Prelude to a Scandal

Prelude to a Scandal
Delilah Marvelle

THE INFAMOUS DUKE’S PROPOSAL Lady Justine is willing to trade her good name, her reputation and her place in London's gossip-hungry ton to secure her father's release from prison. But when the notorious Duke of Bradford counters her offer with a proposal of marriage, the stakes grow higher still.For while the smouldering lord is famous for his conquests, the man is oblivious to both her devotion and her charms. And Justine is soon afraid she has wagered all for naught…

Dear Reader,

History is such a strange, strange creature. I am constantly amazed by the things my research unearths, especially when it comes to sexual history. For those of you interested in what I uncover (and what doesn’t end up in my books …), check out my blog, A Bit O’Muslin, at www.DelilahMarvelle.blogspot.com. It will give you an idea as to how much real history gets overlooked. When it comes to historical romance, in particular, people have a skewed vision of what Regency should be because of all the books they have read, without ever really digging into the historical facts. The modern reader has a tendency to forget that people back then were still people. They loved. They hated. They ate. They drank. And yes, they had sex. Lots of it. London’s exploding population proved that.

The idea of Prelude to a Scandal was pieced together to reflect both history and hot-button topics that are still being passionately debated today.

Now, as for all of those rakes running around London debauching themselves and whatever women they could get their hands on, I started wondering how many of these men were sex addicts. I mean, honestly. At least one of them had to be! And though they didn’t have a clinical name for sexual addiction back in the 1820s, you had better believe it was there. So what would a sex addict’s life be like back in the days when there were no clinics to provide assistance and understanding? I imagine it would have been a personal hell. One worth writing about.

It is my hope you will set aside what you think 1829 is and grace me to give you my version of 1829.

Cheers and much love,

Delilah Marvelle

About the Author

DELILAH MARVELLE loves to write historical romance with scandalous twists she unearths from history itself. She spent her youth studying various languages, reading voraciously and playing the pianoforte. She confesses that here ends the extent of her gentle breeding. She was a naughty child who was forever torturing her parents with countless adventures that they did not deem respectable. Confined to her room on many occasions due to these misadventures, she discovered the quill and its amazing power. Soon, to the dismay of her parents, she rather enjoyed being confined to her room. And so her writing continues. She is a two-time Golden Heart Finalist, an RT Book Reviews Reviewer’s Choice Nominee and a double finalist in the Bookseller’s Best Award. You can visit her at her website at www.DelilahMarvelle.com or visit her blog, which explores the naughtier side of history, at www.DelilahMarvelle.blogspot.com.

Don’t miss the Scandal series!

Prelude to a Scandal May 2012

Once Upon a Scandal June 2012

The Perfect Scandal July 2012

Prelude to

a Scandal

Delilah Marvelle

www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)

DEDICATION

This book is dedicated to every person in this vast world who suffers from any form of addiction. Believe that you can and will overcome all of the battles that lie ahead.

ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

This book would have never made it to print if not for the incredible support of my friends, family and industry professionals who encouraged me in ways that go beyond any words I could write.

Thank you to my super-sexy and incredible husband, Marc, who is the love of my life, my everything and the reason why I write romance. Thank you, Marc, for being my sugar daddy who oversees the bills and everything under the moon so I can continue to do what I love most. Thank you to my two amazing children, Zoe and Clark, who are so loving and so, so, so giving and patient in knowing mommy is almost always writing. I love you both.

Thank you to the fabulous Maire Creegan, who has been one of my greatest inspirations, my long-time critique partner, my tutor and my best friend and twinsie. Thank you to the Novelistas: Susan Lyons, Christina Crooks and Lacy Danes, whose amazing attention to detail and creative skills push me forward and onward as a writer.

Thank you to my agent Donald Maass, whose wisdom and guidance remind me of my purpose and why I write. I am in constant awe of your ability, Don, to dig into my stories and pull out every thread and point out its worth. You encourage me to not only step out of the box but to try to smash it.

Thank you to all of Mills & Boon, Harlequin and its staff, and to my editor, Tracy Farrell, whose incredible enthusiasm toward my stories has sparked a blazing new sense of worth within me. Thank you to Deb Werksman from Sourcebooks, who saw a diamond in the rough and made this writer believe she could jump off a cliff and fly.

Thank you to everyone, both readers and my fellow writers alike, who supported me during my transition between publishers. You all kept me going and I love you all.

An old Spanish proverb would dare claim—A great dowry can only bring a bed full of brambles. So what, pray tell, would a small dowry bring? Nothing, I suppose, but dirty linen in shambles. No matter the size of your dowry, ladies, understand that finding a worthy suitor will always be a gamble.

