Tempted - By Pamela Britton

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.

Prologue

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