How to Seduce a Scoundrel

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How to Ravish a Rake

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How to Marry A Duke

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To Mom for giving me a diary when I was ten years old and for encouraging me to write. P.S. This one has naughty bits in it, too
.

My sincere thanks to my very talented agent Lucienne Diver (a.k.a. Agent Awesome Sauce) for being, well, awesome. And because you got me at hello.

A big shout-out to my wonderful editor Michele Bidelspach for your amazing insights and for the laughter, too. Working with you is truly a joy.
Merci beaucoup!

Thanks to some other special people at Forever Romance for your support. Amy Pierpont for all the cheers and retweets, Samantha Kelly for arranging some fabulous promotional opportunities, and Anna Balasi for the cool blog tour and most especially that hilarious Blog Talk Radio interview. What fun!

Thanks to my writing friends at West Houston RWA for all the support and friendship. I wouldn’t be here if not for our chapter.

Hugs to my supportive family: Daniel, Regina, Amber, and Jonathan. And to the fur kids: Buttercup, Foxy, Sweetpea, and Pebbles. Love you all.

Most of all, my humble thanks to all the readers who took time out to let me know you couldn’t wait to read
How to Seduce a Scoundrel
. xoxoxo

A Scoundrel’s Code of Conduct: Virgins are strictly forbidden, especially if said virgin happens to be your friend’s sister.

Richmond, England, 1817

H
e’d arrived late as usual.

Marc Darcett, Earl of Hawkfield, twirled his top hat as he sauntered along the pavement toward his mother’s home. A chilly breeze ruffled his hair and stung his face. In the dwindling evening light, Ashdown House with its crenellated top and turrets stood stalwart near the banks of the Thames.

Ordinarily, Hawk dreaded the obligatory weekly visits. His mother and three married sisters had grown increasingly demanding about his lack of a bride since his oldest friend had wed last summer. They made no secret of their
disappointment in him, but he was accustomed to being the family scapegrace.

Today, however, he looked forward to seeing that oldest friend, Tristan Gatewick, the Duke of Shelbourne.

After the butler, Jones, admitted him, Hawk stripped off his gloves and greatcoat. “Are Shelbourne and his sister here yet?”

“The duke and Lady Julianne arrived two hours ago,” Jones said.

“Excellent.” Hawk couldn’t wait to relate his latest bawdy escapade to his friend. Last evening, he’d met Nancy and Nell, two naughty dancers who had made him an indecent proposition. Not wishing to appear too anxious, he’d promised to think over the matter, but he intended to accept their two-for-the-price-of-one offer.

The fastidious Jones eyed Hawk’s head critically. “Begging your pardon, my lord, but you might wish to attend to your hair.”

“You don’t say?” Hawk pretended to be oblivious and peered at his windblown locks in the mirror above the foyer table. “Perfect,” he said. “Mussed hair is all the rage.”

“If you say so, my lord.”

Hawk spun around. “I take it everyone is waiting in the gold drawing room?”

“Yes, my lord. Your mother has inquired after you several times.”

Hawk glanced out at the great hall and grinned at the giant statue next to the stairwell. “Ah, my mother has taken an interest in naked statuary, has she?”

The ordinarily stoic Jones made a suspicious, muffled sound. Then he cleared his throat. “Apollo was delivered yesterday.”

“Complete with his lyre and snake, I see. Well, I shall welcome him to the family.” Hawk’s boots clipped on the checkered marble floor as he strolled toward the cantilevered stairwell, an architectural feat that made the underside of the stone steps appear suspended in midair. At the base of the stairs, he paused to inspect the reproduction and grimaced at Apollo’s minuscule genitalia. “Poor bastard.”

Footsteps sounded above. Hawk looked up to find Tristan striding down the carpeted steps.

“Sizing up the competition?” Tristan said.

Hawk grinned. “The devil. It’s the old married man.”

“I saw your curricle from the window.” Tristan stepped onto the marble floor and clapped Hawk on the shoulder. “You look as if you just tumbled out of bed.”

Hawk wagged his brows and let his friend imagine what he would. “How is your duchess?”

