The Duke's Temptation

THE DUKE’S TEMPTATION

Men Of Circumstance

ADDIE JO RYLEIGH

SOUL MATE PUBLISHING

New York

THE DUKE’S TEMPTATION

Copyright©2015

ADDIE JO RYLEIGH

Cover Design by Fiona Jayde

This book is a work of fiction.  The names, characters, places, and incidents are the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.  Any resemblance to actual events, business establishments, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

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Published in the United States of America by

Soul Mate Publishing

P.O. Box 24

Macedon, New York, 14502

ISBN: 978-1-61935-
955-0

www.SoulMatePublishing.com

The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for author or third-party websites or their content.

For my boys

You will always be the greatest

story I ever help write.

You are my I Love You.

For Jason

Without you I would never

have been able to live this dream.

I love you more.

Acknowledgements

I don’t know where to start. After years of dreaming of this moment, you’d think I’d be more prepared. There are so many who had a hand in helping me get here that I could probably fill a book recognizing them.

I’ll start with those who were forced to live with me and my craziness during this wonderful endeavor. I dedicated the book to my husband and children but the endless support and encouragement I’ve received deserves a second mention.

Babe, you’ve done so much for me and our tribe of monkeys that this success is as much yours as it is mine. Your endless sacrifices don’t go unnoticed and we love you for your strength and devotion. A simple thank you will never be enough.

My boys, you exasperate me. You focus me. You challenge me. Your insane wonderfulness fills my life to the point of bursting. Not a single day goes by that I don’t thank God for each of you. Thank you for allowing Writing Time to interrupt Mommy Time. Someday you’ll understand why Mom kept hoarding the computer. I love you and thank you.

Mom and Dad, thank you for always making me feel like I could do anything. You’ve supported me through every day of my life and shaped me into the person I am. Thank you.

My siblings, thank you for believing in my crazy plan to write a book. Who knew your sister could be so cool?

JMC, AKA Sparky, I’m not sure I can find the words to thank you fully. First, thanks for ALWAYS being there. Not just to bounce ideas off (and you know there have been PLENTY of those) but for just being a part of my life. I’m glad I decided to keep you around. *wink* Secondly, thank you for your relentless kick-my-butt-into-gear support. You were the first to read the words once I put them on paper and there is no one I’d trust more. Thank you more times than I can count.

Auntie Barb Block, I knew I could trust you to give it to me straight. I put the fate of my hair in your hands so I knew my book would be just as safe. You’ve always been one of the go-to people in my life. Thank you for your kind praise and support.

Jeannie Reyerson, thank you for your encouragement and being brave enough to read one of the very first drafts. I miss our talks at the fence.

Melissa Murphy, my very first critiquing partner ever, thank you for helping a newbie figure this all out.

My editor, Char Chaffin, thank you for your belief in me and my story. Thank you for helping me shape it into what it is and guiding me along the way.

Lastly, thank you Soul Mate Publishing and all its wonderful authors for being a dedicated and supportive group. I couldn’t have asked for a better place to land.

Chapter 1

LONDON, ENGLAND

JULY 1816

Gabriel St. James, the sixth Duke of Wesbrook, locked his gaze on the lady—if one could even call her that. Having never dealt with this particular kind of
lady
before, he was not acquainted with the proper protocol.

Truth be told, he shouldn’t be so taken aback by the situation. He was, after all, his father’s son, and therefore destined to live the same debauched life. It still burned that after years of struggling against it, in the end, he’d had no choice but to grudgingly accept his place within the family line of scoundrels. His father had made sure there was no alternative.

He narrowed his eyes on the vision before him. To have his debauchery presented in such a fashion was something else entirely. Something he wasn’t certain he could withstand. He couldn’t deny that he gambled more often than not, consumed his fair share of liquor, and was a rake of the first order, but there were some lines he refused to cross. He’d vowed to never fully become his father.

That obviously failed. Not even he could dispute the proof standing there. The very evidence that confirmed he was more like the previous duke than he thought.

As much as he desired it, he could no longer ignore her—all thirty-six inches of her. Despite his confusion, there was no doubt the pixie-faced, three-year-old standing before him was his daughter. His illegitimate daughter.

There, he’d done it. He finally found a word to describe her.
Daughter
.

Fury pumped through his veins and caused his hand to tighten on the all-too-brief letter that had arrived with her. How the hell could he not have known he’d fathered a child three years ago? Denial might have been his gut reaction but in actuality there wasn’t a need for him to validate the information. He knew it was true. Her features might be feminine, but almost every scrap of her proclaimed she was a Wesbrook. From her wavy ebony hair that gave a hint of unruliness, to the way she raised her tiny chin under his scrutiny.

