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DUKE OF DECEPTION
A desperate young woman … Lady Louisa Barrick will do anything to save her estate and the village that depends on it, but when she tries to use a rakish privateer in her scheme, things don’t turn out as planned.
A duke masquerading as a privateer … Jonathan Derek Wentworth has a scheme of his own: to track down the ton-based smuggling gang responsible for his father’s death. When he’s caught in a compromising situation with Lady Louisa, he decides it’s better to marry her than to risk being ostracized by the London society whose invitations are vital to his plan. But Louisa refuses to marry him, unless he meets her terms, one of which is a month-long reprieve from consummation.
Intent on seduction, Derek doesn’t count on his unexpected jealousy wreaking havoc with his emotions, his marriage, and his masquerade. Lucy, still grieving the death of her father, wants desperately to avoid another heartbreak, but fears she may have schemed herself into a marriage with the one man destined to break her heart: a man who isn’t what he seems, who obviously can’t be trusted, and who will surely leave her the first chance he gets.
EXCERPT
Prologue
Baltimore, near coastal waters, 1809
The gentle thump of water against wood was the only indication that the sloop had taken a swell. The ship continued on its course without a moment’s hesitation while spars creaked, rigging groaned and canvas snapped lightly in the wind. They were sounds that Captain Derek Wentworth usually found soothing, but they offered no such comfort tonight. Tonight his life would change, no matter what his decision, but he knew the choice he had to make.
The leather-bound journal, its gold buckles gleaming in the glow of yellow lamplight, stared back at him as if it had a life of its own. And it did. His father’s life. A life Derek had scorned. One he’d convinced himself he didn’t want.
And now it was his.
He closed the cabin door and tried to shrug off the weariness that clung to him like a shroud. All these years he’d waited for his father to contact him, to acknowledge his degree from Harvard or his accolades as a shipwright. In his daydreams his father would apologize, begging forgiveness, admitting that banishment to America had been harsh treatment for a boy of fourteen who’d wanted nothing more than his father’s notice. But in his heart he’d always known his father would never utter such words, for the same reason Derek needed to hear them. Pride. They’d both had too much pride, and now it was too late. His father was gone. Without a word of apology or praise, without a goodbye.
And Derek was expected to take his place.
He reached for the package delivered by one of England’s finest ships. Inside the pouch, along with his father’s ring and seal, were the legal documents stating that he, Jonathan Derek Wentworth, was the eighth Duke of Dorrington.
He didn’t want to return to England this way. He had planned to return in glory, as a man his father respected, but after reading the journal, he realized he didn’t know what kind f man that was. He’d worked so hard to excel at his schooling and his business, wanting to show his father he’d outgrown his childish ways, needing to prove that when the time came, he’d be able to manage the vast Dorrington holdings. Yet according to the journal, his father had let those holdings, the finances, even family matters, go while he pursued traitorous criminals. His father had put his country first and all else second, while Derek had abandoned his country of birth for another. Or so it must have seemed when Derek stayed on in America after completing his education. But he hadn’t wanted to stay in America. His pride had kept him from returning to England without an invitation. That blasted pride.
Desolation seeped through him, making his limbs too heavy to lift. Until this moment he hadn’t realized how much he cared . . . about his father’s approval, about the family he’d left behind. He hadn’t known how much he cared about England.
A soft knock sounded, and the cabin door creaked open. His first mate, Michael Morgan, stood stalwart in the doorway, compassion etched upon his weather-beaten face.
“Captain, have you made a decision? Are we heading home to Baltimore?”
Derek was silent as thoughts swirled through his mind. Home. Was Baltimore home? His business he could sell, his estate and ships too. Pamela, whom he’d planned to marry, was already betrothed again, and not to the man Derek caught her in bed with, but to someone else. No, America wasn’t his home. There was nothing for him here.
With a heavy sigh he nodded. “Yes, Morgan, I’m going home—to England.”
