, all the things you continue
to do, and all the things you are to me…
this one’s for you
Mom and Dad; I love you.
I don’t think any book I’ve written hasn’t owed some thanks to certain behind-the-scenes individuals. This book owes thanks to Patrick Lynch who helped shed light on English law enforcement and court trials in the shires of England. And to the writers of the
1811 Dictionary of the Vulgar Tongue
which gave color to my heroine’s speech.
Thanks also goes to my Ya-Ya sisters: Leanne Banks, for the hours of phone therapy. Cherry Adair, for the
years
of therapy (and the loan of a hotel room so I could finish this book). And Jennifer Skullestad for telling me I couldn’t tie the child up (darn). And to the gals at Delphi who are always willing to invoke the HoF on my behalf. You’re the best, guys.
My editor, Karen Kosztolnyik, who understands my writing to the point that I’m delirious with joy that we’re working together. Your smiley faces make my day.
Lastly, as always, to my husband Michael who never ceases to amaze me with his understanding and patience of a writer’s psyche and who loves me to death, even when I’m on a crazy deadline. I <3 U.
Dear Reader:
In 1794 the Marquis of Wellesley married Hyacinthe Roland, his mistress.
In 1871, Richard Jackson was made a baronet, right after he married
his
mistress.
In 1847 the second duke of Cambridge, an heir to the throne of England, married Louisa Fairbrother, an actress, in defiance of the Royal Marriage Act. He remained faithful to his wife until his dying day.
It all started in the late sixteenth century…or perhaps even before that. History is a fickle creature and facts ofttimes get blurred, but throughout the ages it has always been reported that the dukes of Wainridge were scoundrels. Licentious, disreputable scoundrels.
Wicked Wainridge was what they called the first duke, and not because of a penchant for sinning. Wherever he rode mothers would clutch young daughters to their bosoms, whispering, “Best behave, my sweet, or Wicked Wainridge will ride off with ye.” And to be sure, there was a good possibility of exactly that, for the duke’s sexual appetite was also rumored to be legendary.
But it was the second duke of Wainridge that truly cemented the family’s name. In his lifetime he absconded with three heiresses, two married ladies (one of whom stayed with him after her release) and a woman rumored to have been on her way to becoming a nun, but who…um, changed her mind.
“Scandalous,” whispered the people of that time. “Outrageous,” murmured others.
And so it began. For generations to come Wainridge men followed in the footsteps of the first and second dukes. Wicked Wainridge was what they were always called. By the end of the fifth duke’s life, they were legends. Licentious legends to be sure, but legends nonetheless.
To this wondrous reputation the heir to the eighth duke was born.
George Alexander Essex Drummond didn’t want to be a rake. Indeed, from an early age the young Alexander behaved in a manner contrary to that of previous heirs. Instead of playing an imaginary game of chase the maid, he played chase the villain, or pirate, or any other type of miscreant. Never once did he pinch a member of the female staff. Never once did he try to seduce his governess (though the old duke hired the comeliest). Lord, much to his father’s dismay, he didn’t lose his virginity until he was fifteen.
“Good lord,” the duke railed. “You don’t like”— horrors—“
males
?” he asked Alex one day.
Alas, no, his son reassured him, for he definitely preferred women, just not…so many.
That allayed the duke’s fears only marginally, for as his son became older, it became patently obvious that he preferred cutters over copulation.
Alex tried to buy a commission in the Navy. His father forbade it.
He tried to become a privateer. His father caught wind of that, too.
In the end, they settled upon a compromise. The young heir was allowed to work for the Customs Board chasing smugglers, a job the old duke considered harmless since confrontations were rare, but was, for a young lad, fabulously exciting.
The young marquis thrived.
Over the years, he worked his way up to revenue commander, and a damn fine one at that. He had a knack for knowing what night a ship would sail, an instinct for knowing where to place his own Revenue Cutter so that he could catch that smuggler in the act.
Only one thing marred his happiness. No matter what he did, no matter how well he performed, his family’s licentious reputation preceded him.
Always.
And so in the winter of 1816, the marquis—who was one and thirty years by now—found himself sent to the small town of Hollowbrook, a quaint coastal community with a not-so-quaint habit of avoiding revenue on imported goods.
Lord Warrick entered town like King David entered Jerusalem: Tall, proud, lacking only the low-toned hum of reverent voices chanting behind him in welcome.
The smugglers should have been impressed. And they might have been, too…if Lord Warrick’s family history hadn’t been recalled. Indeed, they took to calling him Wicked Warrick in honor of his illustrious heritage. There was even a maid or two who tried to see if there was any truth to the rumors, much to Alex’s dismay.
And so the marquis had something to prove. Well, he’d always had something to prove, which might explain why he’d become so compulsive about the way he ran his ship—and his life—like a clock maker ran his timepieces: everything in its place, every gear working in perfect order. It fair drove his staff and crew mad.
A week after his lordship began sailing Hollow-brook’s coast, the first arrest was made. A few days later, yet another one. And three days after that, another one still.
The townspeople went a little mad. Here was an end to their livelihood. No more fortunes would be made, not that the townspeople were swimming in blunt. No, indeed. They sought only to put food on the table. To clothe their children. To keep a roof over their heads.
For many, all that disappeared the day the marquis of Warrick sailed into Hollowbrook’s harbor.
And so we come to the end of our tale, though the beginning of another, for it is said that nothing angers a man more than losing his livelihood. Lord Warrick decimated Hollowbrook. That, it could be reasoned, was why they decided to make him pay.
’Twas Tobias Brown, head smuggler, and a man who’d just barely escaped Lord Warrick, who was put in charge of the project. But though he tried and tried to come up with a satisfactory plan, it all boiled down to one thing: Who had access to his lordship? Well, perhaps two things, for what would they do to his lordship if they
did
have access? Matters weren’t helped by the fact that Lord Warrick’s duties took him up and down the coast, his reputation such that more than one Custom House requested his aid.
And then one fine spring day someone spied an ad in the
London Gazette,
and wouldn’t you know it, the person advertising for a position was the very lord they plotted against?
H
EAD
N
URSE
N
EEDED
.
Must have experience with difficult children.
Good character, etc. etc. Marquis of Warrick, 106,
Manderly Street, London.
Aha,
Tobias Brown thought. Here was a chance to infiltrate the enemy lair. Here was an opportunity to find an appropriate means of revenge, to perhaps even start the smuggling ring again; for if they could track his lordship’s moves, they would be able to gauge when and where to land contraband.
But who would infiltrate his lordship’s home?
Who, indeed…