If that wasn’t enough to give credence to the girl’s lineage, her eyes said the rest. Penetrating blue eyes—a blue so rich it reminded him of the field of cornflowers growing wild on his estate—surrounded by lashes as dark as the night. Only one person had eyes like that.

Cecilia Fairchild, the child’s mother . . . the woman he’d almost married.

After what had occurred nearly four years ago, he never expected to hear from her. Based on his newly-found daughter, Cecilia had managed the final word in their unfortunate relationship.

But a child? How could she not inform him he’d fathered a child? Cecilia might not be the most honorable, but he assumed she had enough morals to do something as simple as send him a letter. Apparently, he’d been wrong yet again when it came to judging what she was capable of.

What to do with the little poppet now?
He rested his hip on the edge of his desk and peered at the child. He didn’t mind children. He just preferred interacting with them minimally and from a distance. Before today, he’d never given any thought to having children of his own. He knew he’d eventually require an heir, but being only seven and twenty, he foresaw a good deal of years before he even needed to think about procreating.

He pushed away from the desk and ran a hand through hair that had once been in perfect order, before he’d attacked it multiple times since learning of his daughter.

“Oh,
bloody
hell,” he groaned beneath his breath, seeing the situation for what it was. It seemed Cecilia was no longer among the living, and this miss was now his responsibility, one he was quite unprepared to take on.

“Isn’t she a little young for you to be entertaining, Gabe?” a curious yet amused voice asked from the doorway.

Gabe abandoned his inspection of the young lady and caught the questioning look being cast his way from his closest friend, Marcus Blakely, Earl of Foxmoore.

Annoyed, Gabe thrust the note at his friend when Marcus reached his side. “I’m not entertaining. I’m trying to determine what to do with her.”

Marcus’s fair brows rose and his eyes widened as he read. His friend thus occupied, Gabe returned his attention to the child quietly taking up space in the middle of his study. Her little pink dress and matching bows stood out in stark contrast to the dark upholstered furniture and old books aligning the walls.

He had yet to find any words to speak to her, but no fear or apprehension was visible upon her cherub-like face. Instead, she seemed to regard him with the same curiosity he held for her.
God, she is dainty
. If it weren’t for the slight confidence and subtle grace he glimpsed in her, he’d be afraid she would break.

Marcus slowly lowered the note, pulling Gabe’s attention. He stood on edge as his friend’s gaze darted between the child and himself, his eyes already snapping with questions.

How did one tactfully broach the subject of an illegitimate child?

Gabe decided to spare his friend. “I don’t doubt she is mine, and no, I wasn’t aware I fathered a child.”

Always the practical one, Marcus had quickly reined in his shock. “Now that we’ve established she is your daughter, what are you going to do?”

He almost chuckled at the question. Leave it to Marcus to get to the point. They might have spent most of their lives as friends, but in some ways, they couldn’t be more different. Since the death of his parents, Marcus had taken the responsibility of being an earl with the utmost seriousness. Whereas, Gabe tended to avoid anything that had even the remotest possibility of becoming difficult—or leading to responsibility. He’d found it easier than striving to be respectable and subsequently failing.

“Now,
that
I haven’t determined,” he replied, pulling the bell to summon the butler. “Until then, Mrs. Pearce can watch after her.”

Gabe wasn’t too proud to admit to himself that his dismissal of the child had more to do with him than her. The tot’s steady stare was starting to prick areas of his conscience he was far from comfortable with.

“You require something, Your Grace?” Efficient as always, Wilkes promptly appeared in the entrance of the study. Gabe had learned long ago a well-paid staff was both loyal and hardworking, something he had benefited from many times.

“Wilkes, this young lady will be staying at the house for the time being. Please have Mrs. Pearce get her settled and address any needs she may have.” Hopefully Mrs. Pearce’s excellent housekeeping abilities extended to children and she would know what requirements a three-year-old might have, since he hadn’t a notion.

With a slight gesture, Wilkes beckoned the girl to his side, showing no signs that a child staying with a bachelor—a very rakish bachelor—was anything out of the ordinary.

“May I inquire as to the child’s name, Your Grace?”

Gabe ignored the quiet chuckle from Marcus as he silently extended his hand to request the note back from his friend.
How can I handle being a father when I can’t even remember the child’s name?
Since she had arrived on his doorstep, he had read the note numerous times and it still hadn’t stuck with him.