A brief, careworn expression flitted through his friend’s eyes. “The doctor says all is progressing well. She has two more months of confinement.” He released a gusty sigh. “I wanted a son, but now I’m praying for a safe delivery.”

Hawk nodded but said nothing.

“One day it will be your turn, and I’ll be the one consoling you.”

That day would never come. “And give up my bachelorhood? Never,” he said.

Tristan grinned. “I’ll remind you of that when I attend your wedding.”

Hawk changed the subject. “I take it your sister is well?” His mother planned to sponsor Lady Julianne this season while the dowager duchess stayed in the country with her increasing daughter-in-law.

“Julianne is looking forward to the season, but there is a problem,” Tristan said. “A letter arrived from Bath half an hour ago. Your grandmother is suffering from heart palpitations again.”

Hawk groaned. Grandmamma was famous for her heart palpitations. She succumbed to them at the most inconvenient times and described them in minute, loving detail to anyone unfortunate enough to be in the general vicinity. Owing to Grandmamma’s diminished hearing, this meant anyone within shouting range.

“Your mother and sisters are discussing who should travel to Bath as we speak,” Tristan said.

“Don’t worry, old boy. We’ll sort it out.” No doubt his sisters meant to flee to Bath, as they always did when his grandmother invoked her favorite ailment. Usually his mother went as well, but she’d made a commitment to sponsor Julianne.

A peevish voice sounded from the landing. “Marc, you have dawdled long enough. Mama is waiting.”

Hawk glanced up to find his eldest sister, Patience, beckoning him with her fingers as if he were one of her unruly brats. Poor Patience had never proven equal to her name, something he’d exploited since childhood. He never could resist provoking her then, and he certainly couldn’t now. “My dear sister, I’d no idea you were so anxious for my company. It warms the cockles of my heart.”

Her nostrils flared. “Our grandmother is ill, and Mama is fretting. You will not add to her vexation by tarrying.”

“Pour Mama a sherry for her nerves. I’ll be along momentarily,” he said.

Patience pinched her lips, whirled around, and all but stomped away.

Hawk’s shoulders shook with laughter as he returned his attention to his friend. “After dinner, we’ll put in a brief appearance in the drawing room and make our escape to the club.”

“I’d better not. I’m planning to leave at dawn tomorrow,” Tristan said.

Hawk shrugged to hide his disappointment. He ought to have known the old boy meant to return to his wife immediately. Nothing would ever be quite the same now that his friend had married. “Well, then, shall we join the others?”

As they walked up the stairs, Tristan glanced at him with an enigmatic expression. “It’s been too long since we last met.”

“Yes, it has.”

The last time was Tristan’s wedding nine months ago. He’d meant to visit the newlyweds after a decent interval. Then Tristan’s letter had arrived with the jubilant news of his impending fatherhood.

Hawk’s feet had felt as if they were immersed in a bog.

After they entered the drawing room, Hawk halted. He was only peripherally aware of his sisters’ husbands scowling at him from the sideboard. All his attention centered on a slender lady seated on the sofa between his mother and his youngest sister, Hope. The candlelight gleamed over the lady’s jet curls as she gazed down at a sketchbook on her lap. Good Lord, could this delectable creature possibly be Julianne?

As if sensing his stare, she glanced at him. He took in her transformation, stunned by the subtle changes. In the past nine months, the slight fullness of her cheeks had disappeared, emphasizing her sculpted cheekbones. Even
her expression had changed. Instead of her usual impish grin, she regarded him with a poised smile.

The sweet little girl he’d known all his life had become a woman. A heart-stopping, beautiful woman.

The sound of his mother’s voice rattled him. “Tristan, please be seated. Marc, do not stand there gawking. Come and greet Julianne.”

Patience and his other sister Harmony sat in a pair of chairs near the hearth, exchanging sly smiles. No doubt they were hatching a plot to snare him in the parson’s mousetrap. They probably thought he was as besotted as the numerous cubs who vied for Julianne’s attention every season. But he was only a little taken aback by her transformation.

Determined to take himself in hand, he strode over to her, made a leg, and swept his arm in a ridiculous bow last seen in the sixteenth century.