How to Avoid a Scandal, Author Unknown

London, England

Late April, 1829

LADY JUSTINE FEDORA PALMER knew all too well that her dear, dear father, the sixth Earl of Marwood, had always been an intelligent and upstanding, moral citizen. He would have never dared to provoke a political or social stampede amongst any of the tribes he’d befriended throughout his years as an African naturalist. Especially the most notorious and savage of all human tribes—the British ton.

But whenever it came to the subject of zoological breeding, her father became a soul of too many words with absolutely no sense of restraint. Which was why the poor man was now sitting in prison.

His newly published observations on innate buggery amongst South African mammals—which he argued God allowed in His Natural Kingdom and therefore His Royal Majesty should allow in ours—had ruffled far too many feathers to count. Including that of His Royal Majesty.

Though her father had been found innocent of conspiring to promote buggery and moral corruption, he was still caged in Marshalsea Debtors Prison due to an array of exorbitant fines he simply could not pay. Unlike most ladies, who might have long languished beneath such scandal mongering, Justine had never been one for wilting. Her unusual upbringing had made her worldly enough to understand that every female, no matter her genus and species, had the ability to physically coerce a male into full cooperation.

And yes, she knew just the male to coerce. A male she’d wanted to coerce ever since she first came to London two years ago at the age of eighteen: her father’s sole academic patron, the notorious Duke of Bradford. Better known to the herds of London as The Rake Extraordinaire, whose appreciation for women knew no bounds and whose pockets and generosity were as deep as the sky is wide.

Despite his libertine facade, which boasted a slow, saucy grin and smoky dark eyes that invited every woman to play, there was so much more to him than his appearance. He had a genuine intelligence and depth outside of the wild antics he always used to garner attention. She remembered one evening in particular when her adoration for the man had fully bloomed into a yearning that made her toes curl within her silk stockings.

While her parents and the duke still played five card loo with a group of ladies and gents after a dinner party, she’d opted to sit in a chair on the other side of the room and read so she wouldn’t have to be teased anymore by her overly competitive father. Promptly after her aloof departure from the card table, the duke had tossed his own cards and formally announced no lady ought to be disrespected for her lack of card skills. With an impressive sweep, he then hoisted his chair up over his head and swaggered with it across the room like an acrobat. He even pretended to stumble beneath its weight in an effort to make her giggle.

With a well satisfied breath, he’d settled his chair and himself across from her, insisting she set aside her book and tell him more about the fascinating life she’d led in Africa. Though his gaze had a tendency to wander flirtatiously to inappropriate places—which she rather enjoyed—he still listened very intently to everything she had to say as if every word that escaped her lips mattered, as if she mattered.

Tragic as it was, the man had never been the marrying sort, and no one knew that more than her parents, who’d repeatedly warned her to keep her virtue as far away from the man as possible. Despite all of their tiring lectures on the matter and despite having read How To Avoid A Scandal many, many times, Justine knew a lady couldn’t always avoid scandal. Especially when one’s father was being persecuted for demanding rights for sodomites using the animal kingdom as his platform.

After dotting a piece of parchment with rosewater she’d borrowed from a neighbor, Justine daintily scribed a missive to the duke, similar to the countless weekly missives she’d sent to him ever since first meeting him. The duke had never once responded, which her mother was thankful for, but Justine continued to scribe him weekly letters all the same.

In this particular letter, however, she offered Bradford a bit more than the usual gossip about herself and her family. She offered him several nights in exchange for her father’s release. Having no dowry and no suitor, she wasn’t too worried about harvesting her virginity to a man who offered no wedding prospect. She only hoped her mother and father would understand.

Though it had been many months since she’d last seen the duke, and there were muddled whispers about him being disfigured due to his involvement with a less than reputable woman, not a single drop of the story intimidated her. She felt that her father’s comfort, safety and sanity trumped any of her own womanly misgivings.

To her astonishment, not even three days after her letter had been delivered to the duke, his footman appeared at their door and presented the following letter:

Lady Justine,

I can only apologize for ever leading you to believe I was capable of ruining anyone in their most desperate hour, let alone a lady of esteemed quality such as yourself. Although I cannot and will not be able to accept your offer, I would like to propose something else. At three and thirty, I have come to the profound realization that I am not getting any younger. Or prettier. It is time I take a wife. I have received and immensely enjoyed every letter you have sent and fondly remember every time we have met. Therefore, I foresee no complications in asking for your hand in marriage. Whilst I am certain there are various rumors surrounding my current physical state, I can assure you, I am in excellent health. Though I did sustain one sizable scar it is nothing to fret over. Should you and your father agree to our marriage, a license will be applied for and the wedding will be set to take place in six weeks’ time. In turn, I would be delighted to pay all debts imposed upon your father so as to ensure his prompt release from Marshalsea.

I await your response,

Bradford

And all along she had thought he’d never ask …