Before he located the name, a soft but determined voice answered for him. “It is Phoebe.”

Unfamiliar discomfort filled him, causing his usually steady voice to waver slightly. “Please have Mrs. Pearce attend to Phoebe and see she is settled.”

“Right away, Your Grace. Miss Phoebe, please follow me.”

Her innocent eyes moved from him to Wilkes and for the first time Gabe sensed uncertainty in her. An overwhelming need to ease her fears settled in him and he found himself crouched in front of the child before he realized he’d crossed the room.

“Don’t worry, poppet. Wilkes and Mrs. Pearce will take care of you. If you need anything, ask Mrs. Pearce and she will see to it.”

A small nod of her angelic head caused her slight curls to bounce around her face, before she turned and followed Wilkes out of the room. Regaining his full height, he felt Marcus’s presence at his back. Gabe turned from the door, unsure of what came next.

Generally, he was at ease in his study. After the death of his sire, he had removed the old man’s presence by redecorating the entire space. There wasn’t an item remaining that reminded him of his father. He’d gone so far as to have the carpet replaced and the walls redone. The room now offered comfort instead of the dread he’d always felt upon entering when the old duke had been alive.

After the events of the morning, the room brought no solace.

“My God, Gabe! A daughter. How
did
this happen?”

He couldn’t see Marcus’s expression with him standing at his side, but Gabe would wager it was filled with the same amazement that colored his friend’s stark words.

“The usual way, I suppose.” Gabe rolled his eyes as he stepped past Marcus to retrieve a glass of brandy, well-deserved and highly desired. Under similar circumstances a saint would need some fortitude, and he’d never been under the impression he’d qualify for sainthood.

He downed his brandy, then started on a second. How had his seemingly normal morning altered so? What he wouldn’t give to be in the middle of his typical daily bout at Gentleman Jackson’s. Instead, here he stood, drinking—far too early in the day, even by his standards—trying to wrap his mind around the fact he had a daughter, and what to do with her.

“I’m not an expert, but I don’t suppose getting foxed is going to help the situation.”

Ignoring Marcus, Gabe polished off his drink, relishing the slow burn left in its wake. “It might not help, but it seems entirely acceptable to me. And I’m nowhere near being foxed. Yet.”

“In all seriousness, Gabe, there is a child involved and as much as you’ve avoided responsibility your entire life, according to that note, you are all she has. You
will
need to address the situation.”

Suddenly furious at the circumstances, he slammed his glass down and swung around to face his friend. “Hell, Marcus, what do I know about raising a child? She would be better off somewhere else, with
anyone
else.”

His anger quickly spent itself. No matter what he said, he wouldn’t—
couldn’t
—pass the responsibility of his child onto someone else. Though it was quite common for gentlemen of the
ton
to disregard their illegitimate children, this was his daughter, a part of him, and somehow he would find a way to care for her. He was too familiar with what it was like to grow up with a father who didn’t care. A father who couldn’t be bothered to show any affection, one that Gabe would have been better off not having at all.

A father who drove a man to murder.
Damned before I’ll let the girl suffer a similar fate.

“Marcus, you raised a child. Any words of wisdom you’d like to impart?”

Marcus’s eyebrows creased with a slight tilt of his blond head. “I hardly see the similarities between me raising my nine-year-old sister after my parents’ deaths, and you dealing with a three-year-old you just discovered. I may have been only seven and ten at the time but Elizabeth had a governess and her basic care in place. You, on the other hand, have nothing.”

“Thank you for pointing out the obvious.” Frustrated, Gabe ran his hands through his hair, causing the already disobedient strands to tousle in complete disarray, and walked to the window.

He stared at the normal everyday activities carrying on outside his London town house. Carriages rolling by, ladies beginning their morning strolls accompanied by their maids, and one disobedient, yippy dog running from its handler. How could life beyond the walls of his home continue as if nothing had changed? Regardless of how hard he tried to dismiss it, a dark feeling had settled over him the same moment he’d seen the clear blue eyes of his daughter looking at him from across his desk. His life would never again resemble the carefree existence he so enjoyed.

Returning his focus to his friend and the situation at hand, he squared his shoulders. He had no choice but to deal with it as best he could. “I suppose my first course of action should be to acquire proper supervision for the chit.” What followed was a question he never thought he’d hear himself ask, and he almost felt his body cringe.

“Any idea as to where I can find a governess?”