How the Scoundrel Seduces

“ANYONE WHO LOVES ROMANCE MUST READ SABRINA JEFFRIES!”

—
New York Times
bestselling author Lisa Kleypas

“JEFFRIES’S ADDICTIVE SERIES SATISFIES.”

—
Library Journal

Praise for the Duke’s Men novels from
New York Times
and
USA Today
bestselling author SABRINA JEFFRIES

WHEN THE ROGUE RETURNS

“For lovers of romantic fiction, Sabrina Jeffries has a gift for you. . . . Isa and Victor’s story will stick with you long after the last page is read and will leave you hungering for more adventures from the Duke’s Men.”

—
Novels Alive.TV

WHAT THE DUKE DESIRES

“A totally engaging, adventurous love story . . . with a strong plot, steamy desire, and an oh-so-wonderful ending.”

—
RT Book Reviews

“This unusual tale of interlocking mysteries is full of all the intriguing characters, brisk plotting, and witty dialogue that Jeffries’s readers have come to expect.”

—
Publishers Weekly
(starred review)

“Another sparkling series” (
Library Journal
) from Sabrina Jeffries—read all of the “exceptionally entertaining” (
Booklist
) novels of the
HELLIONS OF HALSTEAD HALL

A LADY NEVER SURRENDERS

“Jeffries pulls out all the stops. . . . With depth of character, emotional intensity, and the resolution to the ongoing mystery rolled into a steamy love story, this one is not to be missed.”

—
RT Book Reviews
(4
¹
/
₂
stars, Top Pick)

“Sizzling, emotionally satisfying. . . . Another must-read.”

—
Library Journal
(starred review)

“Brimming with superbly shaded characters, simmering sensuality, and a splendidly wicked wit,
A Lady Never Surrenders
wraps up the series nothing short of brilliantly.”

—
Booklist

TO WED A WILD LORD

“Wonderfully witty, deliciously seductive, graced with humor and charm.”

—
Library Journal
(starred review)

“A beguiling blend of captivating characters, clever plotting, and sizzling sensuality.”

—
Booklist

HOW TO WOO A RELUCTANT LADY

“A delightful addition. . . . Charmingly original.”

—
Publishers Weekly
(starred review)

“Richly imbued with steamy passion, deftly spiced with dangerous intrigue, and neatly tempered with just the right amount of tart wit.”

—
Booklist

A HELLION IN HER BED

“A lively plot blending equal measures of steamy passion and sharp wit.”

—
Booklist
(starred review)

“Jeffries’s sense of humor and delightfully delicious sensuality spice things up!”

—
RT Book Reviews
(4
¹
/
₂
stars)

THE TRUTH ABOUT LORD STONEVILLE

“Jeffries combines her hallmark humor, poignancy, and sensuality to perfection.”

—
RT Book Reviews
(4
¹
/
₂
stars, Top Pick)

“Lively repartee, fast action, luscious sensuality, and an abundance of humor.”

—
Library Journal
(starred review)

“Delectably witty dialogue . . . and scorching sexual chemistry.”

—
Booklist

Thank you for downloading this Pocket Books eBook.

Join our mailing list and get updates on new releases, deals, bonus content and other great books from Pocket Books and Simon & Schuster.

CLICK HERE TO SIGN UP

or visit us online to sign up at
eBookNews.SimonandSchuster.com

To the wonderful staff at Creative Living—thanks for everything you do.

P
ROLOGUE

Yorkshire

1816

W
ITH DAYLIGHT FADING
in the Viscount Rathmoor’s bedchamber, seventeen-year-old Tristan fought to free his hand from his father’s grip. He should go light a candle and stoke the fire, perhaps even see if the doctor had arrived.

But Father was having none of that. “Don’t leave me.”

“I just thought I should—”

“Stay with me.” He clutched Tristan’s hand hard enough to hurt.

Tristan avoided looking at the red stain soaking the hasty dressing that he and the groom had inexpertly applied to the viscount’s wound. Father had gone through worse. He’d once faced down native pirates in Borneo and lived to tell the tale. He was good at having adventures. And telling tales.

