Free A Duke's Temptation by Jillian Hunter Page A

efforts. Apparently, even the members of Parliament listened more attentively to a legendary scoundrel who could swive several wenches at a time than a person who gave a thoughtful speech.
    Samuel could have protested his notoriety and attempted to protect his name. But he soon perceived that the false scandals he generated in London diverted attention from his private life. For some odd reason a duke who slept with dozens of women commanded the respect of his peers. And while he may not have been physically capable of pleasuring as many ladies as the papers reported, the few who had enjoyed his company had yet to utter any complaints.
    So it was that he discovered the value of sensation and began instructing his secretary to submit regular tidbits of gossip to Fleet Street, which, he let slip, came from a member of the duke’s household.
    He could only hope that Lily’s country family did not keep up with the popular press.
     
     
     
    He returned to his Curzon Street residence in Mayfair and sent for his solicitor, Mr. Benjamin Thurber, before bothering to remove his costume. Mr. Thurber arrived within the hour, his thick white hair ruffled as if he’d just pulled off his nightcap.
    ��Good evening to you, Gravenhurst,” he said in obvious annoyance. “Do you have any notion what time it is?”
    Samuel looked up at the clock on the mantel. “One thirty in the morning.”
    “That is when those of us who keep proper hours are sound asleep. I hope there is a good reason for dragging me out of bed. I am due in court in the morning. What is so blasted important that it cannot wait?”
    “I met a woman.”
    Mr. Thurber clapped his gnarled hands to his eyes. “What have you done to her? Does she have counsel in London? Who is it?”
    “I haven’t done anything to her,” Samuel said in irritation. “You know me better than that.”
    “Is she another harlot claiming a paternity case?”
    “Her name is Lily Boscastle, and I want to ask permission to formally court her with marriage in mind. And you, of all people, know that my fictional indiscretions outnumber those in which I’ve actually indulged.”
    The solicitor lowered his hands. “How long have you known her?”
    “It might have been years. We were at ease the instant that we—”
    “You didn’t share your secret with her, did you?” the solicitor broke in, business now foremost on his mind.
    “I am infatuated, not insane.”
    “I didn’t realize there was a difference.” He scrubbed his stiff white whiskers. “Your Grace is incorrigible.”
    Samuel waited several moments for the lawyer to enact his usual ritual of pacing before the fire and sighing several times before he settled his bulk comfortably in his chair. He braced himself for the well-deserved lecture.
    Didn’t Samuel realize that he was acting on impulse, and that while acts of romantic aggression made for compelling fiction, not even a duke could command the world with a slash of his quill without suffering the consequences?
    Did Samuel ever consider the cost of his ideals?
    Did he care that booksellers and humble clerks depended on him for their bread?
    Thereupon, Samuel reminded his solicitor that he retained him for legal matters, not grandfatherly advice.
    Mr. Thurber threw up his hands in defeat. “What if you and this young Venus do not suit?”
    “I have thought of that. Is there no way to negotiate a contract that allows either party to withdraw from the courtship in a manner that will not damage her name?” The implication being that nothing could tarnish Samuel’s.
    “One can negotiate anything if the price is mutually pleasing. The Boscastle family is a good strain, by the way, if prone to scandal.”
    “So I understand.”
    “It does occur to Your Grace that the young lady’s family might have other plans for her future?” the solicitor ventured one last time.
    Samuel glowered at him. He realized he could be hardheaded and difficult to reason with, but that was