Tristan’s throat tightened. Father was good at everything . . . except caring for his family. Or rather, his
families.

Using Tristan’s hand for leverage, Father tried to pull himself into a sitting position.

“Don’t!” Tristan cried. “You have to conserve your strength until the doctor arrives.”

Father shivered. “No point, lad. I’m dying. Up to you . . . to take care of . . . your mother and sister. You’re . . . the man of the house now.”

Panic seized Tristan. “You mustn’t say that. You’ll be fine.”

Father
had
to be fine. If he died, Mother and Lisette would never survive it.

He swallowed his tears, determined not to shame himself, then drew the cover up to his father’s chin in an attempt to stop the trembling. Father was just cold. Someone really should stoke the fire.

“Get away from him!” ordered a voice from the door. “You have no right to touch him.”

He bristled at the sight of George Manton, his loathed half brother, nine years his senior. George was heir to the Rathmoor title and estate because he’d been born on the right side of the blanket.

Tristan had not. Which was why everyone in town called him “the French bastard,” even though he was only half-French and had been born and raised right here at Rathmoor Park.

“Leave the lad . . . alone,” Father managed. “I want him with me.”

George entered, his eyes glittering in the candlelight. “Your damned by-blow is probably responsible for getting you shot in the first place.”

“That’s a lie!” Tristan cried, half rising in his chair.

“Enough.” Father’s breath came in staccato gasps, like that of a prime goer in the final lengths of a race. “No one’s fault. Gun misfired. It . . . was an accident.”

“We’ll see about that,” George said. “You can be sure I’ll speak to the groom and whoever else was present.”

“Where’s Dom?” Father asked. “I need . . . Dom.”

When George grimaced, Tristan prepared himself for anything. George resented Dominick, his legitimate younger brother, almost as much as he resented his half siblings, probably because Dom’s birth had caused the death of Lady Rathmoor when George was only seven.

Perhaps that was why Dom and Tristan had taken to each other like collies to cattle—the fact that George wanted nothing to do with either of them. Besides, in the eyes of the law, a second son was only slightly superior to a natural son, since the future of either still depended on their father’s whim. That alone cemented their brotherly friendship.

“Dom’s still in York,” Tristan told his father. “He should return tonight.”

“Can’t wait,” Father ground out. “Must do this . . . now. Fetch . . . my writing desk.”

Father’s fractured speech sparked Tristan’s alarm. When George didn’t immediately act, Tristan jumped up and pushed past the burly arse to get to the portable
writing desk their father had carried through Egypt, France, Siam, and whatever other place had seized his fancy in the past two and a half decades.

As he brought it back, Father dragged in a laboring breath. “Write this down, lad.”

With a wary glance at the fuming George, Tristan took out the quill and inkpot to record the words his father dictated in halting speech: “I, Ambrose Manton . . . Viscount Rathmoor, being of sound . . . mind, make this addition . . . to my will and testament.” Father paused to catch his breath. “To my natural son Tristan Bonnaud, I bequeath my gelding . . . Blue Blazes—”

“Father!” George said sharply. “Blue Blazes should go to Dom or me.”

Father’s gaze grew steely. “I promised him to . . . your half brother last year. Tristan picked the Thoroughbred for me, so the lad should . . . have him.”

George flushed as Tristan hastily wrote the words. Tristan loved Blue Blazes, who’d earned top prizes ever since Father had bought him at an auction in York. No surprise that George wanted the gelding, but honestly, George would inherit everything else. He didn’t have to have Blue Blazes, too.

And did this mean that Father hadn’t put them in his will at
all 
? How could that be?

When Father went on to make provisions for Dom, Tristan bent his head to hide his dismay. Bad enough for Father to be haphazard about his natural children, but about Dom? It wasn’t right.

Then Father left several trinkets from his travels to
Lisette, and the cottage and an annuity of two hundred pounds to Mother, his mistress for the past twenty-some years. Whom he’d kept promising to marry, but never had, because of the possible scandal. And now there would never be a chance of it.